Gwen leaned closer, brow furrowed, like she was trying to decipher a foreign language.
That only made Maggie cry harder. She buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking, half laughing through the sobs. “I’m sorry,” she hiccuped, cutting out the middle of her sentence. “A mess.”
Gwen’s hand rubbed slow circles between her shoulder blades, warm and steady. “Then be a mess,” she murmured. “I’ve got you.”
Maggie peeked at her through her fingers, tears streaking her cheeks, mascara probably halfway down her face by now. Gwen was still watching her — earnest, soft, eyes shining like she meant every word she’d just confessed.
And it gutted Maggie all over again, because she wanted to believe it. She wanted to believe every syllable.
Her chest felt too full, her heart breaking and mending at the same time.
The words clawed their way out of her throat between sobs, wet and inelegant but true. “I love you, too.”
Gwen froze, like she hadn’t dared to hope she’d hear it again. “Even if I don’t have a job and we lose everything?” she asked softly, voice trembling at the edges.
Maggie lowered her hands, blotchy and red-faced, tears streaking freely now. “You’ll land on your feet. You always do. And maybe… maybe this time you’ll land somewhere better. Somewhere meant for you. Something more fulfilling.”
Gwen’s lips parted, as if the words were too much to take in. “And us?” she whispered.
Maggie inhaled, ragged, the night air cold in her lungs. Her gaze dropped to the surface of the lake, because saying it while looking at Gwen felt impossible. “I wasn’t dealing with my stuff,” she admitted, voice thick. “With losing my mom, and the pregnancy before. With how much it gutted me. I just… shoved it all down, and when it spilled out, I aimed it at you.”
Her throat worked, the confession scraping raw. “I weaponized my sadness. Made it your fault. Punished you for not being able to fix me. But, I’m making some really good progress in therapy.”
Gwen’s hand was still warm on her back, steady. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t argue. She just listened, like maybe this was what Maggie had been waiting for all along, space to finally say it out loud.
Maggie swiped at her eyes again, hiccuping another half laugh. “So, yeah. We’re both disasters.”
Gwen leaned in, her forehead resting gently against Maggie’s temple. “Maybe, but we’re disasters who still love each other.”
For a long moment they just sat there, shoulders touching, the string lights humming above them and the water stretching into endless dark. Maggie’s breathing evened out, though her cheeks were still damp, and Gwen didn’t move except to keep her hand steady against Maggie’s back.
Maggie turned, finally, meeting her eyes. Gwen looked wrecked in the best way — rumpled from travel, tired around the edges, but wide open in a way Maggie hadn’t seen in years. No walls. No office face. Just Gwen.
And Maggie leaned in.
Slow. Careful. The opposite of Vegas, where they’d collided like fire and gasoline. This was soft, tentative, the kind of kiss that felt like a question and an answer at the same time.
Gwen’s lips were warm against hers, the faint taste of wine lingering. Maggie sighed into it, her chest loosening, her hands trembling as she cupped Gwen’s jaw. The world narrowed to that one small point — the press of her mouth, the solid heat of her shoulder, the steadiness Maggie had missed so much it hurt.
When they pulled back, Gwen kept her forehead restingagainst Maggie’s, eyes closed, breath mingling in the cold night air.
“Promise me,” Maggie whispered, voice breaking.
“Anything.”
“Don’t disappear again.”
Gwen’s thumb brushed the damp trail of tears from her cheek. “I won’t.”
And then they kissed again, softer still, like sealing it. Not a grand gesture. Not fireworks. Just the quiet truth of finding each other again at the edge of a lake.
The kiss lingered, slow and soft, until Maggie pulled back just enough to see her. Gwen’s tie was crooked, her dress shirt rolled up to her elbows, and somehow it made her look devastatingly good — like the version of Gwen Maggie always wanted to keep for herself, stripped of polish but still steady, still hers.
“I wish those bunk beds weren’t singles.” Maggie whispered, the words spilling out before she could think.
Gwen blinked. “What?”
“Because you look so hot right now,” Maggie said, her voice shaking but sure. “And I’ve missed you so much, and I have to have you right now.”
