For half a heartbeat, Gwen just stared at her, stunned. Then her mouth curved, slow and dangerous. “I mean, the rental car is a minivan.”
Maggie’s laugh came out breathless. “What?”
“The seats fold down,” Gwen said, and there was something dark and wicked in her tone that Maggie hadn’t heard in so long it nearly undid her.
Heat pooled low in her stomach, her heart pounding. “Lead the way.”
Gwen stood first, offering her a hand. Maggie grabbed her crutches with her other, hobbling to her feet, her ankle screaming in protest but her body buzzing with urgency.
The lake stretched behind them, silent witness, as Gwen helped her off the dock and toward the driveway.
The walk up the gravel drive was ridiculous. Gwen steadying her elbow, Maggie swinging on her crutches like a deranged circus act, both of them half laughing and half tripping their way toward the parked rental minivan. By the time Gwen popped the back open with the fob, Maggie was breathless, clutching at her side.
“This is the least sexy setup in history,” she wheezed.
“Give me thirty seconds,” Gwen muttered, yanking at the seats, trying to fold them flat. The headrest caught, she swore under her breath, and Maggie started giggling uncontrollably.
“Wow,” Maggie said, leaning on her crutch, eyes dancing. “The big romantic gesture ruined by child-lock engineering.”
“Shut up,” Gwen growled, but she was laughing too, breath puffing in the chill night air. She gave the seat one final shove, and it collapsed with a clang. She turned back, cheeks flushed, hair mussed, grinning in triumph. “Ta-da.”
“Hot,” Maggie said. “Truly, nothing gets me going like a minivan.”
“Get in here,” Gwen said, low and urgent.
Maggie’s crutches clattered to the ground outside as she climbed into the back of the van, Gwen’s hands on her waist, guiding her down onto the folded seats. The back of the van beeped in warning as it closed, and they both paused for a moment to laugh, until their mouths were back together. The kiss hit like a match — hungry, messy, years of want compressed into one impossible moment. Maggie gasped against her mouth, laughing and moaning all at once as Gwen pressed her back into the upholstery.
“Careful — ankle—” Maggie squeaked, grabbing for Gwen’s shirt.
“Got you,” Gwen promised, adjusting, bracing her hands so Maggie could settle without jostling. Her jacket hit thefloor first, then Maggie’s cardigan, their laughter breaking through the desperate rhythm of kisses.
Maggie tugged at Gwen’s tie, fingers fumbling.
“Oh my god, just rip it,” Gwen panted, and Maggie grinned, tugging roughly until the knot finally gave way and the tie fluttered to the carpeted floor.
The van rocked faintly as they shifted, Maggie pulling Gwen down on top of her, gasping when Gwen’s mouth found the line of her throat.
“Do you realize,” Maggie managed between kisses, “how absolutely absurd this is? We’re — oh god — making out in a Dodge Caravan.”
Gwen laughed against her skin, the sound dark and warm. “Would you rather be back in the bunk beds?”
“Fair point,” Maggie groaned, tugging her closer.
The cold outside contrasted with the heat building between them, windows already fogging as their clothes hit the floor. Maggie couldn’t stop giggling — half from nerves, half from the sheer relief of Gwen’s weight pressing her into the seat, Gwen’s hands sliding under her dress, Gwen’s voice rough in her ear.
Their laughter tangled with moans, raw and breathless. Gwen’s mouth slid against hers, wet and hungry, their teeth clashing once before Maggie laughed through it, tugging her closer anyway. The kisses were sloppy, unpracticed, but there was no hesitation — just urgency, the kind that saidwe’ve waited too long for this.
Maggie clutched at Gwen’s shoulders, reveling in the hard press of Gwen’s chest against hers, the steady weight she’d missed so much it made her dizzy. Her ankle throbbed in protest, but the ache was drowned out by everything else — the way Gwen’s hands were greedy and reverent all at once, sliding up her thighs like she couldn’t decide whether to claim or worship.
And there was something else, too. The intimacy ofknowledge. Gwen’s hands finding her like they always had, without fumbling, without hesitation. The tilt of her jaw, the exact pressure of her mouth, the way her thumb stroked the inside of her thigh like she knew Maggie would shiver because she always had. That familiarity made it sharper, sweeter. Not just want but knowing. Not just heat but history.
Her fingers dug into Gwen’s hair, messy and soft between her hands, holding her close, grounding herself in the solidity of her. And then the words tumbled out without her permission, whispering against Gwen’s mouth between frantic kisses:
“Missed you, missed you, missed you.”
It came out like a prayer, desperate and holy, half-choked with tears, her lips trembling against Gwen’s as she said it again and again. Each repetition loosened something tight in her chest, untying knots she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying.
Gwen groaned low, almost breaking, and Maggie felt it vibrate through her whole body. She pulled her back into another kiss — softer this time, but no less intense — because it wasn’t about proving anything anymore. It was about the relief of being known, of being touched by someone who had always seen her, always understood exactly what she wanted, what she needed. The way Gwen’s hands moved like they still had a map of her drawn somewhere under her skin, every brush and press precise, not careful but confident, and Maggie felt herself unraveling faster because of it.
