Lillian’s expression warmed. “I’m a tortoise biologist.”
Gwen tilted her head. “That’s… not an answer I get often.”
“Probably not. I work with a conservation group that monitors and relocates desert tortoises during construction projects. Mostly pipeline oversight — making sure nobody steamrolls through a habitat without noticing.”
Gwen took another slow sip, considering her. “That sounds… important. And a little like being the tortoise police.”
“Pretty much,” Lillian said with a laugh. “Only slower.”
Gwen chuckled, but her eyes flicked up, drawn again to Maggie across the table. She was still talking to Izzy, but her gaze kept darting back, sharp and unreadable.
If Gwen had wanted to play it safe, she’d turn away, keep the conversation light. Instead, she leaned in just enough to catch Lillian’s next words, her hand resting casually on the back of the couch, close enough to imply an ease she didn’t actually feel.
From this angle, she could see both of them — Lillian’s open, easy smile and Maggie’s subtle, restless watching.
And Gwen… Well, she let herself enjoy both.
She took her time with the next sip of champagne, letting the fizz pop against her tongue.
“So how long have you been doing that?” Gwen asked.
“About eight years,” Lillian replied. “It’s not glamorous, but I like knowing I’m actually helping protect something that can’t speak for itself?—”
“Sorry, what was that?”
Maggie’s voice cut in, smooth but edged, and suddenly she was there, sliding onto the low couch across from them. Her knees brushed Gwen’s before she leaned toward Lillian. “I couldn’t hear over the music.”
Lillian turned to her with an easy smile. “I was saying I work with desert tortoises — mostly relocation during pipeline projects.”
“That’s… very specific,” Maggie said, eyes glinting. “And noble.”
Gwen tipped her glass to her mouth, hiding the curve of her smile behind it. She didn’t dare let it show — how much she recognized that look in Maggie’s eyes, how much she secretly liked being the reason for it.
Lillian launched into a story about tagging juveniles in the Mojave, and Maggie stayed perched forward, nodding politely but keeping one hand resting on Gwen’s knee.
Gwen left it there.
And she kept her smile to herself.
The bassof the song faded out, replaced by the glittery synth hook of a song Gwen hadn’t heard since college. “Oops!… I Did It Again” poured through the speakers, and the mood in the room shifted instantly.
“Oh my god,” Danica gasped, already shoving her drink into Pete’s hand. “We have to dance.”
“This isn’t really a dancing place,” Izzy called out, looking around.
“Everywhere’s a dancing place if you just start dancing.” Kiera was laughing, grabbing Danica’s wrist and dragging her toward the open space between two sets of couches.
Pete, grinning like she’d been waiting for this exact moment, turned to Lillian. “You’re coming too.”
Lillian laughed, a little reluctant, but let herself be hauled away.
That left Maggie and Gwen on the couch, the music pulsing around them.
Maggie’s gaze caught hers, a wordless invitation in it. Gwen gave a small wave toward the impromptu dance floor and gestured with her nearly empty glass. “You go. I’m getting a refill.”
Maggie’s mouth tilted like she might argue, but she just nodded and disappeared into the crowd.
As Gwen started to rise, Izzy dropped into the seat beside her, cheeks flushed from the music and the champagne, a faint shimmer of champagne on her smile.
