There was no music. Just voices layering over each other, soft enough that she could pick out individual words if she tried. Crystal rang faintly somewhere to her left. The kind of party where nobody raised their voice, where conversations unfolded in full paragraphs instead of shouted fragments over a bass line.
Elizabeth’s hand pressed against the small of Kelsey’s back, warm through the silk, and she had to remind herself that this was just part of the contract.
Except Kelsey’s skin didn’t give a damn about contracts or practice runs or the careful boundaries they’d drawn in black ink. Every nerve ending beneath Elizabeth’s palm flared to life, heat spreading outward like ripples on water until her entire spine hummed with awareness. The silk jumpsuit might as well have been tissue paper for all the protection it offered. She couldfeel the exact shape of Elizabeth’s hand, the subtle pressure of each finger, the way her thumb rested just above the curve of Kelsey’s hip.
Her breath caught. She forced herself to focus on the room instead of the way that touch was unraveling her from the inside out. The conversations floating around them, the soft clink of crystal, anything but the warmth seeping through the fabric and setting her skin on fire. The artwork on the walls wasn’t framed prints from Etsy. She could see the actual texture of paint, thick and layered, the kind of original pieces that came with certificates and insurance.
A waiter slid past, tray balanced with champagne flutes that caught the light. Kelsey snagged two, passed one to Elizabeth. Their fingers touched, just the edge of Elizabeth’s knuckles against hers, and the contact shot straight through her wrist, up her forearm, sharp enough to make her breath stutter.
“Thank you.” Elizabeth’s voice was low, pitched just for her, the words close enough that Kelsey felt the brush of air against her temple. The gratitude in it was quiet, almost buried beneath the careful evenness, but it hit Kelsey square in the chest all the same.
They moved deeper into the party. Kelsey registered faces turning their way, curiosity sharp in the angles of cheekbones and the brief pauses in conversation. She straightened her shoulders, let her free hand rest against Elizabeth’s forearm. Light. Easy. The gesture of someone who touched this woman all the time and didn’t think twice about it.
Elizabeth didn’t pull away.
A woman with hair like polished obsidian peeled away from a group by the fireplace. She wore a dress the color of a deep red wine that moved like liquid as she approached, her eyes locked on Kelsey with a brightness that didn’t feel like a threat. Sonia, Elizabeth had called her.
Kelsey felt the heat of Elizabeth’s hand still anchoring her, a warm weight that kept her grounded. She tightened her grip on her champagne flute and offered a smile she hoped looked like it belonged to a woman who was deeply in love and only mildly overwhelmed.
“So this is the mystery woman I’ve been hearing about,” Sonia said, her voice rich with amusement and the kind of smoky rasp that came from too many late nights and expensive whiskey. She didn’t extend a hand for some stiff formal greeting—instead, she leaned in conspiratorially, her grin sharp enough to slice through pretense.
“I’m Sonia,” she continued. “And let me tell you, office gossip is usually about as exciting as watching discovery documents pile up, butthis? The great Elizabeth Moretti, finally dating someone again? You better believe I put down my pen and paid attention.”
Kelsey felt the weight of that scrutiny like a physical touch, warm and oddly flattering rather than intrusive. “Kelsey,” she offered, relieved when her voice didn’t waver under the spotlight.
Elizabeth exhaled next to her, the sound almost imperceptible, but Kelsey felt it anyway, the slight hitch in her breath, the tension under her ribs where Kelsey’s fingertips rested.
“Elizabeth,” Sonia continued, arching one brow, “you can’t just drop a bombshell like this and expect me not to interrogate you. Where the hell have you been hiding her?”
Elizabeth’s thumb pressed briefly against Kelsey’s wrist, just enough to ground her, to remind her they were in this together, before she answered, a veneer of practiced calm smoothing over anything that might have betrayed their ruse. “The usual places,” she said, her voice dry as old parchment, but Kelsey heard theundercurrent of something else beneath it. Defiance, maybe. Or pride.
And oh, that was dangerous. Because Kelseylikedthat tone. She liked it far too much.
Sonia’s attention was back on her. “And what do you do, Kelsey? Besides keeping this one from working through dinner?”
Kelsey didn’t hesitate. “I’m a barista.”
She waited for the shift in Sonia’s expression. The polite, distant “oh.” But Sonia leaned in, her eyes widening.
“God, I envy you,” Sonia said, and it sounded genuine. “The immediate gratification of it. You make something, it’s perfect, you hand it to someone, and they’re happy. In our world, we push paper for three years just for a judge to tell us we’re wrong on a Tuesday morning.”
Kelsey took a sip of champagne. “I don’t know. I’m not exactly making a difference in the world, but then again, I didn’t set out to be a barista. It just kind of happened. I’d just moved to the city, and I needed a job.”
“What brought you here?” Sonia asked.
Kelsey turned the champagne flute between her fingers, the crystal smooth and impossibly thin against her skin. In this room, surrounded by people who had probably known exactly what they wanted to be since they were twelve, the honest answer felt like showing up underdressed. But she’d already said barista without flinching, and Sonia hadn’t blinked, so maybe the truth wouldn’t kill her either.
“I wanted to open my own place, actually. A café, or maybe a bar. Something small, somewhere with good light and a neighborhood feel.” She paused, aware of how it sounded next to the legal careers filling this room like expensive cologne. “I had a whole notebook of ideas when I moved here. Floor plans, drink menus, names I liked. I was twenty-four and convinced I’d have it figured out by thirty.”
Sonia’s mouth curved. Not mockery. Recognition.
“Thirty came and went,” Kelsey continued, “and I was still behind someone else’s counter. But the thing is, I’m actually good at it. Not just the coffee, though I make a damn good cappuccino.” She felt Elizabeth shift beside her, a nearly imperceptible adjustment of weight, the hand at her back pressing a fraction firmer. “I’m good at the people part. Reading someone’s morning before they’ve said a word. Knowing when a regular needs a joke and when they need you to just hand them their drink and let them go.”
The champagne was dry and bright on her tongue, nothing like the prosecco she split with Hailey on Friday nights. She set the glass down on a passing tray, afraid she’d drain it too fast if she kept holding it.
“There’s this thing that happens,” she said, warming to it now because Sonia was actually listening, her body angled forward, her wine forgotten in her hand. “Someone walks in wrecked. You can see it in their shoulders, the way they won’t look at you. And you make their order exactly right, maybe a little faster than usual, and when you hand it over, something in their face unlocks. Just for a second. It’s not saving the world, but it’s something, I guess.”
“It definitely is. An underrated something,” Sonia agreed quietly.