“Hey,” Izzy said, glancing at her phone. “So… Kiera’s mom just texted to ask if we’ve set a date yet. What is with moms and wedding planning? They all lose their minds.”
Gwen laughed, easing back into her chair. “Already? You’ve been engaged, what, three months?”
“Two and a half,” Izzy corrected, mock-serious. “Apparently that’s long enough for everyone over fifty to start panicking about venue availability.”
“Ah, yes,” Gwen said dryly. “The sacred wedding timeline.”
Izzy grinned. “Exactly. Like if we don’t lock down a caterer tomorrow, our love will just… expire.”
They both laughed, the music thumping softly in the background.
“So,” Gwen said after a moment, “do you have plans? Or are you two just enjoying being engaged?”
Izzy tilted her head, her smile softening. “I mean, when I’m not freaking out about Kiera waking up one day and realizing she was wrong when she said yes? Mostly that second one. I think we’re just… basking. You know? Getting used to saying fiancée without sounding like we’re quoting someone else.”
“That’s a good stage,” Gwen said. “You only get it once.”
Her fingers curled around her glass, and before she could stop herself, she was back in that moment years ago — on a weekend getaway in Texas Hill Country. They’d been sitting on a weathered porch swing at a B&B, cicadas buzzing in the twilight, the air thick with the scent of wildflowers and mesquite. Maggie had her bare feet tucked under her, glass of wine in hand, cheeks flushed from a day spent swimming in the river. Gwen had pulled out a small leather ring box, her hands trembling just enough to make Maggie’s eyes go wide. She’d asked her then and there, no big crowd, just the two of them and a sky turning gold.
Maggie’s yes had been quiet but certain, and she’d leaned in with a smile that felt like the start of forever.
It had been simple. Perfect.
“You okay?” Izzy asked, tilting her head.
Gwen shook herself back to the present, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. Just remembering what that feels like.”
Izzy studied her for a second longer than was polite, then softened it with a sip of her drink. “And what about you two?” she asked, casual in the way people are when they’re absolutely not being casual.
Gwen tried to keep her face neutral. “Us?”
“Yeah, you and Maggie.” Izzy’s shrug was practiced nonchalance. “Everything good? I know when we were all there after Maggie’s mom died, things felt a little tense.”
For a beat, Gwen could only smooth her thumb along the rim of her glass, like there might be an answer hiding there. Their group of friends had attracted more dancers to their crowd. Maggie was dancing, hair sticking to her temples, scream-singing the lyrics to a song — badly, too, like she’d forgotten every beat of rhythm she’d ever had. She’d thrownan arm around Danica, belting out the chorus, eyes shut and grin wide.
Something in Gwen’s chest pulled tight. Nostalgia? Ache? Both.
“Of course,” she said finally, her tone steady but not quite convincing even to herself. “Yeah, we’re good.”
Izzy didn’t push, but Gwen caught the faint tilt of her brows, the way her gaze flicked between Gwen and the mess of Maggie on the dance floor. Izzy leaned back in her chair, letting the music swallow the moment. “Well,” she said, a hint of wry amusement threading her voice. “I’m glad.”
Gwen’s throat worked. She looked back to Maggie — her wife, still, technically. The sight was magnetic.
And the worst part? It always had been.
CHAPTER 9
Maggie
Maggie nurseda lukewarm glass of water on the balcony, the city glittering below like it had been waiting all day to show off. Inside, Gwen was already asleep — curled on the pullout like she had something to prove about not needing comfort. Maggie had hovered for a minute, watching her breathe, before retreating out here where the air didn’t taste quite so thick.
She should have been tired. She was tired. But her brain had other ideas. Top priority among those thoughts seemed to be: Gwen at the bar earlier, talking to Lillian. She’d met Lillian before, back in college, and had even liked her back then. Back when she was kind of awkward and nerdy. Now she was gorgeous, desert-biologist Lillian, who wore her confidence easily. Maggie had only caught bits of the conversation, the easy tilt of Gwen’s smile, but it had been enough to make something sharp flare under her ribs.
Jealousy. God, she hated it. She wasn’t supposed to feel that anymore. They were separated — technically free. Shehad no right to bristle over whoever Gwen did or didn’t talk to, no matter how perfect their bone structure.
And yet.
Maybe Gwen would do better with someone like Lillian. Someone cool and contained, who didn’t leave laundry in damp clumps on the bathroom floor or cry at sappy commercials. Someone who wouldn’t fall apart when things got hard.
