Chapter One

Late afternoon sunlight shifted across the pale-green walls in gentle waves. The scent of lavender hung like a perforated cloud, wisps of peppermint sneaking through with every lazy spin of the ceiling fan. A trickle of late winter air, the kind that wants to warm to the oncoming spring but is still tipped with a frost that won’t let go, wound itself around the room, sweeping into corners and swirling idle dust motes into flurries.

Nicole Callahan stood facing the closet doors. Despite the peaceful current dominating the bedroom, her internal tornado was as powerful as ever, yanking her senses one direction, then the next. She’d love nothing more than to take a deep inhale of that spa-like air, let it consume her until she drifted into a serene nap. Hell, she’d even let the window stay cracked even though she ran cold.

Her eyes, betraying her as always, darted over to the bed. The sheets were in total disarray, a cool contrast to the perfectly made bed she’d encountered upon walking into the bedroom. No, she wouldn’t become an icicle if she cocooned herself in that luxurious down comforter. She was familiar enough with that particular bed to know that regardless of how much February air whipped through the room, she’d be perfectly comfortable and warm. Too comfortable, maybe—yet never quite the right kind of comfortable.

Nicole focused her eyes on her shirt, resuming the task of buttoning up. It shouldn’t take that much concentration, but for some ridiculous reason, Nicole inevitably misbuttoned her flannels every damn time. She’d tried watching herself in the mirror, not watching at all, buttoning one and then letting her hands do the rest of the work while her eyes and brain went somewhere else—it all led to the same lopsided result. The only solution was to stare at her fingers as they fumbled their way down the line, one by one, the entire time.

The sound of a fitted sheet being yanked from its corner made Nicole jump the slightest bit. She inhaled deeply, willing the lavender and peppermint to do their soothing and energizing work. (“Soothe the brain enough to energize the will to live,” she’d joked once, and received an unamused eye roll in response; no one got her admittedly dark humor anymore.) She held the therapeutic air in her lungs, and on the exhale, pushed out a “Thanks.”

A snorted laugh bounced back to her. “You can thank me via Venmo.”

Shame rimmed with embarrassment flooded her as she turned to face the other woman in the room. “Excuse me? Since when is that a thing? I’m not—I’m not some kind of whore.”

Another laugh rang through the quiet room, this one less snorted and more amused. Brynn crossed the space between them and stood in front of her.

“Technically, if you’re paying me, that makes me the whore.” Brynn’s deep-brown eyes glittered. Nicole couldn’t help but stare at her smile, which was amused and bright as ever. It was easier than looking her in the eyes at moments like this. “But I was referring to lunch yesterday. You never paid me.”

“Oh,” Nicole breathed, shaking her head. She took a step backward. “Right. Sorry, I’ll do that.” She glanced down, realizing she hadn’t put on her pants yet. “When I find my phone.”

“Poor comedic timing?”

“The worst, Brynn, seriously. Please don’t do an open mic night anytime soon.” Nicole cracked a smile, not caring that it was as lopsided as her misbuttoned shirts. Awkward moment averted. She knew Brynn—she knew what they were doing—and she should have known that was a joke. That day, though, nothing felt funny. She swatted Brynn’s shoulder before grabbing her pants from the floor. “But I guess it was kind of funny, considering.”

“See, I knew you’d get it. You could put your clothes on the chair, you know.”

“You say that every time,” Nicole murmured, pulling her jeans up and zipping them.

“And you never listen.” Brynn laughed again, this one light and carefree.

Nicole sat on the aforementioned chair to put on her socks and shoes. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t get used to this, wouldn’t get complacent or expectant—and definitely wouldn’t get feelings—but after three months of sex-on-demand, she’d come to accept Brynn as part of her life. A needed part of her life. And, if she was being honest, a helpful part. A part she relied on.

“You might want to splash some water on your face before you go,” Brynn said casually as she finished stripping the bed.

Even though Brynn’s back was to her, Nicole nodded politely. Once she was confident the laces of her shoes were tied in such a way that they definitely would not untie themselves, she wordlessly left the bedroom and made her way down the hall to the bathroom. She could never bring herself to use the en suite; it felt too personal. Too real. Too intimate.

Nicole closed the bathroom door behind her. Avoiding her reflection in the too-large mirror, she glanced down to make sure her buttons were snug in their assigned holes. Her fingers drifted down the line slowly, prolonging the moment to avoid facing the music.

Or, more accurately, facing herself. In the mirror.

During the first few weeks, she’d gasped every time. By now, she was accustomed to the angry red blotches scattered across her cheeks. She was used to the paleness hovering beneath the colored spots. Her lips, colorless and bruised all at once.

But she could not get used to the swollen eyes that stared back at her, stripped of their usual lively cornflower blue color. It was like someone came in and suctioned out every bit of life from her eyes, leaving them an icy pale blue, a shade alarmingly close to white. No shield remained to hide the emptiness.

If there was a word that went beyond “empty,” that’s what Nicole felt. Plundered, perhaps. Devoid.

Like her dad once said: “Someone stole your flowers, leaving you an empty vase with legs.” Hank Callahan wasn’t the most philosophical guy, but the day he dropped that on her, she’d stared mutely at her phone for a full two minutes while her dad switched topics and rambled on about the new golf course in his town.

“Vase, vaz,” Nicole said to her reflection. One corner of her mouth lifted while the other seemed to drag down. Don’t think about that now.

The splash of cold water on her face snapped Nicole’s attention away from the enticing edge of a memory. She focused on scrubbing her face, letting the cold numb her.

A few minutes later, she paused outside the bathroom door, listening carefully to deduce Brynn’s location in the house. Running water followed by the snapping sounds of a dog’s ears shaking back and forth cued her to the kitchen, and she walked in that direction.

Brynn was waiting, holding out a glass of water. Nicole took it gratefully, draining it before handing the glass back. Bronx, Brynn’s goofy black Lab-pit bull mix, looked back and forth between them, probably wondering who was going to take him for a walk.

“That was a big one,” Brynn remarked. Her voice was casual, as always, giving Nicole the space to engage or run away.

“Anniversary.” It was one word, eleven letters, five simple syllables, but heavy and strewn with meaning.

“Ooh. Today?”

Nicole shook her head. “Tomorrow.”

Brynn reached over and patted Nicole’s shoulder. Fifteen minutes ago, she was deep inside of Nicole, her teeth scraping Nicole’s hips as she nudged her into a powerful, limb-tingling orgasm. And now, the extent of their intimacy was a friendly pat on the shoulder—something a near stranger would do. Nicole fought back a giggle.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?”

With a shrug, Nicole picked up her keys from the kitchen counter. She still wanted to giggle. “I haven’t figured that out yet. I’m sure I’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” Brynn echoed, raising her eyebrows. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, try to keep yourself busy.”

“Sage advice.” Nicole grinned, tempering the mood back to light, where she preferred it.

“That’s not why you come here,” Brynn said, teasing. With Bronx trotting at her side, she walked Nicole to the door, opened it for her, and leveled her with a serious look. “I hope tomorrow is really okay for you.”

“Thanks.” Nicole hesitated, and couldn’t help herself. “And thanks.”

Brynn rolled her eyes and shook her head, but the movements were both tinged with amusement. “Stop thanking me. We’re both benefiting from this…arrangement.”

With a nod, Nicole left. There was really nothing more to say—there never was, and she meant that in the kindest way possible.

Once back in her apartment, Nicole headed straight for her bathroom and stripped. She turned the water on as hot as she could stand it and slid the glass door closed behind her.

Time lost meaning as she stood under the stream of steaming water. She glided her hands over her skin, reclaiming her body. Brynn never left any marks, an agreement they’d made after their first encounter left Nicole with pleasurable but ugly bruises on her inner thighs.

Nicole waited under the heady stream for more tears to come, but her eyes remained dry. She was surprised; this part of the ritual usually coaxed out any remaining tears. Brynn’s words filtered through her mind: “That was a big one.” Nicole sighed, resting her forehead against the cool, pristine white tile. Apparently so big that it had completely wrung her out.

As she toweled off, she dared another look in the mirror. Some of the swelling in her eyes had departed, allowing whispers of bright blue to ease back into her irises. They still looked vacant, though. Sad. Glossy, in a strangely pretty way. But sad.

Deciding it was pointless to get dressed, Nicole made her way to her bedroom and crawled under the blanket. Lying on her side, she hugged her knees to her chest. She waited for the pressure in her chest to dissipate, knowing it wouldn’t. Maybe someday, but not today. Grief had a way of digging its claws into the most tender parts of a person’s body, latching on and holding tight, and it had a grip on Nicole that felt everlasting.

Something internal, quiet and annoying as always, compelled her to poke an arm out of her blanket nest long enough to grab her phone from the bedside table. In the shadows beneath the blanket, Nicole scrolled until she reached the app she swore she’d never download, never use, never even entertain. It was Brynn’s fault, actually: they’d had a little too much wine one night a couple weeks ago, and after Nicole cried about being alone forever, she’d gone to the bathroom, leaving her unlocked phone next to Brynn. When she returned, Brynn had a devilish smile on her face. It wasn’t until the next afternoon that Nicole found the app on her phone, the sole icon in a folder titled “Someday You’ll Want This.”

She’d cried again, then, realizing it was true and Brynn was right.

With a huff, Nicole shoved her phone back out of her sacred blanket nest. Someday, probably, but someday wasn’t today.