“God forbid you let something hang over you for a few hours,” Maggie muttered.
That made Gwen look up, her eyes cool but steady. “You think I like that my brain works this way?”
“I think you don’t try very hard to make it work differently.” Maggie rolled her eyes.
The boarding call for their flight echoed over the PA. Gwen slipped her phone into her bag without another word. When they stood, Maggie caught the faintest crease between Gwen’s brows — the one she got when she was choosing to bite back whatever she wanted to say.
They filed onto the plane in silence like strangers.
Half an hour later, the seat belt light was off and Maggie was flicking through her Kindle library offerings when Gwen shifted beside her.
The heat of their argument had cooled. They’d always been quick to resolve fights before… well, before the last few years had made everything feel so much more complicated. Maggie dared look up at Gwen, seeing Gwen’s calm and open expression.
“Should we practice?” Gwen asked.
Maggie blinked. “Practice what?”
“Holding hands.” Gwen’s expression was casual, like she was suggesting they split a bag of pretzels.
Maggie narrowed her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Better to look natural when we have to do it in front of everyone later.”
“This is stupid,” Maggie muttered.
Against her better judgment, Maggie let Gwen’s warm, steady palm slide into hers. The heat of it seeped up her arm, settling somewhere in her chest. It felt achingly familiar, like muscle memory — like something her body had been waiting for without her permission. Her thumb twitched, a ghost of the way she used to stroke Gwen’s knuckles. She tried to tell herself it was nothing, that she was just playing along. But the quiet press of Gwen’s hand in hers made her wonder what exactly she was trying to protect herself from. Her eyes foundGwen’s, dark with meaning and intent. When was the last time they’d held hands like this? It was such an innocent gesture, and yet Maggie felt like she was being stripped bare.
“Anything to drink?” the flight attendant asked, making Maggie jolt and pull her hand free, fingers tingling from the loss of warmth.
“A ginger ale for me and a Diet Coke for her,” Gwen said, smiling up at the attendant. “And can we get an extra couple of cookies? My wife can’t resist them.”
Maggie couldn’t decide if being so known was annoying or sweet. Perhaps both. She glanced back down at their hands and forced a casual smile, leaning back like it hadn’t meant anything.
“And should we try kissing? Just to make sure we can sell it?” Gwen’s tone was quiet, though the quirk of her mouth held a hint of mischief.
Maggie rolled her eyes, leaning farther away. “Don’t push your luck.”
“Ah, you’re right. Gotta save some of that for Vegas,” Gwen said, turning to face out the window. Maggie could have sworn she saw the barest hint of a smile on Gwen’s face in the reflection.
The lobby of the hotel was a sensory overload — chandeliers dripping crystals, the sharp scent of cologne and floral arrangements, the clatter of wheeled suitcases across marble. Maggie spotted the group clustered near the check-in desk, and before she knew it she was dashing toward them. They collided in a tangle of arms and squeals, the kind of reunion that turned heads. Everyone was talking at once, laughter ricocheting off the marble walls.
Gwen hung back, her steps deliberately slow. Pete suddenly noticed her across the lobby and bellowed, “GWYNETH!”
The entire group turned, grinning, waving her over like she’d been missing for years. Maggie’s heart gave a strangeskip as Gwen finally crossed the distance, her calm presence sliding into the storm of affection and noise like it belonged there all along.
An elevator ride and an argument over hotel key tapping techniques later, the hotel suite door flew open. The suite was somehow both massive and wildly inconvenient. Two sunken living areas — one complete with a circular couch — a kitchenette, a dining nook, but only two bedrooms. Maggie surveyed the pullout couch before her. Kiera stood in the middle of it all, blinking like she’d been personally betrayed.
“It said it slept eight,” Kiera exclaimed, waving her phone in the air like it might offer a better explanation.
“Technically, it does,” Izzy said, gesturing toward the pullout couch. “It just doesn’t sleep eight in any way that won’t make our friendships weird.”
“How do two bedrooms equal eight sleeping arrangements?” Maggie asked. “Is there some kind of bed in the pantry? A secret annex we haven’t found?” She hoped desperately for a secret sleeping nook situation.
The alternative? A bed in a public room shared with the woman she hadn’t shared a bed with in months.
“Do we think I should call down to the front desk?” Kiera asked, still naively hopeful. “Get it changed?”
“No need.” Gwen sat down on the sofa, patting the cushion. “Mags and I can take the pullout.”
