The air was crisp, smell of sea air mingled with slight scent of lavender and rosemary from the garden. The wind was picking up from the mountains, ruffling Frances’s curs as she stepped outside followed by Yaz who was a bit nervous today. 

 

"Wait!" Yaz stopped dead in her tracks as soon as she stepped outside 

 

"What?" Frances turned moving wind blown hair from her face just as she opened the car door 

 

"Folder..." Yaz said quickly and ran back inside 

 

She rushed down the hallway and straight into the kitchen. Susan lifted her head from the newspaper and Lily stopped mid bite of her toast 

 

"You alright honey?" Susan asked confused 

 

"Are you staying with us?" Lily asked chirfully 

 

"No poppet" Yaz kissed the top of her head quickly as she reached over her shoulder for the folder she left on the table "Just forgot this" 

 

Lily pouted in disappointment but made her peace with it quickly, continuing to eat. 

 

"Go on then," Susan laughed "Don't wanna be late the first day" 

 

"No, I definitely don't" Yaz said on a way out "See ya" 

 

"Bye!" Susan chuckled, shaking her head as she continued to read 

 

"Where is she going?" Lily asked with her mouth full 

 

"To the studio darling. For your mummy’s new picture. Yaz is her costume designer this time." 

 

"Is she making her a dress?" 

 

"She's making loads of clothes for her honey." Susan explained "Don't talk and chew hun, you're gonna get food stuck" 

 

In the meantime, Frances sat in the car waiting. She leaned forward looking up at some dark clouds gathering in the sky. 

 

Yaz ran outside waiving her folder "Alright, got it" she quickly slid into the passenger seat slamming the door behind her and threw the folder on the back seat "Alright, let's go!" 

 

"Looks like it's gonna rain" Frances said as she slowly drove twards the gate "I didn't take umbrella." 

 

"I got it, and I think there's one in a booth" 

 

"Great cause I want us to make an impression not looking like rats today" she chuckled waiving her hand to the gatekeeper as she pulled out into the road. 

 

Yaz shook her head laughing "Absolutely, impression is everything." 

 

"By the way...I need to talk to you later this evening." 

 

"About?" 

 

"New house keeper. Nicole’s got few ladies in mind. I want us to have a look together." 

 

"Sure." 

 

They fell into a comfortable silence, Yaz switched on the radio, just to hear news about the cold war tensions rising and quickly changed the station to some music. 

 

"That thing's giving me chills" she muttered 

 

"Tell me about it. Just when you think people had enough of two wars." 

 

"People have, but those at the top obviously have too much time on their hands" Yaz said looking outside at the raindrops slowly sliding down the window. 

 

"Do you think we'll have another war?" Frances asked giving her short nervous glance 

 

"Dunno...But if we will, it won't be like the last one..." Yaz said seriously. 

 

It was a topic they rarely discussed. But every so often it would come up in a conversation and they would both quickly change the subject. 

 

After a long quiet moment Frances suddenly cheered up. "I forgot to tell you" she grinned "Helen is doing another brunch next Saturday. Lily’s going" 

 

Yaz turned with a smile. 

 

.....

 

 

Paramount Studios stood bathed in the soft grey light of a cloudy morning, its familiar gates framed by rows of tall palms swaying gently in the breeze. Frances pulled the car into the lot, nodding at the security guard as he tipped his cap and opened the barrier with a practiced wave. 

 

“Back in borrowed territory,” Frances said with a small smirk, easing the car into a parking spot near the main building. “Try not to start a costume revolution on your first day.” 

 

Yaz let out a quiet laugh, smoothing the front of her coat as she stepped out. “No promises. Though I’m keeping the Molotov sketches for week two.” 

 

They walked toward the wardrobe building side by side, heels clicking softly on the pavement. Yaz glanced up at the studio lot signs and the rows of trailers and sound stages. 

 

“It’s not that different from MGM,” she said, eyes scanning the grounds. “Smells the same too, paint, varnish, and whatever they're cooking at the commissary.” 

 

Frances smiled. “That’ll be the tuna surprise. Still haunting the backlots after all these years.” 

 

Inside, they were greeted by a young assistant from the wardrobe department, Celia, who Yaz had met briefly during her initial meeting. 

 

“Morning, Miss Louise, Miss...sorry, Khan.” She beamed nervously, clipboard in hand. “You’re in Fitting Room B. Wardrobe said to take all the time you need.” 

 

“Thanks, Celia,” Yaz said warmly. “And please, Yaz is fine.” 

 

The assistant led them through a corridor lined with racks of costumes, silks, wool suits, petticoats, sequins, hats on mannequin heads, all for various productions in full swing. The smell of starch and pressed linen filled the air. 

 

Fitting Room B was cozy, with soft lighting, a large full-length mirror, and a waist-high table stacked with measuring tapes, fabric swatches, and sketch pads. A padded stool stood beside a small raised platform where actors usually stood for fittings. A privacy screen sat in the corner, with a few costume hangers nearby holding mock-ups. 

 

Frances hung her coat and and walked behind the screen. Once undressed only in her underwear and a silk slip she stepped up onto the platform. Yaz laid her folder on the table and flipped it open, taking out her notes, swatches, and design drafts for the film. 

 

“All right, madam star,” Yaz said, tugging a tape measure from around her neck. “Let’s make this official.” 

 

Frances raised an eyebrow. “Even though you already know my hips better than my own dress form?” 

 

Yaz smirked, eyes twinkling. “Rules are rules. Besides, I’m getting good at pretending we’re just colleagues.” 

 

“I appreciate the effort. Though you do blush when I wink at you across a meeting.” 

 

“I do not!” Yaz laughed as she knelt to measure Frances’s inseam, scribbling numbers into her notebook. 

 

“You absolutely do.” 

 

Yaz stood, gently wrapping the tape around Frances’s chest. “Well... you're blushing now,” she teased, glancing up with a cheeky smile. 

 

Frances leaned in, aiming for a quick kiss, but Yaz playfully dodged, letting out a laugh. 

 

“Minie!” Frances chuckled, shaking her head. 

 

The door opened briefly and one of the Paramount seamstresses peeked in. 

 

“Morning, ladies. Need anything?” she asked, friendly but respectful. 

 

“All good for now, thanks, Anna. We’ll call you in once I’ve finished the chart.” 

 

"Okay" she smiled closing the door 

 

The door shut again and Frances leaned a little toward Yaz, voice low. “It’s weird being here. I’ve shot three pictures in this building, and yet now I feel like a guest.” 

 

“We kind of are,” Yaz said, moving to measure her bust. “But at least they rolled out the welcome mat. You even got fresh flowers in your dressing room.” 

 

“They did that for Helen once too,” Frances whispered. “Except hers were fake. She lit a cigarette too close and the whole bouquet went up in smoke.” 

 

Yaz grinned. “Tragic, but stylish.” 

 

When the last measurements were noted, Yaz stood back and gave Frances a once-over with her designer’s eye, head tilted slightly. 

 

“All right. I’ve got what I need. I’ll start mocking up the dressing gown scene first. That’ll be simple to test the cut. Then we’ll go full throttle into the trench coat and satins.” 

 

Frances stepped down and reaching for her blouse. “Trench coat’s for the scene in the rain, right?” 

 

“Yep. I’m thinking charcoal grey, fitted waist, wide lapels.” 

 

“Can you line it in dark red?” Frances asked, slipping her arm through the sleeve. “For me?” 

 

Yaz glanced up, surprised. “Red? Like wine red?” 

 

“Yes...I want something that feels… dangerous underneath, it would look beautiful on close-ups. Just for her. You know?” 

 

Yaz paused, then smiled. “Red it is.” 

 

They shared a quick look before Frances broke it with a light, teasing tone. "Lunch is on me after we're done. Unless you want to stay here and measure the mannequin’s inseam too.” 

 

“No thanks. He’s not really my type.” 

 

Yaz carefully noted the final measurements in her folder. Frances had slipped back into her trousers and blouse, smoothing her hair in the mirror. 

 

Just as Yaz was capping her pencil, a polite knock sounded on the fitting room door. A young assistant peeked in. 

 

“Miss Louise, they’re ready for you upstairs.” 

 

"Thank you, give me a moment" Frances let out a long-suffering sigh. “Of course they are,” she murmured. “You’d think they’d give me five minutes to breathe. Wanted to make sure you settle in.” 

 

Yaz smiled, trying not to show how much she’d miss her for the next couple hours. “Go on, movie star,” she teased. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got half a dozen forms to fill out and more swatches to look through than I’ve got sense.” 

 

Frances glanced at the assistant who was waiting just outside, then quickly turned and gently closed the fitting room door. Alone now in the quiet space, she stepped close to Yaz. 

 

“Two hours?” she asked softly brushing her hands over Yaz's arms. 

 

“Two hours,” Yaz nodded, her voice low and warm. 

 

Frances leaned in and gave her a soft kiss, brief but full of feeling. “Lunch in the commissary?” she murmured against her lips. 

 

“Only if you let me steal your chips,” Yaz whispered with a grin. Her arms closing around Frances’s waist keeping her close. 

 

Frances grinned back. “As if you ever ask.” 

 

Another kiss, then just one more before they pulled apart. Frances gave her lipstick one more check and opened the door again with a cool, professional expression. She gave Yaz a wink only she could see, then followed the assistant out toward the executive offices. 

 

Yaz watched her go for a moment, her heart fluttering, then turned back to the cluttered table and began sorting through the paperwork, her smile lingering as she got to work. 

 

..... 

 

Once Frances had gone, the fitting room felt quieter somehow, still humming with the distant sounds of studio life, the buzz of wardrobe steamers, typewriters clacking in some nearby office, footsteps echoing across the corridors. Yaz let out a long breath, half nerves, half excitement, then reached into her folder to double-check the fabric references. 

 

“Miss Khan?” a voice called gently from the door. 

 

She turned to see a woman in her early fifties, neat as a pin in a fitted navy dress and cat-eye glasses. “Doris. Head of costumes on this one,” the woman said, offering her hand. Her voice was brisk, but her smile warm. 

 

“Oh, lovely to meet you properly,” Yaz replied, shaking her hand. “Thanks for making space for me. I know it’s not always easy with outside designers stepping in.” 

 

Doris waved it off. “Oh honey, you’re not just anyone. Miss Louise insisted we give you whatever you need, and frankly, I’ve seen your sketches and I'm so glad you're a part of our team. You’ve got a good eye, I love your work.” 

 

Yaz flushed with surprise. “Well, thank you. That means a lot coming from you.” 

 

“Come on, let me show you where you can set up while you’re with us. We’ve cleared a corner in one of the side offices. Not much of a view, but it’s yours.” 

 

"I'm sure it's gonna be just fine" 

 

Doris led the way down the corridor, heels tapping against the worn linoleum. Yaz followed, glancing around as they passed large wardrobe racks filled with corsets, trench coats, and post-war tailoring, some labelled neatly with character names. 

 

“Must be a tight schedule,” Yaz remarked. 

 

“It always is,” Doris laughed. “Thrillers eat time like nothing else. Especially when they want every look to work on screen and still be ready by yesterday.” 

 

Yaz grinned, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Sounds familiar.” 

 

They turned into a modest side office where a worktable had been cleared and an old dress form stood in the corner. Sunlight slanted through a high window, catching dust motes in the air. Yaz ran her fingers over the surface of the table and laid down her folder. 

 

"I love it" she smiled 

 

“Let me know if you need anything, buttons, notions, swatches,” Doris said. “We’ll help where we can. You’ve got two of our best seamstresses assigned part-time, and I’ll send someone by with coffee in a bit.” 

 

“You’re spoiling me,” Yaz joked. 

 

"Just make sure you say that when you get back to your studio," Doris said with a wink. 

 

"Yeah… might even swing me a pay rise," Yaz grinned. 

 

Once alone, Yaz took a deep breath and sat down. She opened her folder, thumbing through her sketches, fitted blazers with cinched waists, moody silks in navy and oxblood, a sharp suit that would be the character’s signature look. 

 

But for a moment, her mind drifted. She smiled faintly, thinking of Frances’s kiss, her perfume still faint on Yaz’s blouse. 

 

Outside, the buzz of the studio carried on, voices calling from a nearby office, someone wheeling a heavy dolly across the floor. But in this little corner, Yaz felt herself settle. She belonged here. Not just as a visitor—but as a designer trusted to build something memorable. 

 

....

 

Back at the house, the sunlight spilled through the big bay windows, casting golden squares across the floor. Susan was perched on the edge of the little telephone table in the hallway, a pencil tucked behind her ear, notebook open across her lap. The soft murmur of Lily’s tutor drifted from Frances’s office, measured, patient, and occasionally interrupted by Lily’s bright little voice asking something about butterflies. 

 

Susan picked up the receiver and dialed with practiced fingers, balancing the phone on her shoulder. 

 

“Susan’s Sweet Treats, Debbie speaking.” 

 

“Hey, hon, it’s me. Everything running smooth over there?” 

 

“Oh, hi Susan! Yeah, we’re all good. Just boxed up the peach tarts, and the cinnamon loaves are on the rack.” 

 

“Great. Quick thing, did that birthday cake for the Reynolds boy get sorted?” 

 

“Yep. Got the design signed off yesterday. Little steam train and cowboys.” 

 

Susan let out a short laugh. “Good. Just make sure the icing’s blue, not that weird turquoise like last time. Looked like someone dunked it in mouthwash.” 

 

Debbie laughed. “You got it. Blue icing.” 

 

“And can y’all make sure we’ve got enough chocolate on hand? Get a few extra pounds in, good stuff if you can swing it. Belgian, or that nice French brand. And we’re low on almond paste again.” 

 

“Already on it. Anything else?” 

 

“Yeah, I’ll swing by later this afternoon. I wanna look over the weekend orders myself. You know how I get when I smell a disaster coming.” 

 

Debbie chuckled. “Will do. Everything okay over there?” 

 

“Oh, sure. Lily’s with her tutor, she’s a saint, honestly. Girl’s in there talking about vowels and butterflies like they’re the same thing.” Susan grinned. “I’m just getting few things done while it’s quiet before she asks me to put on a puppet show or make her a peanut butter tower or something.” 

 

They both laughed, and Susan jotted down a few more notes. 

 

“Thanks, hon. I’ll see y’all later.” 

 

“Bye, Susan.” 

 

She hung up, stretched her arms overhead, then slid the pencil back behind her ear. From down the hall, she caught Lily’s voice again “Does ‘o’ always sound like oatmeal?” 

 

Susan smiled to herself heading for the kitchen, already thinking about Lily’s lunch and whether they had enough butter, humming softly to herself as she put the kettle on. 

 

.....

 

 

The sunlight spilled through the tall window of Frances’s home office, dancing across the desk where Lily sat with a pencil clutched tightly in her small hand, rag bunny sat in the corner of the desk keeping her company. Her shoes dangled from the chair, not quite touching the carpet, and her brow was furrowed in deep concentration. 

 

Her tutor, Miss Callahan, young, warm-eyed, and endlessly patient sat beside her, offering an encouraging smile. 

 

“Alright.... Let’s try this one together,” she said, tapping the page lightly. “You’ve got three apples, and someone gives you two more. How many apples do you have now?” 

 

Lily stared at the numbers, lips pursed, the pencil now tapping against the wood. “Um… is it… seven?” 

 

Miss Callahan tilted her head with a gentle chuckle. “Almost, sweetheart. Let’s count it out with our fingers.” 

 

Lily held out her hand, a bit unsure. “Three… and two… that’s…” 

 

Miss Callahan softly touched her fingertips. “Let’s count them. One, two, three… now add two more… four, five.” 

 

Lily’s eyes lit up. “Oh! Five!” 

 

“There you go,” Miss Callahan beamed. “See? You got it.” 

 

“But I always forget,” Lily said in a small voice, dropping the pencil and tugging at her sleeve. “My brain gets all... mixed up.” 

 

Miss Callahan reached over and gently touched her hand. “That’s alright, sweetie. Everyone’s brain works a little differently. What matters is that you don’t give up. And look, you figured it out, didn’t you?” 

 

Lily gave a shy little nod, cheeks pink but pleased. 

 

Miss Callahan flipped to the next page. “Now how about we draw those apples? You can make one of them sparkly if you like.” 

 

That got a giggle from Lily, and she picked up her colored pencils without hesitation. 

 

From down the hallway, the warm murmur of Susan’s voice singing some song from the radio drifted in, mixing with the faint clank of dishes. of cinnamon buns cooling in the kitchen. The house finally felt safe, calm, and full of quiet encouragement. 

 

Just the way Lily needed it to be. 

 

.....

 

 

The wide cavernous stage buzzed with low-key activity, a hive of quiet motion. Massive rigging hung overhead, lights draped with muslin cloth for soft tests, and tape marked off key spots across the smooth concrete floor. A skeletal version of the living room set, a few flats, stand-in furniture, and mock walls stood off-center, surrounded by cables, rolling equipment carts, and a makeshift craft table with coffee and orange slices. 

 

Frances stepped onto the stage with script in hand, wearing high-waisted trousers and a tucked-in blouse. She paused just a moment to take it in, the familiar dance of the crew, the scent of sawdust and metal, the distant clatter of someone adjusting a C-stand. 

 

“Morning, Frances!” came a friendly voice from behind a clipboard. 

 

“Morning,” she replied with a grin, nodding to the assistant director. “You keeping this circus on time today?” 

 

“Trying. Don’t jinx me.” 

 

Frances chuckled and walked toward the mock set, where the director, crouched over a shot list with the cinematographer. He looked up and beamed. 

 

“Ah, there she is. The dame of the hour.” 

 

Frances rolled her eyes playfully. “You flatter me too early in the day, Paul.” 

 

“I gotta get it in before you start correcting all my blocking,” he teased, straightening up. “How are we feeling?” 

 

“Ready to stretch the legs.” 

 

“Perfect. We’ll start with scene 17, kitchen, morning after the phone call. You cross to the sink, react to the letter, then sit.” 

 

She nodded and crossed to the taped mark on the floor where a stand-in table sat. A stagehand handed her a prop envelope, slightly worn at the corners. Frances took it naturally and practiced the opening motion with her fingers while listening. 

 

“I’m thinking you open it on the walk, that way the turn to the window reads with more tension. Let’s run it slow first, camera’s not rolling, just for rhythm.” 

 

Her co-star gave her a quick wave from across the set, still in trousers and suspenders, thumbing through his marked script. He had a natural bounce in his step as he joined her on the floor. 

 

“Morning madam,” he said in mock seriousness, bowing to her and tipping an invisible hat. 

 

“Oh behave,” she laughed smacking his shoulder with a script 

 

Someone nearby laughed. The mood was warm, focused but easy. 

 

As the blocking began, Paul called out cues gently, where to turn, how to angle slightly for camera. Frances adjusted naturally, always aware of her light, even without a mirror. When her costar flubbed a line for the fifth time during one pass, she cracked, “Well, we’ll be here ‘til Christmas,” drawing good-natured laughter. 

 

From behind the camera setup, the D.P. called out, “Frances, that pivot you did, perfect for the two-shot. Hold that angle.” 

 

She nodded once, “Noted,” already storing it for next time. 

 

Between takes, a production assistant handed her a fresh cup of coffee. 

 

“God bless you.” she accepted gratefully 

 

She was about to light her cigarette when someone’s clipboard clattered to the floor and made a startling bang. Frances jumped so much she almost dropped  her cigarette and turned toward the sound, hand over her heart, then laughed at herself. 

 

“Don’t worry,” her costar said dryly. “That’s our thriller element.” 

 

They both laughed. 

 

The rehearsal continued like clockwork, a small symphony of movement and creativity. Frances moved easily between her lines and moments of consultation, always respectful, always warm. 

 

By the end of the second run-through, Paul clapped his hands together. “Alright, folks! Great work. Let’s reset and bring in the camera crew to start testing framing.” 

 

Frances slipped off the set, stretching one shoulder, and sat down on a nearby director’s chair. 

 

One of the younger PAs leaned in, whispering nervously, “You were incredible, Miss Louise....I'm  a big fan.” 

 

"Thank you...That's so sweet" She gave him a warm smile. 

 

..... 

 

Back at the house Susan crouched beside Lily, carefully fastening the buttons on the little cream cardigan over her pale blue dress. The girl fidgeted excitedly, her bag slung across her shoulder. 

 

“Snacks are in the front pocket,” Susan said, giving the bag a gentle pat. “Banana bread and those cheese crackers you like.” 

 

Lily beamed. “With the little grapes?” 

 

“Course. Wouldn’t forget the grapes.” 

 

From outside, a car door shut, and the sound of footsteps on gravel approached. 

 

Susan helped Lily into her shoes, straightened her collar, then took her by the hand and walked her toward the door. 

 

Danny stood by the car, tall in his pressed jacket and cap, arms casually behind his back, the sleek black vehicle waiting just behind him. He gave a professional nod. "Morning ma'am" 

 

"Good morning" Susan smiled politely 

 

"Hiii!" Lily waived with a big smile 

 

"Morning princess, ready to go?" 

 

"Yes!" she nodded haply 

 

Susan smiled, brushing Lily’s fringe aside and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “You have a lovely time, sweetheart, and I’ll see you this afternoon, alright?” 

 

“Okay!” Lily chirped, already halfway down the steps. 

 

Susan followed her out and stepped toward Danny. 

 

“Hello, I’m Susan,” she said with a polite smile, extending her hand. 

 

“Danny, ma’am. Pleasure to meet you.” He shook her hand with a respectful nod. 

 

She handed him a small folded note. “This is for later, please bring her to my shop after class. It’s all cleared with Frances.” 

 

Danny glanced at it, then nodded. “Miss Louise already gave me the address. Said you run the bakery Susan’s Sweet Treats?” 

 

“That’s the one. We’re frosting a birthday cake today, figured Lily might want to help supervise.” 

 

"Of course," Danny nodded 

 

At this, Lily’s eyes lit up. “Is it a chocolate cake?” 

 

“The very chocolatiest.” 

 

That was all she needed. Lily clambered into the back seat with ease, already chatting away to Danny as he opened the door for her. 

 

“I like this car better than the old one,” she said cheerfully as she buckled in. “It smells nicer.” 

 

Danny laughed, surprised. “I’ll let the car know you approve.” 

 

Susan lingered by the steps, arms folded lightly as the car rolled away. From the back seat window, Lily’s small hand popped up, waving excitedly. 

 

Susan smiled, raised one hand, and blew her a kiss. “Bye, sweetheart!” 

 

Lily pressed her hand to the window and waved harder, until the car turned the corner and disappeared out of view. 

 

Susan stood still for a moment, then turned back inside with a fond, quiet smile. 

 

..... 

 

With their busy schedule the lunch break came faster than expected. They’d snagged a cozy corner table at a little bistro just off Melrose, one of those places with checkered tablecloths and chipped coffee mugs that Frances loved for its lack of fuss. The waiter had just dropped off their sandwiches and poured the second round of iced tea when Frances leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. 

 

“So… how’d it go?” she asked, lifting the top of her sandwich like it might be hiding treasure. 

 

“They’re really spoiling me, you know,” Yaz said, picking at the crust of her grilled cheese. “My office is lovely, they brought me a coffee… and guess what, they even gave me my own phone.” 

 

“Well, you deserve it.” Frances smirked, dabbing her chip into ketchup “Told you they’d be impressed.” 

 

Yaz let out a laugh. “Hardly! Though I’m sure being on your arm hasn’t hurt my chances.” 

 

“Mmm-mm,” Frances mumbled, mid-chew,, “Nope. Not this time. Face it, darling, you’ve got a name now. A reputation.” 

 

Yaz nearly spluttered into her tea. “Oh, come off it. Doris literally told me you instructed them to give me whatever I need” She wiped her mouth, shaking her head with a grin. 

 

"Of course I did...how are you supposed to your  work? But I never told them to give you a phone....I forgot...So see...that's all you." 

 

Yaz burst  out laughing “Honestly, your enthusiasm’s ridiculous.” 

 

“I mean every word,” Frances said, her voice softening. “Look at you, you’re at Paramount, designing wardrobe for the lead on a major film. People notice that.” 

 

Yaz leaned in a little, lowering her voice. “Or maybe it’s just that the lead happens to be someone I kiss goodnight.” 

 

Frances pointed at her, grinning. “You sold yourself. You walked into that meeting and knocked ’em flat. I don’t pick the crew. I just asked.” 

 

“Still…” Yaz tilted her head, pretending to sulk. “Bit of favouritism, don’t you think?” 

 

“Nope,” Frances said with a mock shrug. “You’re just talented and adorable. Not my fault.” 

 

Yaz rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you’re worse than Susan.” 

 

Frances chuckled. “Now that’s high praise.” 

 

They both laughed, Yaz reaching across to steal a bit of lettuce from Frances’s plate. Frances let her, smiling like the sun had come out just for this lunch. 

 

“So,” Yaz said, before taking another bite, “enough about me being lavished with coffee and telephones. How was your day?” 

 

Frances sipped her tea and gave a content little sigh. “Surprisingly good, actually. Blocking went smooth, no one tried to talk over the director, and the set's already shaping up beautifully. Everyone’s friendly, no egos, no crap. It’s… weird.” 

 

“Weird? Weird  how?” Yaz raised a brow. 

 

Frances laughed softly, “In a good way for once. If the rest of the shoot goes like this, I might start getting ideas about swapping studios.” 

 

Yaz froze mid-sip, eyes going wide. “Wait  WHAT?” 

 

Frances burst into laughter, nearly spilling her tea. “Oh, relax! I’ve got another year on my contract, remember?” 

 

Yaz narrowed her eyes. “Don’t mess about that! I was already picturing myself packing up and pleading for a desk job.” 

 

Frances laughed reaching over squeezing her hand. “Please. Wherever I go, you go. You’re my designer now. Can’t do a film without you, darling.” 

 

“Aha! There it is. Favouritism!” 

 

“Semantics.” 

 

“Oh, semantics, is it?” Yaz shook her head, laughing. “You Hollywood types really do have an answer for everything.” 

 

“Only the important things,” Frances said, reaching over to steal a chip off Yaz’s plate. 

 

Yaz gasped. “Oi! That’s favouritism too!” 

 

“Perks of being the lead, sweetheart.” she winked 

 

They both dissolved into giggles, their plates forgotten as their knees bumped under the table and the world outside the café slipped away. 

 

..... 

 

The community hall smelled faintly of crayons and floor polish, its walls lined with faded bunting from some long-past celebration. At the far end, a modest stage had been dressed up with hand-painted trees and a cardboard clock tower that leaned ever so slightly to the right. 

 

Six-year-olds buzzed about in a chaotic whirl of glittering crowns, oversized ballgowns, and mouse ears made from felt and pipe cleaners. Among them sat Lily, her legs tucked beneath her in a soft grey costume that had a little tail sewn onto the back. Felt ears flopped gently on her headband as she mouthed her lines in silence, lips moving with quiet concentration. 

 

Miss Charlene clapped her hands twice to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, my little stars! Let’s take it from where Cinderella loses her slipper, mice, get ready!” 

 

Lily looked up, blinking. She nodded hesitantly, fingers clenched into her costume. Her part was small, just few lines, but she'd been practicing them all morning, whispering them to herself even in the car ride here. 

 

Behind her, a boy leaned close. 

 

“Hope the mouse remembers her lines this time,” Benny muttered with a smirk, his words too loud to be private. A couple of nearby children snorted with stifled laughter. 

 

Miss Charlene’s head snapped up. 

 

“Benny!” 

 

Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was enough to silence the room. 

 

“We don’t talk that way to our castmates,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. “Everyone here is trying their best, and some are extra brave just for showing up. You understand?” 

 

Benny shrugged. “Yes, ma’am.” 

 

Miss Charlene offered Lily a soft smile. “You’re doing great, sweetheart.” 

 

The scene began again. The children playing footmen scampered in mismatched directions. It was sweetly chaotic. 

 

Lily hesitated crouched down by the wooden pumpkin with other children playing mice. 

 

Her eyes flicked toward the back of the hall, where Danny stood leaning near the door, his cap in his hands, watching. The little smile he gave her when he saw her waiting gave her a little boost of courage. 

 

Her heart hammered as she peaked behind the wooden pumpkin "Psst! Do you think he’ll ever find her?" She said, barely above a whisper. 

 

One of the other mice twitched imaginary whiskers “We must help her!” 

 

The pretend Prince stumbled through his line with endearing enthusiasm, waving slipper over his head. "I will try it on every maiden in the kingdom, until I find the one!" 

 

Lily continued, a little louder, “He could just ask the fairy godmother." 

 

"Or checked the guest list!" The girl playing the other mouse said her lines 

 

Lily’s eyes flickered back to Danny. He gave her a gentle thumbs-up and a warm, proud smile. Her heart lifted. She smiled back, her nerves easing, comforted just by knowing he was there. 

 

A few of the children grinned, falling into rhythm now that they’d remembered their own lines. The scene carried on, clumsy but full of energy. Miss Charlene clapped softly from the side, her eyes twinkling. 

 

By the time the bows came, Lily curtsied with the tiniest of nods, her cheeks pink with pride. Danny, still standing by the door, couldn’t help but clap softly, pride written all over his face. 

 

Miss Charlene met Lily as she skipped offstage, crouching beside her. 

 

“You were wonderful, Lily,” she said. “You remembered every word this time.” 

 

“Even the magic bit?” Lily asked, eyes wide. 

 

“Especially the magic bit,” Miss Charlene said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. 

 

.... 

 

The scent of vanilla and melted sugar hung thick in the air, curling around the light laughter that drifted from the back of Susan’s shop. The main lights were dimmed now, the storefront closed to customers, leaving just the soft overhead glow above the work counter where Susan and Lily stood side by side. 

 

Or rather, Susan worked. Lily, on the other hand, stood on a sturdy little stool with her sleeves rolled up and a look of great concentration on her face, her small hands clumsily gripping a piping bag. In front of her sat a tiny sponge cake, carefully baked earlier that morning by Susan just for this purpose. 

 

“Now remember,” Susan said gently, guiding Lily’s hand, “steady pressure, sweetheart. Not too hard, or it’ll all come blubbin’ out the top.” 

 

“I’m tryin’,” Lily replied, tongue poking out slightly as she focused, squeezing out a somewhat wobbly swirl of pink icing across the edge of her cake. 

 

“That's not bad at all,” Susan smiled. “Just ease up a smidge, like this...” she reached over and helped adjust Lily’s grip. “There. You got it now.” 

 

Lily nodded solemnly like she’d just been handed the keys to the kingdom and tried again, this time producing a slightly neater curl of frosting. She looked up at Susan with hopeful eyes. “Did I do it right?” 

 

Susan beamed and kissed the top of her head. “You did just fine, sugar. That’s a proper little rose, look at that. Keep on going.” She returned to her own cake, her hands moving quickly and expertly, decorating the final tier with small buttercream rosettes. 

 

Lily beamed with pride and piped another lopsided flower. 

 

When they were nearly done, Susan leaned down and opened a little box beside her. “Alright, time to finish it up. Look I've got.” She handed Lily two pink candied roses. 

 

"Waaaw...they're so pretty." She held the rose gently in her hand tracing petals with her finger ever so lightly "Did you make them?" 

 

"Yap...I'll teach you one day. But you need to master the piping ...Basics first." 

 

Together they placed them on the top of their cakes. Then stood back admiring their work. Lily’s cake, a bit lopsided and some icing dripping from the sides, but she was nevertheless proud of her creation. 

 

“There,” Susan said, satisfied, wiping her hands on a cloth. “I reckon we make a pretty good team.” 

 

Lily nodded with wide eyes, admiring their work. “Can I take mine home?” 

 

“You bet you can.” Susan carefully slid Lily’s little cake into its own white box lined with parchment, tying it with a soft pink ribbon. “We’ll bring it back for your Mummy and Yaz. You can surprise them.” 

 

Lily clapped her icing smudged hands together, delighted. “They’re gonna love it!” 

 

“I reckon they will.” Susan tousled her hair gently. “You’ve earned yourself a proud baker’s badge tonight, missy.” 

 

Lily puffed up with pride, looking at her box like it was full of crown jewels, and Susan smiled as she looked back at her, this brave, curious little girl who, without even knowing it, had filled her shop with something brighter than any frosting ever could. 

 

.....

 

 

The sun had dipped low behind the hills, casting a soft golden hue over the quiet street as Frances eased the car up to the curb in front of the cake shop. She parked neatly and gave a short, playful beep of the horn. Yaz, in the passenger seat, was already unbuckling her seatbelt with a smile. 

 

Inside the shop, the sound sent Lily’s head popping up from behind the counter. Her eyes lit up. 

 

“Mummy!” she cried, her voice full of joy as she bolted for the door. 

 

Susan emerged right behind her, carefully carrying the small white box tied with a pink ribbon. She held it steady as Lily skipped ahead, her curls bouncing with each step. Yaz was already stepping out of the car when Lily flung herself into her arms. 

 

“I made a cake!” Lily announced proudly. “A real one, with roses on top and everything!” 

 

“You did?” Yaz gasped with mock surprise, crouching down. “All by yourself?” 

 

“Well... mostly,” Lily admitted, glancing back at Susan with a grin. “But I did the piping and the roses!” 

 

Frances had come around the car by then, hands in her coat pockets, smiling at the sight of them. She leaned down giving her daughter a loving squeeze and brushed a kiss to her head.

“That’s our clever girl,” she said warmly. "Can't  wait to see it" 

 

Susan handed over the box. “She worked real hard on it. A little baker, that one.” 

 

Frances took the cake with a nod of gratitude, her voice sincere. “Thank you for looking after her, Susan. I know it’s been a lot. We’re still trying to sort something more permanent.” 

 

Susan waved her hand like she was swatting a fly. “Oh, don’t fuss. It’s my excuse to spend time with my girls.” She leaned in and kissed both Frances and Yaz on the cheek in turn, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’ll be by the house about eight, alright?” 

 

“We’ll have the kettle on,” Yaz smiled. 

 

“Promise I’m not burdening you?” Frances asked, softer now. 

 

Susan gave her a look, warm and amused. “Darling, if this is a burden, I’m blessed to carry it.” 

 

Frances blinked, touched. Yaz reached for Frances’s hand and gave it a quiet squeeze. They turned back to the car together, Frances gently guiding Lily into the back seat while Yaz climbed in front. 

 

Lily waved from the window, her little hand pressed to the glass, her smile wide.

“Bye Susan! I’ll save you a piece!” 

 

“You better!” Susan called back, crossing her arms and grinning as she watched them drive away, the glow of the streetlamp catching just enough of her expression to show the unmistakable pride in her eyes. 

 

And as the car turned the corner, tail lights blinking like fireflies, it wasn’t just the quiet evening or the scent of sugar in the air that lingered, it was the feeling of home. 

 

..... 

 

As soon as the front door clicked shut behind them, Lily was off like a shot. “Come see! Come see!” she squealed, tugging at her cardigan as she darted down the hallway, leaving it half-on and flapping behind her like a cape. Frances barely had time to toe off her shoes before Lily zoomed past, her little shoes tapping excitedly against the floorboards. 

 

“I think someone’s a tad excited,” Yaz chuckled, exchanging a grin with Frances as she followed behind. 

 

In the kitchen, Lily was already bouncing on her toes, waiting by the counter like she might actually burst. Frances gently set the box down and lifted the lid just a crack peeking in with mock suspense. 

 

“Alright... let's see” she said with exaggerated mystery, her eyes wide, her grin even wider. 

 

Then, with a flourish, she opened the box fully. 

 

“Wooooow!” she gasped "Darling this is gorgeous" 

 

The white cake was a touch lopsided, with wobbly swirls of pink icing, few drips trailing down the sides and a tiny fingerprint pressed into the frosting near the base, evidence of eager hands. A cluster of pink sugar roses sat proudly on top, slightly uneven but full of heart. Frances’s heart leapt in her chest. 

 

"You like it?" 

 

"Like it? Darling...It’s gorgeous. I can't believe you made this." Frances kissed the top of her head "I'm so proud of you bug" 

 

Yaz came up behind her and let out a low whistle. 

 

“Blimey, Lil. That’s proper impressive. You sure Susan’s not hiring?” 

 

Lily beamed, eyes shining, clearly proud but trying to play it cool. “Well… I did all this piping. That's what it's called." she explained seriously, pointing with careful precision. “This one I did with the star tip, and then I had to squeeze very slow. But not too slow or it goes all gloopy.” 

 

She kept explaining with such seriousness it made it hard for Frances and Yaz to keep a straight face. 

 

Yaz bit her lip to hold back a laugh, and Frances turned toward the cabinet under the guise of getting a plate, her face pinched as she fought to keep it together, casting Yaz a sidelong glance, eyes gleaming with unshed tears of mirth, both of them barely holding it in. 

 

“You’re telling me,” Frances said, recovering, “this cake right here was made by you and your expert piping skills? All alone?” 

 

Lily gave a solemn nod. 

 

“Well I be damned,” Frances said, grabbing a knife, “we better have a taste.” 

 

She cut a small slice and handed a piece to Lily, who took it like it was a medal. Then Frances sliced another bit and turned to Yaz. 

 

“Open,” she said playfully, holding the fork up. Yaz obliged, and Frances popped the bite in her mouth with a grin. 

 

“Mmm... That’s actually really good,” Yaz said, cheeks full, eyes wide with surprise. 

 

“I know!” Frances said, licking a bit of frosting off her finger. “We’ve got a little pro on our hands.” 

 

“But,” Frances added, crouching down to Lily’s height, “this is for after dinner, alright? You still need something real before dessert.” 

 

Lily gave a dramatic sigh but nodded. “Okay. But I am still having the biggest piece later.” 

 

“Deal,” Frances said, holding up her hand. 

 

Lily slapped her a proud high five, grinning from ear to ear. 

 

Yaz smiled, watching them with warmth in her eyes as Frances ruffled Lily’s hair. “Cake and all,” Frances added with a wink. 

 

....

 

It was a rare evening when neither of them walked through the door after dark. The sun had fully dipped, leaving the windows tinged with the last hints of dusk. For once, the house felt still, not with the silence of exhaustion, but with the kind of calm that made space for warmth but also much needed conversations.

The lamps were low in the living room, throwing amber light across the soft lines of the furniture. The radio played faintly from the corner. Yaz sat curled at the edge of the couch, legs tucked under her, still in her work trousers, a got cup of tea in her hand.

After tucking Lily into bed Frances crossed the room and picked up a manila folder from the side table. She cleared her throat, the topic of the conversation they were about to have was not leaving her mind the whole afternoon.

“There’s something I've been meaning to talk to you about,” she said.

Yaz glanced up.

"About replacment for Betty."

"Oh yeah. Do you have someone in mind?"

"Nicole has someone who potentially sounds really good."

"Really? That's fast"

"She's really fast" Frances said

"Then why do you sound so worried?"

Frances hesitated, then crossed the room and handed her the folder. “Just look.”

Yaz opened it. Inside were neatly stacked papers, references, an application form, handwritten notes. On top, a photograph.

Yaz stilled.

“She’s called Perl,” Frances said gently. “She comes highly recommended through one of Helen’s friends. I told Nicole we need to make a decision together. That's her little girl. She's a single mother. "

Yaz didn’t answer right away. She stared at the photograph. Then slowly, she closed the folder.

"You wanna higher a black maid?"

"I knoooow... that's why we need to talk"

“I don’t know if I can do that.” Yaz looked up at her, voice low. “I mean I don’t know if I can live in this house while a black woman works for us.”

Frances blinked. “Yaz… I knew you will...”

“No, just...just let me say this.” Yaz sat forward, resting the folder on her knees. “I know she might be brilliant. But from where I stand, a woman like her, like me...being hired to clean a white woman’s house...that isn’t just work. It’s a symbol. Especially in America. It screams class and race and power and...”

She swallowed.

“I'm a brown woman Franny. I walk into a room and I know people are checking where I fit on the ladder. And if we hire her, no matter how well we pay her or how kindly we treat her, people are gonna look at us and see exactly what they’ve been taught to see... the rich white actress, her black maid. And then me, somewhere awkwardly in between.”

“I know,” Frances said softly. “And I thought the same thing, darling. Believe me, I have…”

She paced a few steps, slow and restless, then stopped, turning on her heel with a frustrated wave of her hand.

“But then I thought..what?” Her voice lifted, “We don’t hire her because we’re afraid of being mistaken for something we’re not?”

She let the question hang in the air, sharp and honest then sighed deeply before she continued.

“She’s not a symbol, Yaz,” she said softly. “She’s a woman. She’s qualified. And she’s got a six-year-old daughter to take care of. I wouldn’t be hiring her because of pity or guilt or some saviour complex. I’d be hiring her because she was the most capable, grounded person I interviewed. Because she wants the job...Because she's a right person for Lily."


“I’m just saying...” Yaz’s voice cracked slightly. “People will see a black woman in our kitchen, and they think they know the story. And maybe that wouldn’t matter if I were white. But I’m not. And it does matter. Because I’ve spent my whole life being told where I don’t belong.”

Her voice dropped, quieter.

“I just don't wanna be part of a picture that hurts someone else. Even if the intention’s good. I've spend lifetime seeing how optics are weaponized against people like Perl.”

There was a long pause. Frances moved to sit beside her.

Yaz looked away, tension still resting on her shoulders. “And we're not those people. That matters.”

“It does,” Frances agreed softly. “But so does the fact that denying her the job because we don’t want to fall into a stereotype is just as much a form of racism. It’s still about us... not her. Don’t you agree darling?"

Yaz rubbed the bridge of her nose, jaw tight, eyes bright with emotion.

“I know you’re right. And I hate that you’re right.”

Frances gave a small, wry smile.

Yaz let out a sound, part sigh, part laugh. “I’m sorry... this isn’t easy.”

“It’s alright, darling. This is why we're talking, isn’t it?” Frances said, gently tucking a curl behind Yaz’s ear.

Yaz nodded slowly, breathing out.

“Alright. I’ll read it properly. But if we do this... if we do this... we do it our way.”

“Of course, darling.” Frances reached for her hand, bringing her knuckles to her lips in a kiss. “We can do this the right way. I know we can.  She seems tough. Honest." Frances said quietly.
"Reminds me a bit of someone I know.”

Yaz smiled, easing back into the cushions, the folder resting in her lap, her heart beginning to settle.

“And If I even catch a whiff of someone calling her ‘the help,’ I’m throwing them out of this house.”

Frances leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

“Deal.”

....


The evening had fallen soft and warm over the garden, the last of the sunlight faded into velvet blue. Crickets hummed lazily in the hedges, and the pool shimmered silver under the starlight. Frances lay curled on the sun lounger, nestled into Yaz’s chest, her head tucked beneath her chin. One of Yaz’s arms draped around her waist, hand moving gently in slow circles over her belly. Every so often, Yaz would lean down to press a kiss to her temple, her nose brushing lightly through soft blonde curls.

It was quiet, peaceful. A rare kind of peace. The sort that neither of them spoke into, just breathed.

Frances tilted her head back, gazing up. “Oh, look,” she whispered, lifting her hand.

Across the night sky, a shooting star arced clean and bright before vanishing into darkness.

Yaz followed her gaze, then smiled. “Make a wish.”

Frances turned her head slightly, enough to look at her with soft, glimmering eyes. "You know what I'm gonna wish for"

Yaz smiled kissing her temple.

After a beat of quiet, Yaz spoke. “Do you believe in God?”

Frances was quiet for a moment, her eyes flicking back up to the stars.

“I don’t know....” she said finally. “I used to...When I was little, I prayed every night for my mother to come back. I believed if I was good enough, maybe God would send her back home. But she never came. Instead I got a monster…” Her voice trailed off. “I suppose I stopped. Or maybe I just… got angry. I don't know if I stopped believing, or just stopped wanting to.”
Yaz nodded, her hands still trailing the length of her.

Frances turned her head, eyes searching hers. “What about you?”

Yaz exhaled slowly, then looked up at the stars as if they were old companions.

“I stopped praying years ago,” she said quietly. “Not because I don’t believe in something, maybe I still do. But the version of God I was taught had no place for someone like me. So I made my own place.”

Frances shifted, reached up touching Yaz’s cheek with reverence. Yaz leaned into the touch, her fingers wrapping around Frances’s wrist as she was being pulled into the kiss.

They fell silent for long time, then Frances tilted her nearly empty glass to her lips, drained the last sip and set it down on the small table beside the lounger with a soft clink.

Yaz was still stretched behind her, arms wrapped gently around her waist, eyes half-closed in the dreamy calm of the night.

Without a word, Frances sat up, turned, and tugged Yaz’s hand. “Come on,” she said, her eyes gleaming.

Yaz blinked. “Come where?”

Frances didn’t answer. She rose to her feet and to Yaz’s surprise began to unbutton her shirt. One, two, three buttons down, and it was sliding off her shoulders and fluttering to the lounger.

Yaz sat up, eyebrows raised. “Frances...what are you doing?”

Frances grinned, a flash of moonlight catching the mischief in her eyes. “Going for a swim.”

Yaz stared at her. “Now?!”

Frances laughed, that low, warm laugh Yaz loved so much and kicked off her trousers in one fluid motion, leaving her standing in just her underwear. “It’s humid. It’ll do us good before bed. Come on.”

Yaz blinked. “Frances, the gatekeeper....”

“He’s probably snoring..." Frances said with a wink taking off her underwear "Besides he's very loyal.” she grabbed Yaz’s hand and tugging. “Come on, don’t be a bore.”

Before Yaz could object, Frances was already pulling at her shirt, giggling like a teenager. Yaz tried to protest, but she was laughing too breathless and scandalised.

“Frances!” Yaz said, trying to hold her shirt closed as Frances slipped it off her shoulders with practiced ease. “We’ll be on the morning news! ‘Starlet and her designer arrested for scandalous pool frolic”

Frances let out a mock gasp and raised her hands dramatically toward the hedges. “Oh no! Is that a reporter in the bushes?”

“Stop it!” Yaz squeaked, clamping a hand over Frances’s mouth, laughing so hard her knees buckled. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

Frances kissed her palm and mumbled in her hand “I’m drunk on love.”

Yaz groaned through a smile. “You’re crazy.”

“Takes one to love one.” she grabbed her hand and led her toward the water. Yaz was half out of her trousers, hopping on one foot as Frances stepped daintily into the pool.

“You do remember I can’t swim, right?” Yaz called after her, still breathless with laughter.

Frances glanced back, the water climbing up her thighs. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Yaz hesitated at the edge. The water looked deep, and she wasn’t so sure about this. But Frances turned and held out her hand, eyes sparkling, damp blonde curls framing her face.

Yaz took it.

The moment she stepped in, cool water wrapped around her legs, refreshing against the heat that still hung in the air. The humidity and the earlier rainfall had left the garden thick with warmth, the water cut through it like silk.

Frances dipped under for a second, came up laughing, then swam a circle around Yaz.

Yaz clung to the edge for a moment, wide-eyed, until Frances drifted over and wrapped her arms gently around her waist, pulling her close.
“See? You’re standing. You’re fine.”

Yaz looked down. The water reached just above her waist. “I swear, if I drown...”

Frances silenced her with a kiss, long and deep, all heat and insistence. The protest melted from Yaz’s lips as Frances’s arms slid over her shoulders, fingers tangling in her damp hair.

Something in Yaz gave way then, fear dissolving, replaced by something far stronger. She kissed back with abandon, one hand gripping Frances’s hip, the other roaming her back with restless need. The water lapped against them, cool and weightless, while heat flared everywhere their bodies touched.

Yaz shifted, guiding them until Frances’s back pressed against the pool’s tiled edge. Her lips trailed down from Frances’s mouth to her jaw, then lower still, to the delicate curve of her neck, tasting the salt of the water and the warmth of her skin. Frances gasped, clinging to her shoulders, flushed and breathless.

Her fingers slid down Yaz’s arm until she found her hand, threading their fingers together before guiding it lower, toward her thighs. Frances’s breath hitched, eyes half-closed, lips parted in a sigh that carried both urgency and invitation.

Yaz’s pulse thundered in her ears, louder than the splash of water, louder than the world beyond the pool.

Frances leaned closer, her cheek brushing Yaz’s, skin damp and hot from the water.

“I need you,” she whispered into her ear, the words nothing more than a breath but heavy as stone. Her lips brushed Yaz’s skin as she spoke, warm and wet, sending shivers racing down her spine.

Yaz’s hesitation broke. The words sank straight into her chest, scattering every last trace of fear. Frances’s breath was hot against her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, carrying that faint, heady sweetness of her perfume mixed with the sharp tang of chlorine and the warmth of damp flesh.

She gave in completely. Her fingers slid where Frances ached for her. The other woman gasped, her whole body arching against her, as if relief and desire had struck at once. Yaz’s other arm scooped her up, lifting her just enough for Frances to wrapp her legs tight around her waist.

Their mouths crashed together, the kiss wild, consuming, desperate. Frances clung to her, nails pressing into her shoulders, hair plastered wet to her face. Each press of Yaz’s hand drew a shudder from her, Frances gasping into her mouth, breaking only to drag in ragged breaths before diving back in for more.

She buried her face against Yaz’s neck, kissing, biting lightly, moaning into her skin as if she couldn’t keep it inside. Her lips trailed heat down Yaz’s jaw, her throat, her shoulder, before finding her mouth again with a kiss so deep it stole the air from both of them.

Yaz’s head spun. Every nerve felt lit, every muscle taut with wanting. Frances was everywhere, her breath, her taste, the press of her body slick and hot against her own. The water couldn’t cool them, it only made every slide of skin more electric.

Frances trembled, clinging tighter, a broken sound slipping from her throat. Yaz held her closer, fingers pressing deeper, the rhythm of her touch matched to the rush of their hearts. Frances’s shudders grew sharper, her legs tightening around Yaz’s waist until she finally let go with a sharp, breathless cry muffled against Yaz’s shoulder.

Yaz kissed her through it, her lips, her temple, her damp hair until Frances melted against her, flushed, shaking, utterly undone.



.....