Maggie laughed, loud enough to earn a glance from a nearby table. But the laugh didn’t chase away the heat rising up her neck, or the way her body leaned, just slightly, treacherously, into Gwen’s.
Their steps stayed easy, side to side, like they’d done this a thousand times before — and they had, in kitchens, at weddings, in living rooms with a baby monitor crackling in the corner.
“Practice, huh?” Maggie said, her grin daring, though her voice cracked a little.
Gwen didn’t answer right away. Her hand was steady at Maggie’s back, fingers spread, the warmth seeping straight through her dress. The kind of hand that could hold her upright or pull her under without effort.
And then Gwen’s gaze dropped. Not subtly, not in passing. Straight to Maggie’s mouth.
Maggie’s lips parted before she could stop herself, her chest tightening. Every nerve in her body tuned to the fact of Gwen’s hand — how close it was to the base of her spine, how it guided her with the lightest touch, how it could so easily pull her closer.
“You’re staring,” Maggie said, trying for light, but it came out softer.
“I know,” Gwen murmured.
The words knocked the breath from her. Maggie let out a shaky laugh, covering the sound of her heart hammering. “Dangerous game.”
Gwen’s eyes flicked up again, steady, unreadable except for the heat that lingered there. Her hand pressed just a fraction firmer at Maggie’s back, and Maggie swore she could feel the ghost of every time Gwen had ever touched her layered into that single moment.
The song swelled, other couples swaying around them, but Maggie barely noticed. All she knew was Gwen’s eyes, Gwen’s mouth, Gwen’s hands — everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.
Maggie swallowed hard, her pulse thrumming everywhere Gwen’s hand touched. She should’ve said something flippant, tossed out a joke to puncture the tension. But she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe right, not with Gwen looking at her like that.
“Careful,” Maggie managed, voice thin. “You keep staring like that and people might think you actually like me.”
Gwen’s mouth curved, slow, deliberate. Her gaze dipped to Maggie’s lips again before rising to meet her eyes.
“I never stopped liking you,” she said quietly.
The words hit like a strike to the chest. They were simple, devastating, undeniable.
Maggie’s laugh snagged in her throat, half a gasp. She felt her fingers twitch against Gwen’s shoulder, wanting to grip, to hold, tobelieve.
And then the song ended.
The last chords rippled off the pianos, the crowd clapping, whooping, breaking the spell. But Maggie and Gwen didn’t move. They stayed there, still swaying faintly out of habit, hands locked in place, caught in a bubble of too much history and not nearly enough air.
Someone at the bar shouted for another Sinatra tune, glasses clinked, Pete hollered something obscene — but none of it reached Maggie.
All she knew was that Gwen hadn’t let go.
The applause rolled through the bar, people clinking glasses and laughing, but Maggie barely heard it. Gwen’s hand was still at her waist — no, not just there. Tighter now. A subtle press, firm enough that Maggie felt her whole body tip toward Gwen like gravity had decided.
Her breath caught.
Gwen didn’t step back, didn’t break the spell. Her gaze slipped down again, unmistakable this time, landing squarely on Maggie’s mouth.
Maggie’s lips parted without permission, a reflex as old as muscle memory. She could feel Gwen’s thumb flex just slightly against the small of her back, as if steadying herself… or claiming her.
The room around them kept moving. Izzy and Kiera tangled in their own quiet world, Pete shouting requests at the pianist, Danica clutching her drink with her whole body laughing — but Maggie and Gwen were suspended, untouched, balanced on the precarious edge of something they both knew and had no business chasing.
Maggie’s heart thundered:Do it. Don’t. Do it. Don’t. Do it do it do it.
And still Gwen’s eyes lingered on her mouth, so close Maggie swore she could feel the ghost of the kiss already.
All she could see was Gwen. The hand tight at her waist. The eyes fixed on her mouth. The press of years, memories, everything unsaid tightening the air between them until she couldn’t stand it.
So she leaned in.
