Even now, there was the heat of Maggie’s breath outside the piano bar. The soft, stunned look in her eyes just before that kiss. Then, on the helicopter, the press of Maggie against her, their hands entwined, needing her.
Different moments, same pull. That unsteady gravitybetween them, tugging her off-balance no matter how carefully she’d tried to anchor herself.
Gwen told herself it was nothing more than nostalgia, but she knew better. Nostalgia didn’t feel like this — sharp and bright, exhilarating and terrifying.
It had taken Gwen months to even realize the distance Maggie had put between them. Now she knew better: Distance was its own kind of ache. She knew she couldn’t risk too much, not yet. Maggie was still skittish when the air got too thick between them. One wrong move, one word too tender, and Gwen could send her running.
The dealer’s shuffle snapped her back to the present. Chips clacked, voices hummed around her, but her chest tightened anyway — aching with the hope she’d been trying to tamp down. She straightened her stack of chips, schooled her expression, and forced herself back into the game.
CHAPTER 17
Maggie
The moment Maggiestepped into the spa, she felt her whole body exhale. Cool air, quiet lighting, the faint smell of eucalyptus. It was like being dropped into another dimension. A blessedlysanedimension, with no helicopters, no champagne-soaked piano bars, no Gwen staring at her like she could see straight through her.
This was Maggie’s element.
She loved spas. Loved the ritual of it. The plush robes, the way someone else fussed over her skin for an hour, the tiny porcelain cups of tea that tasted vaguely of flowers. After years of grad school, years of being broke, years of raising hell instead of resting, she had long ago decided that facials and massages were sacred, nonnegotiable self-care.
She stretched out on a cushioned lounge chair, cucumber-infused water sweating beside her, and let herself melt.
Danica wasn’t quite melting. She sat stiff, still pale from the helicopter ordeal, hands folded primly in her lap. Even in a spa robe, she looked like she was calmly assessing a new patient.
Kiera, on the other hand, was already reclined, eyes closed, head tipped back with a towel draped around her hair. She let out a long, dramatic sigh. “I could live here.”
Maggie smirked. “Same. Just bury me under hot stones and lavender oil.”
Kiera cracked one eye open. “Noted for your funeral arrangements.”
That made Danica laugh, a thin but genuine sound. She tucked her feet up under her robe, finally letting herself relax an inch. “I’m thinking let’s always have spa days on vacation. Maybe a hundred percent less helicopters, though.”
“It’s a good thing these people could resurrect you from the dead with a facial peel,” Maggie said.
Kiera chuckled. “Good, because Danica almost died on that helicopter.”
“I did,” Danica agreed solemnly, then ruined it by smiling.
Maggie tipped her head back against the chair, grinning. This — this was what she loved. The slow indulgence, the easy banter, the rare moment of stillness with her friends. No pretending, no chaos. Just the simple joy of being cared for.
Warm towels, soft music, the faint citrus scent of whatever serum the esthetician had brushed onto her skin — it all blurred into a haze that made Maggie’s body feel heavier and her mind floatier. The kind of setting where secrets used to tumble out like beads from a broken string.
She thought of Telluride.
Another spa, another trip, another trio tucked away in white robes. Kiera had been the one to crack first, voice small but certain when she said her husband was cheating. Maggie could still picture Danica’s hand shooting out to squeeze hers, how Kiera had crumpled then, the kind of pain you felt when you finally said the thing out loud.
Maggie remembered the silence after, the air thick and fragile. She’d filled it with her own truth, blurting it out before she could lose her nerve. That she’d been pregnant.That she’d had to end it because there wasn’t another choice. Because it hadn’t been safe or viable, not for her.
She remembered how relieved she’d felt. That she wasn’t carrying it alone anymore. That Danica and Kiera had listened and nodded and said all the right things, no judgment, no pity. Just the quiet kind of understanding that made her feel less like a failure and more like a person again.
Now, lying in the dim warmth of the Vegas spa, Maggie swallowed hard. She could still feel the relief of that moment, how necessary it had been.
But this wasn’t Telluride. This was Pete and Danica’s bachelorette trip. This was champagne toasts and chaos and pretending everything was easy. She couldn’t drop something that heavy here, couldn’t be the one to dim the lights with her grief again. Not now.
So she smiled into the towel at her throat, forcing her voice light when she said, “Spa days with you two are becoming our tradition. Just… minus the crying this time, okay?”
Kiera laughed, the sound muffled from under her face mask. “Not promising anything.”
Danica giggled too, softer, but it was enough. The heaviness thinned, replaced by warmth.
