Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Mandy shrugs off the thin blanket she'd pulled around her slim shoulders with a deep sigh. She'd meant to bury herself beneath it—hide from reality, use a quick nap as an escape—but it's hot in Texas, and this heatwave they're going through is no joke.

She curses under her breath, leaning over the side of the bed to switch on the cheap fan she stole last week. Nothing happens. She flicks the switch again, harder this time. Still nothing. Broken—just like everything else in this hellhole of a trailer.

There is a part of her that wants to throw the useless piece of plastic across the room, but she resists the urge, falling backwards onto her mattress instead. Since the AC gave out, the box room she shares with her brother Kyle has been unbearable. She can feel beads of sweat gathering on her forehead and the springs of the old, stained mattress digging into her bones with each movement she makes. No matter which position she shifts into, she can't get comfortable.

She's hot, bothered, and far too restless to close her eyes like she usually does before her night shift at the diner. So she sits up, swings her legs over the side of the bed, and studies her reflection in the mirror hanging crooked on the wall.

Her hair is new, recently dyed, and the longer she looks at it, the more she likes what she sees. What was once blonde is now auburn, streaked through with lighter strands. Definitely not professional. A box-job special—that's obvious at a glance. Still, it suits her. And for once, she feels good about herself.

Time refuses to move. Every minute feels heavier than the last, and she thinks that is what she gets for clock-watching. Still, she can't wait to get to work this evening. The second she steps out of this bedroom and away from the trailer, she always feels lighter.

She hates this room with a passion; it is a reminder of how little her life has changed since she was a child, stuck in some sort of time warp. Two single beds shoved against one wall take up most of the space—one hers, the other her brother's.

They used to love sharing this room. When they were kids, they'd hide in here with their hands clamped over their ears or buried under the covers whenever their parents tore shreds out of one another. They decorated the wall above their beds with stickers and homemade posters, and even now, they still hang there, held up with hardened blue tack.

Mandy knows she's far too old to be sharing a room with her younger brother. But Kyle is hardly ever here nowadays, and at twenty-five, this is all life seems willing to give her. Money is tight, life is hard, and despite all the dreams she's had of running away from this trailer park, leaving has proven easier said than done.

So here she is, still living in Alba. Same trailer. Same faces. She hears her neighbor, Ms. Hancock, shouting outside—sharp, frantic—but it barely registers. It should worry her. It would worry anyone else, but this is a regular occurrence at the moment.

Mrs. Hancock has always been kind, even if age has left her a little unhinged. When Mandy and Kyle were small, she used to leave her door unlocked. Anytime the shouting at home got too loud, or her stepdad returned with that nasty glint in his eye, they could slip inside, wrap their hands around a mug of hot cocoa, and breathe. Mandy always appreciated that small mercy—the quiet sense that someone, somewhere, had her back. It was the only pocket of normal she could count on.

The bedroom door opens abruptly, and Barbra Smith—or, more affectionately, Barb—stands there with her hand on her hip. Her small frame is barely covered; her thin tank top hangs from her body, highlighting the bones protruding beneath her greyish skin. Her usual lit cigarette hangs from her painted lips, bobbing up and down as she breathes.

Her eyes bore into Mandy with a look of pure hatred—hatred Mandy can never get her head around. She had always been a relatively good child; she has tried to be the daughter she thinks Barb wants her to be. But the thing is, Barb never even wanted a daughter, so all efforts are pointless, and Mandy learned that long ago.

"Look at you, fussing over your hair like it'll change anything. It won't. It ain't gonna get more beautiful the longer you stare at it," Barb says, spite thick in her tone.

Mandy swallows the retort that rises in her throat but refuses to shrink away. Her auburn strands catch the sunlight slanting through the window, and she knows she looks good—better than Barb ever allowed her to feel about herself.

"You're a fine one to talk. I like it, I'll have you know," she replies, not letting her mother's cruelty get to her today.

"You look like a hussy. But never mind that—how do I look?" Barb asks, her gaze locked on Mandy, who dreads this question every night. It's the same song and dance. Barbie asks the question, waiting for the required answer, and Mandy gives it through gritted teeth, praying it won't lead to conversation.

"You look like yourself, Mama," is all Mandy can muster today. It's a cop-out, and they both know it.

Barb doesn't respond. She just takes another drag of her cigarette and plumps up her hair before turning back toward the table.

Mandy sighs and drags herself up from the bed, thinking she'd better show her face before work—before they make a deal out of nothing. As she steps out of the bedroom, she's hit with the familiar stench of fried food and stale cigarettes. She tells herself that by now she should be used to it, but it still catches the back of her throat, enough to nearly make her wretch.

Her eyes scan past her stepfather, Jimmy, who sits where he always does—in the dirty old armchair perched in front of the boxlike TV. His large frame fills the chair, and his mud-clad boots are propped up on the pitiful excuse of a coffee table. He scratches his nether regions, wearing a wife-beater like always. Mandy has learned not to comment on the irony of it. The once-white cotton has seen better days—yellowed, stretched thin, a cigarette burn chewing through the hem.

In her younger years, Mandy often wondered what it would be like to have a father—that was before the harsh reality of her world beat every ounce of hope and naivety out of her. As a child, she'd squeeze her eyes shut each night, imagining a father who would whisk her away. But once Big Jim entered her life, she realized that having a father wasn't all it was cracked up to be, and she found herself longing for the days when it was just her and her mom.

Her mother has never been a saint—Mandy knows that more than anyone. She saw more in her early life than most people see in a lifetime, but at least back then, her mother was somewhat happy. Jimmy changed all of that. He turned both their worlds upside down. From the moment he set foot in the trailer, their lives became a living nightmare. Barb and Jimmy are either up each other's asses or at each other's necks—no in-between—and that's how it's been from day one.

"Kyle should be here soon, Mama," Mandy says, breaking the silence.

Barb ignores the statement and clicks her fingers toward the small kitchen area. "Make yourself useful, Mandy, and pour me a whiskey. A large one. Bottle's in the cupboard."

Without replying, Mandy does as she's told. She almost feels sorry for the woman in front of her—but that's the key word: almost.

The anger and resentment that fill Mandy whenever she's in the same room as her mother knock every last ounce of sympathy away. Barb chose this life. She chose to drag her children through hell for the man slumped in the armchair.

Mandy remembers when it was just the two of them. Hell, it wasn't perfect, but it was a damn sight better than what came after Jimmy. Barb had tried to be a good mom. She was an addict, but she tried to get clean for her baby's sake—and for a while, she did. It was a long, brutal road, but she made it through by the skin of her teeth.

Then she met Kyle's father. Big Jim. And everything fell apart.

Barb relapsed quickly, slipping back into old habits. Now it's impossible for her to get through a day without some kind of substance. Mandy knows better than anyone that her mother has no intention of getting clean anytime soon. She loves alcohol and drugs more than she ever loved her kids.

Mandy understands the reliance, even if she hates it. Barb uses them as a crutch, and it's reached the point where Mandy would rather see her off her head than suffering withdrawals—because when she's sober too long, she turns violent and volatile. One bad day without a fix is enough.

Barb looks at her husband with half a smile; for once, he's in a good mood. His jovial laughter fills the trailer, and everyone inside lets out a quiet sigh of relief.

Mandy sets the glass of whiskey on the table and opens her mouth to speak. She doesn't get the chance.

"Now get, and leave me alone. Ain't you got work to go to?" Barb spits.

Mandy doesn't need telling twice. She leaves the trailer, letting the door slam shut behind her, and sinks down onto the concrete step, waiting for her brother. She only stands when she sees Kyle jumping out of his truck.

"Where have you been?"

Kyle looks into his sister's face, lips curling into a half-mischievous smirk.

"If I told you that, I'd have to kill you," he says like a joke, but there's an underlying truth Mandy can't miss. "I'm only five minutes late—why you bustin' my balls?"

'Cause your daddy's been hollerin' for five days straight, and it's up to me to keep the peace. It ain't fair, Kyle. Now it's your turn, because I'm late for work."

Kyle shakes his head, bored. If it isn't one thing, it's another. He's tired of babysitting his parents. Mandy worries about their mother when she goes to work, and he knows she's right to do so. Someone has to keep the peace, and Kyle does his part—for Mandy, at least. He knows things aren't equal and never have been. Mandy carries the heaviest load, and Kyle loves his sister more than anyone in the world. If he can lighten it just a little, he'll try—but it isn't easy nowadays. He doesn't feel the conviction Mandy does. She feels it's her duty to protect their mother and brother, and that's what keeps her tied down to this life.

Pulling out a crumpled pack of Marlboro from his jean pocket, he offers one to Mandy. "You ain't late for work. You just wanna get outta that hellhole. Now I ain't judgin', but it'd be nice to get more than a lecture from you, since I ain't seen you all week."

"You haven't seen me 'cause you ain't been here, Kyle. Who do you think's pickin' up your weight while you're out thinkin' 'bout these floozies every goddamn night?" Her voice comes out harsher than she intends, and she winces immediately, the weight of the week spilling over her tongue. She regrets it. How can she blame Kyle for not wanting to be here? Nobody in their right mind would. He's young—just turned eighteen. She can't begrudge him a normal life, knowing there's nothing waiting for him here but depression and poverty.

She runs the tips of her fingers through her hair, pushing it from her face, and takes a cigarette. "Look, Kyle. I'm sorry. It's just been a really long... twenty-five freakin' years." She laughs and sinks back against the cladding of the trailer. Kyle laughs with her, then she playfully shoves his arm. "And fuck you for not noticing my new hair, you asshole."

Kyle shakes his head and laughs again, tossing her a playful grin. "Alright, alright, I see it now. Damn hair looks good, Mand."

She smirks. "Took me long enough to get some respect around here."

He rumbles a chuckle, and for a moment, the weight of everything—the trailer, the fights, the heat—feels lighter. Mandy takes a deep breath, standing tall. "C'mon, you can drive me to work, saves me walkin' in this heat" she says, and they walk together toward the truck, the sun sinking low behind them.

***

By the time Mandy reaches the diner, the Texas sun is dipping low, painting the parking lot in a warm orange glow. She slinks through the back door, hoping her manager has gone by now. She loves her job. Sure, serving the same meals and the same black coffees to the same faces five nights a week gets boring, and she never sees the few pennies she earns- her stepfather takes whatever she returns home with, before she's even counted it- but this small, rundown diner is her safe haven. It's hers. Here she is untouchable.

She tosses her bag onto the hook in the back room, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. She knows the effect she has when she walks into a room. Heads turn. Conversations pause. Men glance her way, and she lets them- because why wouldn't she? She's got the look, the confidence, and the kind of charm money can't buy.

She lets out a slow breath. The smell of burnt coffee beans, old grease and something faintly sweet shouldn't comfort her as much as it does, but when she's here, she leaves her real life back at the trailer, and for that, at least, she's grateful.

She glances into the diner. She can already hear Caitlyn's sweet laughter from behind the counter.
The diner is old- there is no hiding that, but it has a cosy feel to it, and that is what the regulars love most. Red vinyl booths line the walls, their leather split but stitched together by pathetic attempts of patch jobs that have long given up pretending to be permanent.

Mandy's eyes land on the old man at the far end of the room. She isn't surprised to see him; he is here like clockwork every single night. 9pm comes and there he is ordering a black coffee and a plate of plain pancakes. He removes his hat, unrolls his newspaper and leaves his coffee untouched. When he feels her eyes watching him he looks up, he doesn't look at her for long, and she's grateful for that. There is something about him that unsettles her, but she is unsure why, she can't quite put her finger on it.

Plastering a smile onto her face, she ties the back of her apron tightly and skips out of the back room and over to Caitlyn. Mandy always liked Caitlyn, she is a naturally happy girl despite her hard beginnings. Caitlyn knows more than most about the kind of life Mandy has at home, because she comes from the same shortcomings, and maybe that is why they get along as well as they do.

"Look what the cat dragged in!" Caitlyn laughs, swinging into Mandy's side.

"Sorry I'm late, girlie. Did I miss anything?"

"Oh Yeah" Caitlyn grins. "It's all been going on in here tonight"

"Really?" Mandy asks, excitement filling her blue eyes. The look on her face makes Caitlyn roar with laughter.

"Of course not, I'm pullin' your leg. The most exciting thing that has happened tonight is Mr Jaxon over there puttin' syrup on his pancakes"

"He would never do that" Mandy snorts. "That man has eaten those pancakes drier than a nun's crotch for fifty years, bless his heart"

Caitlyn plants a hand on her hip. "Not tonight he hasn't, look on over there"

Mandy laughs, shaking her head as she sees that Caitlyn is right. Who said working the night shift is boring? Riveting stuff is happening over there in the corner. As funny as Mandy finds it, she is grateful for the calm. She is grateful to have made a friend like Caityln, well, to have a friend at all. Mandy doesn't have many friends so her world is a lonely one. Things seem so much better when she walks through the door and sees Caitlyn's round face smiling back at her.

Caitlyn isn't much to look at, but what she lacks in looks she makes up for in personality. She's big all over, soft and heavy, her weight spilling over the waistband of her pants. When she walks, it looks like her legs struggle to carry her. Mandy's eyes flick to the tight perm framing Caitlyn's face, and she thinks—unfairly—that it doesn't do her any favours. She offered to give her a makeover once, and she politely declined so she left it there. However she can't help but think that Caitlyn doesn't do much to help herself.

She watches as Caitlyn phone rings in her back pocket, her joyful expression creasing with concern. Mandy knows before Caitlyn says a word who's on the other end. It's her mom. Mothers like theirs have a habit of demanding attention, no matter what their family members are in the middle of.

Caitlyn's head is nodding vigorously, and Mandy hears the desperation in her voice as she says,

"Keep Mom there. I'll leave now"

"Everythin' alright?" Mandy asks as soon as Caitlyn hangs and shoves her phone back into her pocket.

"It's my mom. I need to go, Mandy. I'm so sorry"

Mandy smiles immediately- too quickly, too easily. "Don't apologise, honey. I know what moms like ours are like. I'll be alright here- you said it yourself, nothin' exciting ever happens on the night shift"

She turns back toward the counter, already busying her hands with nothing in particular, as if staying still might give her away. The night shift stretches long and quiet in her mind—hours of empty aisles and humming lights, just like the silent bedroom waiting for her at home.

She waves Caitlyn off before the loneliness can settle in, before it can follow her into another empty space. Only when Caitlyn starts gathering her things does Mandy's smile falter, just for a second—long enough to feel the sting she never lets anyone see.

Caitlyn doesn't say anything. She doesn't have to. She knows Mandy understands exactly what she's going through, because the roles here have been reversed. And because Mandy has always been very good at pretending she doesn't mind.

Caitlyn leaves in a rush of apologies and jangling keys, promising to call later even though they both know she probably won't get the chance. Mandy waves her off with the same easy smile she always wears, waits until the door swings shut behind her, then lets the diner fall quiet again. The hum of the lights feels louder without Caitlyn's laughter to soften it.

The door swings shut, leaving the diner quiet. Mandy reaches for her phone, scrolling out of habit. Scroll. Nothing. Scroll again. The night stretches ahead of her—empty booths, refilled coffees, the same faces asking for the same things. Boring already.

A notification pops up.

Harry.

Mandy rolls her eyes before she even opens it. Of course, he'd text now. He broke things off a few weeks ago, said something vague about needing more and wanting different things. She hadn't argued. Truth was, she'd been using him just as much as he'd been using her—something warm, distracting, easy to pick up when life got dull. Entertainment in a fucked-up little life, nothing more. If anything, she'd been relieved when he finally cut the cord.

She reads the message anyway, lips curling as she mutters, "You've got some nerve," under her breath. Then she locks the screen without replying and slips the phone back into her pocket.

Mandy exhales slowly, staring out at the empty diner. Caitlyn's gone. Harry's boring. And the night has barely started.

The bell above the diner door jingles.

Mandy looks up automatically—and stills.

The woman standing just inside the doorway doesn't belong here. Not in Alba. Not in this diner. Everything about her looks slightly out of place, like she's taken a wrong turn and ended up somewhere she wasn't meant to be. She hesitates, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag, eyes flicking around the room as if she's bracing herself.

She's beautiful. Not in the loud, obvious way Mandy's used to, but in something softer—clean lines, careful movements, the kind of face that draws attention without trying. Her clothes are wrong for this place too, too neat, too city, and suddenly Mandy is very aware of the contrast between them.

The woman shifts on her feet, uncertain, clearly uncomfortable. Lost.

Mandy straightens without thinking, interest sparking where boredom had settled only seconds before. Whatever kind of night this was shaping up to be, it just got a hell of a lot more interesting.

Chapter Text

Mandy keeps her eyes on the girl as she slides into a booth by the window, pulling her bag onto the seat beside her like a shield. She doesn't look around much, doesn't try to catch anyone's attention, just sits there, small and careful, like she's afraid of taking up too much space.

Mandy leans against the counter, arms crossed loosely over her chest, watching. There's something about the way she moves—quiet, hesitant, unsure—that makes Mandy want to know more. It's not often that new faces pop up around here, and she's curious.

The diner hums around the newcomer, the old lights buzzing faintly above the clatter of dishes and low murmur of voices like a background track she barely notices. Mandy's attention never leaves the booth. Sophie tucks her legs under her, glances at the menu but doesn't order anything yet, and Mandy wonders what could bring someone like her all the way here, to this sleepy little Texas town.

The blonde doesn't feel Mandy's eyes on her from afar. She's too busy trying to hold her nerve. It's been a day from hell. Her flight from Boston was delayed, so she arrived in Alba far later than she planned, which means she is now a day behind on research. She scans the menu in her hands, sighing. She has far too much on her mind to eat anything.

Her boss failed to mention that Alba was a shithole. When he told her she'd be headed to Texas for research, her eyes lit up. Big, bold Texas, just like in the movies—she'd been excited. So you can imagine her surprise when she ended up in this little town.

Her hotel, though, is lovely. But after a day cooped up in hot airports and a delayed flight, she needed some air. Without thinking, her legs carried her here. She is pleased to get into some air conditioning; it is never this hot in Boston, and it is comfortable here in the diner. Her head turns when she hears footsteps approaching her.

"New here?" Mandy asks, raising an eyebrow and unclipping the pen from her apron. There's a grin on her face that is mischievous, like she already knows the answer. And she does—but she enjoys the look on the woman's face now that she's put her on the spot.

The woman's face flushes, and she lets out a small laugh. "Is it that obvious?" she asks, voice quiet, trying to sound confident but failing with each word.

Mandy laughs softly, a teasing, low sound that seems to make the air between them warmer. "It is pretty obvious, I mean... you look too good to be in a place like this," she says, tilting her head, watching her reaction. "But don't worry. I don't bite... well, unless you want me to, that is."

Sophie's cheeks are turning redder by the minute. She shifts in the seat, unsure how to take that comment, but she laughs again, gripping the menu tighter. "I... I'm just here for a coffee," she murmurs, trying not to let her eyes linger on the woman standing by the table for too long. "Can I just get a cappuccino, please?"

Mandy bursts out laughing, taking her by surprise. "A cappuccino? Honey, we don't do fancy here. But I can get you a regular coffee. I'm Mandy, by the way, and you don't have to look so shifty—you're safe in here. This town may look a little old and busted, but it's honest. It's harmless... mostly."

"Thank you. I'm Sophie, and a regular coffee is fine by me," she smiles, biting her lip. She's embarrassed but amused.

Mandy leans over the table, jotting down the order with a practised flick of her pen. "Regular coffee coming right up. You like it black, or do you want me to sneak in some sugar and cream? Gotta warn you, though, our cream has been here longer than me."

Sophie glances up at her, shyly meeting Mandy's gaze for a second before looking back at the menu. "Black... please. Thank you," she says quietly, voice barely above a whisper. Mandy catches both the please and thank you—the careful politeness, the way she's clearly used to being on her best behaviour—and a slow smirk spreads across her face.

"Well, aren't you just a polite little thing?" Mandy teases, voice low and amused. "Black it is. I'll be right back." She winks, daring Sophie to react. Sophie's cheeks heat immediately, and Mandy can't help but laugh softly at the sight as she walks away.

She heads toward the counter, leaving Sophie fidgeting slightly in the booth, curling her fingers around the menu like it's a lifeline. Mandy has this effect on everyone in her orbit. She gets under their skin in the best and worst ways possible. Normally, it's for her own amusement. She flirts naturally, like it's her second language, but tonight every weighted joke was deliberate. There is a part of her that enjoyed the way Sophie's blue eyes widened and her soft curls bounced as she shuffled nervously in her seat. She felt Sophie's eyes watching her walk back over to the counter, and now she is masking the effect she had on the mysterious woman just minutes after meeting her.

Deciding Sophie deserves a little indulgence, Mandy slides a slice of cherry pie onto a small plate and waits for the coffee to brew. Her eyes flick to Sophie, now buried in paperwork, a binder open in front of her. Smart, Mandy notes. Nobody comes in here to study—hell, most people in this town wouldn't recognize studying if it hit them in the face.

She leans against the counter a moment longer, curious. The diner is dead tonight, and she's already made up her mind: she's going to make herself at home in that booth. If nothing else, it'll kill time before her shift ends, and she has to trudge back to the trailer. And maybe... just maybe, she can dig a little into the story of the mysterious blonde who's too polished for a place like Alba.

When Mandy returns to the table, Sophie's heart is suddenly racing. She can't quite tell why—it isn't fear, exactly, just a flutter she can't place. Her eyes widen at the pie being slid toward her, and she tries to protest.

"Oh, I didn't—"

"It's on the house," Mandy interrupts, placing the coffee gently in front of her. "Do you mind if—?" She doesn't wait for an answer, scooting across the booth and sliding in opposite Sophie. She takes a sip of her own coffee and lights up a cigarette, her eyes drifting down to the papers sprawled across the sticky table. "That looks serious."

Sophie laughs. "Work. I'm doing an internship in public relations... this is for a small project I'm doing while I'm here. Alba's interesting for research, I've been told."

"Ah, so that's what brings you to this little ol' quiet town," Mandy says, everything starting to click. "So, you're out here tryin' to make small-town America look good?"

Sophie chuckles, nodding. "Something like that. Mostly community outreach, figuring out what works, what doesn't... seeing how people respond to different campaigns."

Mandy leans back in the booth, tapping her pen against the table. "Sounds boring," she says honestly, earning an amused smile from Sophie.

Sophie notices how Mandy's eyes light up when she grins, the way they draw her in despite the nerves still fluttering in her chest. There's something about her energy, confidence, and how she's so unapologetic that is completely different from anyone Sophie's ever met. Her fingers knit together, forgetting all about the work she was supposed to do.

"Look at me," Mandy laughs. "Invadin' your space like this. I can go back on over there if I'm too distracting."

Sophie shakes her head, a little too eagerly. "No, you're fine here," she smiles, a sweet smile that lights up her whole face.

They fall into a comfortable rhythm of conversation, laughing at small jokes, teasing about Alba and its quirks. Sophie asks a question about Mandy's life—what brought her to this diner—but Mandy is careful, answering just enough to seem open without giving away too much. Sophie doesn't notice the subtle guardrails; she's too captivated by Mandy's natural charm and bright, magnetic eyes.

With each laugh, each shared joke, Sophie feels her tension melt further, replaced by a pull she doesn't understand. Her attention drifts to Mandy, how she talks like she's known her for years. Yet, she's aware of the subtle guard Mandy maintains, even if she can't quite see it.

"And... do you have anyone waiting for you back home?" Mandy asks lightly, playful but observant.

Sophie bites her lip, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "My boyfriend, Graham... he'd never believe this place exists," she admits, glancing down at her phone as a notification lights up.

Mandy lets the comment pass, ignoring the detail with casual ease, letting her attention linger on Sophie's laugh. She's all soft edges and quiet precision, Mandy notes internally, and she has no idea how magnetic she is.

Sophie feels a strange pull, almost a gravity toward Mandy, a tug she doesn't question in the moment.

Mandy takes a sip of her coffee, exhaling slowly, watching Sophie quietly. She's beautiful, captivating, sharp... and I'm not letting her see how much I notice, Mandy thinks, masking her fascination behind casual movements, small jokes, and the easy flow of conversation.

The diner feels smaller somehow.

Sophie glances at Mandy, curiosity daring her to ask another question. "Have you always lived in Alba?"

Mandy smirks, pen tapping lightly against her notepad. "My whole sorry life," she says, eyes flicking to Sophie just enough to notice the slight lift of her brows, the careful way she studies her. Inside, Mandy feels a flicker of glee she doesn't let show—long enough to know something interesting when it walks in, and Sophie? Sophie is definitely interesting.

Sophie laughs softly, brushing another curl behind her ear. "Fair enough. I guess it's good to have someone who knows the place around here."

Mandy leans closer across the booth, voice low, teasing. "So... how long will you be sticking around?"

Sophie glances down at her papers, then back up. "Until the end of the week. Just enough to get this project done."

Mandy's grin widens internally, even if her face stays relaxed. She tilts her head, letting the subtle flirty undertone slip in. "A week, huh? Well... I guess that means I'll be seeing more of you. I'm in this diner almost every night... and I'll definitely be here tomorrow."

Sophie's chest flutters, an unfamiliar pull tugging at her. She doesn't understand why her heart picks up at the thought, only that she already knows she'll be back tomorrow night. There's a part of her—small and hesitant—that wonders why she wants to see Mandy again so badly. There's a curious tug she can't explain. Her gaze meets Mandy's, bright and magnetic, and it almost feels like the diner itself has fallen away. The way Mandy moves, leans, laughs—it's unlike anyone Sophie has ever met. She can't look away, even though she tells herself to.

Mandy notices Sophie's lingering gaze, a slow smirk tugging at her lips. She sips her coffee, leaning back casually, masking the way Sophie's presence catches her off guard more than she'd admit. She's beautiful, Mandy thinks, letting herself study the little details without overdoing it—the soft curve of her lips when she smiles, the delicate curls that fall over her forehead, the careful politeness in her voice. But she doesn't stare. Not yet. Mandy always keeps control, keeps her guard up. She lets the charm flow naturally, letting Sophie think it's just conversation.

"Well," Mandy finally says, leaning back with that sly grin, "I hope a week in Alba treats you well... but something tells me I'll see you here again before it's over." She grins, letting it linger like a quiet promise.

Before Sophie can respond, the bell above the diner door jingles sharply. Mandy's head snaps toward the entrance, brow furrowing.

"Now, what the hell is she doing here?" Mandy mutters under her breath, irritation flickering across her face.

Sophie glances up, confused. "Who...?"

Mandy grits her teeth, glaring at the woman striding in—her manager, sharp and impatient, clipboard in hand, shoes clicking against the linoleum. Mandy mutters something unintelligible and mutters again, softer this time. Figures she'd show up now...

The manager scans the room, eyes narrowing as they settle on Mandy. "Mandy. You've got three orders backing up and a tip jar that's half empty," she says, tone clipped, as though every word is meant to sting.

Mandy exhales through her nose, rolling her eyes so hard Sophie can practically see it. "Yeah, yeah... I got it. Relax," she mutters, voice low, almost a growl.

The manager clicks her tongue and stalks off toward the back, muttering about timesheets and efficiency. Mandy watches her go, then mutters, "I guess I better get back to work." Then, with a lazy grin, she turns back to Sophie. She leans closer across the table, her hand reaching out almost casually, brushing a thumb along Sophie's cheek in a fleeting, teasing gesture. "Don't worry about her," Mandy murmurs, voice low and intimate. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Sophie freezes for a heartbeat, her pulse spiking at the contact, the warmth of Mandy's hand on her skin. She nods slightly, lips parting, unable to find words that feel small enough for the fluttering sensation in her chest.

Mandy smirks, watching Sophie's reaction with careful ease, masking her own amusement and fascination. She retracts her hand, resting it casually on the table now, letting the electricity of that small touch linger.

"I... I'll be here," Sophie swallows hard.

Mandy winks. "Don't stand me up now," she says lightly, leaning back and taking a slow sip of her coffee. Her eyes never leave Sophie's, bright and mischievous, pulling Sophie in without a single overt move.

Sophie, cheeks warm once more, shifts slightly in her seat, curling her fingers around the edge of the pie plate. She already knows that she would happily drop everything tomorrow to be back here. Mandy makes everything feel alive and dangerous in the best way, and Sophie already can't get enough of her.

Mandy's grin deepens, satisfied, as she slides a pen across the table like she's marking her territory—but her gaze lingers on Sophie's face, tracing, noting, hiding the part of her that's already delighted by the new, intriguing woman in front of her.

The diner hums softly around them, but in the booth, the world has shrunk to the slice of pie, the cup of coffee, and the unspoken curiosity hanging in the air.

Chapter Text

When Mandy gets home, she is met by her mother sitting outside the trailer. Kyle is stepping out the door, yawning like he's just woken up.

"Well, ain't this a damn miracle," Barb snarls. "I've got both my kids here at the same time, you ungrateful pair of bastards." She flicks her cigarette onto the dirt. "Kyle, get your ass back in there and talk to your daddy, and Mandy—Lord help me—I sure hope you've got his money."

Mandy and Kyle exchange a knowing look. They can already hear Jimmy shouting from inside. When Jimmy is in one of these moods, which seems to be more often than not lately, they avoid him like the plague.

He's unpredictable at the best of times, but when he's been drinking, he's unbearable, determined to make everyone around him suffer his wrath.

Ignoring her mother completely, Mandy walks past her and pushes through the door. The familiar depression settles into her bones the moment she steps inside. This place always does that.

She bets Sophie doesn't live like this.

She imagines Sophie in a nice, big house, the kind of house someone takes pride in. Clean counters. Fresh linen. Crisp air freshener layered with the warm, homely smell of stews and proper home-cooked meals she probably makes for her boyfriend.

Mandy's home stinks—it always has. The sour, stale smell hits her the second she crosses the threshold. It's the smell of neglect, of old smoke and spilled beer ground into the walls. She wishes, not for the first time, that she could run and never look back.

Mandy kicks herself for letting her mind wander back to Sophie. Jesus Christ. One shift at a diner, a few easy conversations, and suddenly she's playing house in her head like some idiot.

That's not her. She doesn't get soft over anyone, let alone strangers. Mandy keeps people at arm's length because it's easier that way—caring usually costs something.

She shoves the thought away as the smell of the trailer closes in around her.

Jimmy is slumped in his armchair, shouting at the TV. It is obvious that he is already three sheets to the wind, and it's just the crack of dawn.

Mandy glares at Kyle, who is busying himself in the kitchen, clearly trying to waste time before having to speak. When he ignores the look she shoots him, she nudges him hard in the side.

"Mornin', Dad," Kyle says.

Big Jim turns to face them. He looks the pair of them up and down in disgust, then spits on the carpet. Thick yellow phlegm flies from his mouth and lands right by the small TV.

The man is like a feral animal, and Mandy has to fight the urge to gag. The sight of him repulses her, nausea curling in her stomach every time she's forced to be near her brother's so-called father.

With an addict of a mother and a shambles of a home, Mandy may be far from lucky, but she considers herself the luckiest woman alive, knowing she doesn't share blood with the monstrosity sitting in that chair.

Big Jim glances at Kyle, then turns his attention back to Mandy, his eyes narrowing, and it makes her hesitate a fraction. He leans back in his chair, a hand stretched toward her, and she looks down at it, noticing the dirt ingrained around his yellowed nails.

"Pay up," he growls, his voice rough from the whiskey.

There is a part of Mandy that wants to stand up for herself once and for all. Why should she hand over her hard-earned money just to keep him happy? But she pushes that feeling down because she knows that she could never do that. So instead, she takes her wallet out of her pocket and counts the bills quickly, careful not to meet his gaze for too long.

"Here," she mutters, voice steady but soft. She shoves the cash into his waiting hand. Here. Take it. Take it and rot. The smell of whiskey and stale smoke clings to him, making her stomach churn. She hates him—hates what he does to her mother, what he has done to all of them—she wishes he would die.

Big Jim leans back in his chair, jaw tight, a hand drumming on the armrest. Mandy notices the way his knuckles whiten, the way his nostrils flare when he sniffs the air. He's ready to explode at any second. One wrong word, one pause too long... Her hands ball into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms. Just stay calm. Don't give him a reason.

"If it didn't get me outta here, I wouldn't bother going to work," Mandy mutters to herself.

Jim turns on her. "When you live under my roof, you earn your keep. If you don't like that, you can get your ass out."

Mandy bites back a remark. She wants to ask him how he expects her to do that when any money she earns goes straight into his hand, but she remembers that Jim is not a good drunk, and he's already in a bad mood, so it's best not to rock the boat. So she swallows hard, eyes flicking from Jim's scowling face to the whiskey-stained carpet at her feet. Every muscle is taut, ready to spring, though she doesn't know in which direction. The heat of his anger presses against her, heavy and suffocating.

Feeling the need to break the tension, Kyle turns to his dad. "You want another whiskey, Pa?"

"No, I fucking don't. I want your mother in here now!" he snarls. "Get your mother!"

Mandy freezes. So does Kyle. Not wanting her mother to be on the other end of Jim's fist, she just looks at him, nervously picking the skin around her nails.

Big Jim rises; the sheer size of him makes Mandy's hands tremble. His intimidating figure towering above her almost makes Mandy scream out with fear. She knows, deep down in her bones, that it is all going to blow up this morning. That look in his eye—cold, dangerous—sends a shiver down her spine. She desperately hopes she won't get caught in the middle.

Without warning, Jim shoves her in the shoulder. She stumbles back, heart pounding.

"I told you to get your Ma!" he growls.

"I'll get her, I'll get her!" Kyle exclaims in a panic. He knows what's coming if they don't comply, but Mandy is as stubborn as a goat. There may be no love lost between mother and daughter, but Mandy would still do anything to try to protect her from Jimmy's vicious temper.

As drunk as Jimmy is, he knows that he shouldn't take his temper out on Mandy. This situation he has found himself in hasn't got anything to do with her and a lot to do with her mother, but he can't stop himself. He sees Barb's face in Mandy's, and that results in Mandy getting caught in the firing line.

Her stomach churns, but her face stays calm. She counts the seconds in her head, each one stretching painfully. If she moves too fast, he might snap. If she hesitates, he'll see weakness. She glances at Kyle—frozen, pale, hands twitching—and something hardens inside her. It won't be him. Not this time.

Fearing for his sister, Kyle bolts outside and drags their drunken mother back into the house. Mandy's eyes flick from her stepfather's face to her mother's from outside the doorway, and she makes herself breathe, slow and shallow. One step, one word, one gesture wrong, and it's over. But she stays put, a calm at the centre of a storm that threatens to rip everything apart. Barb rolls her eyes at her son, shoving a packet of hash into her bra.

"Got your cash then?" Barb asks Jim, almost goading him.

Without warning, Jim lunges forward. Mandy and Kyle scream simultaneously as his massive hands clamp around her mother's throat, pinning her against the wall. Barb gasps, struggling to breathe, while Jim's rage radiates like a storm ready to break.

He presses his face into hers, a cruel smile curling his lips. "I just got off the phone with Steve. He had a lot to tell me about you," he says wickedly, a teasing tone in his voice.

Fear flashes in Barb's eyes—but Mandy can't tell if it's from his hands around her throat or from being caught out.

Mandy's heard the rumours floating around town. Small towns are like that—everyone knows everyone's business. It was only a matter of time before the stories reached Jim.

Kyle shifts his weight from foot to foot, unable to stop staring at his father, a mix of fear and disgust knotting his stomach. "I've heard all 'bout you an' that Paulie Houghton. Y'think you can pull one over on me? You backstabbing... whore!"

"Can't we talk this through? You ain't done nothin', have you, Mama?" Mandy is pleading with her mom to try to make this better. She is trying her hardest to peel Jim from her, but he possesses twice the strength that she does. She expects Kyle to jump in, but the childhood trauma they endured at the hands of this man has him deeply rooted to the spot. "Tell him, Mama. That ain't true, is it?"

For a moment, Mandy wonders if Barb even deserves her defence. But when push comes to shove, blood is thicker than water. When Barb's eyes start rolling back, Mandy makes a desperate choice. She sinks her teeth into Jim's flesh, and he releases Barb from his grasp.

She slides down the wall and crumples into a pile, holding her throbbing neck and gasping for air.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" Mandy cries, panic washing over her.

Jim yanks her by her hair. Kyle finally moves, trying to intervene, but Jim resists.

Barb doesn't shout, she doesn't scream for the man to get off her daughter. She never did. Not even when Mandy was a child. She watches her daughter being manhandled by the person she loves most in the world and doesn't say a word.

Mandy starts to sob. She knows that there is no reasoning with him when he is like this, but she tries again anyway, in fear that he will kill her. "I'm sorry, I really am. I thought she was going to die."

Lip curling sadistically, Big Jim punches Mandy in the stomach. She drops to the floor immediately, hitting her head and splitting it open on the pine unit on the way down.

Jim is completely lost in a fog of vexation and unable to control himself. He draws his foot back once more and gives Mandy one final kick. Mandy has taken such a beating that she feels like she can't breathe, let alone speak. He has knocked the wind from her body, and the warm blood from the gash in her temple is now trickling down the side of her face. She is relieved when he walks away from her and drags Barb onto the sofa. Mandy just lies there—too scared to move.

The next thing she knows, Kyle is screaming at the top of his lungs. His hands shake as he lifts the rifle, pointing it at Jim. The rifle in his hands feels impossibly heavy; a bead of sweat slides down his temple as he stares at Jim, unable to act. Jim snarls something under his breath, and the room falls silent for a heartbeat—

Kyle's chest heaves, adrenaline and fear warring inside him. For a heartbeat, it seems like he might finally take control—but then his courage falters. He freezes, unable to move, eyes wide with panic, and Jim picks up on that.

Mandy's fingers touch her head, feeling the warm blood gushing from the cut. Her eyes dart from Jim to Kyle. Kyle opens his mouth, saying nothing, and she realises he can't do it. She'll have to be the one. No one else will.

She doesn't hesitate. She lunges, grabbing the rifle from his trembling hands. Her grip is firm, unyielding. "Step aside," she snaps, her voice sharp and commanding. There's no question who's in charge now. She steps forward and snatches the crumpled bills she has just given Jim back out of his pocket and shoves them into her bra.

Jim glares at her, a flash of surprise in his eyes, but Mandy stands her ground for the first time in her life. She doesn't flinch, doesn't back down. Every inch of her posture screams resilience—years of surviving the worst have made her unbreakable.

Kyle, still in shock, finally moves. He grabs Mandy by the arm and hauls her to her feet. "Come on," he mutters, his voice tight, urgent. Together, they stumble out of the trailer, leaving the chaos—and Jim's stunned fury—behind them.

Hand in hand, they run, not looking back.

*

Mandy had to go to Accident and Emergency for stitches, spinning a story of falling down the stairs that no one believed. Kyle had driven her there in his truck and sat beside her while the nurse fixed the gash on her forehead.

Kyle still can't get his head around what happened back there. His sister had grown a pair of balls bigger than his own, and part of him is ashamed that he didn't do more for her. But that's the thing about PTSD—it grabs you when you least expect it.

In the truck, he finally looks at his sister. "I'm sorry, Mand. I should've had your back."

Mandy looks rough. Her face has swollen up from where she caught it as she hit the ground. It's already starting to bruise, but she smiles. There's a light in her eyes that Kyle hasn't seen before.

"Ain't no one to blame but that big bastard... and Mama," she says with a shrug.

Despite everything that has happened this morning, there is a spring in her step, rhythm in her voice, and Kyle gets it. For the first time, he sees it—she's free. No one can touch her, no one can control her. The trailer, the fear, the years of holding back—it's all behind her.

Kyle shakes his head, still caught in the aftershock. "That's all well and good, sis, but where are we meant to go now? We can't go back home, that's for sure."

Mandy shrugs, cash in hand, letting the breeze of her newfound freedom fill the space around her. "Then we go where we want," she says, almost to herself, a grin tugging at her lips. "I've got enough money to get us a motel. Couple of nights, maybe more if we're careful." She glances at him, taking in the way he looks unsure. "Or—you can head back to wherever the hell you disappear to nowadays."

Kyle frowns immediately. "Things are different now. I ain't leavin' you."

She snorts. "Kyle, I don't need you holdin' my hand. I've been lookin' after you and myself my whole damn life."

"Not like this," he says quietly.

Mandy looks out the windshield at the road stretching ahead of them. No trailer. No shouting. No Jim. No Barb. Just open space. Her smile comes easy once more as Kyle says, "I said what I meant. I ain't leavin'."

She finally looks at him, then laughs. "Suit yourself... but if I'm lucky I might have company."

Kyle blinks. "You can't be serious. My daddy just beat the shit outta you, we're on the run with his rifle, and you're still tryna get your leg over?"

Mandy laughs. "No, it ain't nothin' like that. Just a girl from the diner, that's all."

A mischievous smirk spreads across Kyle's face. "Man or woman, don't make no difference to you. Or so I've heard."

Mandy laughs along with him, hitting his arm while telling him to shut up.

A smile lingers on her face. He isn't wrong. Her mind drifts quietly back to Sophie. She'll be back tonight, just like she said. After everything that went down this morning, maybe she should take the night off. But she has money to make now, and Sophie will be there to make her night go quickly. Her smile widens at the thought, letting it mix with the thrill of freedom.

"Honestly though, Kyle. I'll be fine." She pats the rifle resting between them like it's an old friend. "Nobody's fuckin' with me anymore. I am Mandy fuckin' Smith, and it's time people realised it."

Kyle finally cracks. He laughs loudly, slamming his hand on the horn as he speeds up.

"WOOO! Mandy fuckin' Smith—you're gonna be someone, baby!"

"Ain't that right?" Mandy laughs along with him.

Keeping half an eye on the road, he hooks his arm around her shoulders roughly and whoops again.

"We're free!"

*

"You're wearing a lot of makeup today, Mandy. And what on earth happened to your head?"

Mandy sighs heavily. She knew that people would ask questions, and how could she blame them? If the shoe were on the other foot, she would be asking the same. But she hasn't got it in her to have the same tedious conversations about something she would rather forget.

"I fell down the stairs."

"But you live in a trailer," Caitlyn remarks, confused, and it makes Mandy laugh—really laugh.

Caitlyn is more convinced than ever that something is radically wrong, but she also knows that she will never get to know the whole story because this is how Mandy is. She's guarded, she speaks in riddles, she never lets anyone too close, and Caitlyn accepted that long ago, but she can't help but worry.

Unfortunately, Mandy treats personal truths like heirlooms—locked away, never loaned out—but that doesn't stop Caitlyn from prying. What kind of friend would she be if she didn't?

"This ain't got somethin' to do with Harry, has it?"

Mandy laughs again, louder this time. Harry could barely commit to a text message. The idea of him committing to violence was almost charming in its absurdity.

"Please," Mandy adds, with a wave of her hand. "Harry's a pussy. He couldn't hit the side of a barn if it sent him a calendar invite."

Caitlyn sighs. Mandy always has a joke on the tip of her tongue, even during the most serious conversations. She looks at her friend with a bruised face and stitches in her forehead, throwing her head back in laughter at her own wit. Mandy's jovial tone is as if they are discussing a mutual inconvenience instead of the bruising blooming beneath her makeup.

"Mandy..."

"What? Life's too short to be all serious, girlie."

With that, Caitlyn lets the conversation go. She decides not to push Mandy any further; it's always the same. Mandy doesn't offer truths—she rationalises them, and even then only to herself. Pressing never works—questions just bounce off, deflected with humour and half-answers until there is nothing left to push against.

To this day, Caitlyn is still trying to figure Mandy out—to see the real her. She isn't sure if the amusement is real or just another lock clicking into place. She only knows that Mandy's laughter unsettles her; it never quite reaches where it should.

Mandy is relieved that their conversation is cut short by a customer dragging her heavy body to the counter. She watches as the young girl holds a hand to her back; every step she takes is heavy with exhaustion.

"Can I get another strawberry milkshake? I'ma drink this, then give you your booth back, I promise," the girl says with half a smile, but unlike Mandy, the humour doesn't land.

Mandy gives her a sympathetic smile. The girl is young, pregnant, and her pretty face is scattered with deep bruising. Mandy's seen plenty like this on the night shift; women hiding in the diner like it's a lifeboat, battered and trying to survive, biding their time. This girl is no different.

When the girl stretches the bills toward her, Mandy pushes them away. "This one's on the house. When are you due?" Her voice is casual, the kind of small talk everyone expects.

"I still have a couple months in me. He's going to come out the size of Hulk Hogan the way he's growing. I doubt I'll go full term."

Mandy grins. "Well, good luck to ya."

The girl shuffles off back to her booth, and Mandy watches her go.

"I fuckin' hate this town," Caitlyn says loudly, but Mandy ignores the comment. Her own face is swollen, bruised, still stinging where her stepfather's fists found her this morning. She has no money to speak of, and tonight she'll be heading to the rundown motel Kyle found, where they can rent on the cheap.

And yet... she's not like them. At least, that's what she tells herself. She's not trapped, not broken, not another statistic like so many in this town. She dreams bigger than anyone else, and one day she'll prove it—she has no idea how, not really. For now, she's alive, she's free, and the fire in her chest won't let her stay small.

Today, there is a new waitress at the diner, and Caitlyn has busied herself trying to show her the ropes. Mandy, on the other hand, isn't interested. She is too busy watching the door, waiting for her new mysterious friend to appear. She is starting to worry that she won't show up, but she pushes that thought to the back of her mind; she will show up. She promised.

The new girl has a happy face, constantly wearing a sunny smile, which sickens Mandy. She watches her buzzing from table to table, making endless cups of coffee with a spring in her step, and she wonders what she has to be so happy about. The cheerful energy works wonders on the customers—even Mr. Jaxon, normally a sourpuss, cracks a grin. As Mandy watches her and Caitlyn chatting and laughing from across the diner, she rolls her eyes, and the little bell above the door rings.

Mandy's head snaps up at the sound.

Then she sees her.

Sophie steps inside the doorway, and Mandy realises she hasn't brought her work with her today. There are no folders tucked to her chest, no stacks of papers. Her hands hang loose at her sides, fingers fiddling with the hem of her jacket.

Her eyes sweep the diner, then again—then they land on Mandy.

Something small but electric passes across Sophie's face. Relief, maybe. Or nerves. She offers a tentative smile, not as guarded as yesterday's but not fully confident either. Like she's still testing the ground.

Mandy forces herself not to react. She doesn't straighten, doesn't wave, doesn't even smile right away. She keeps wiping down the counter, slow and deliberate, like Sophie walking through the door isn't what she's been waiting for all night. Mandy Baker doesn't get flustered. She doesn't wait on people. She doesn't hope.

And yet.

A sudden, unwelcome awareness creeps in—the tight pull of the fresh stitches in her forehead, the dull ache beneath her makeup. She never cared before. Never once paused to think about how she looks to anyone. But now she does.

Sophie steps further into the diner, and before they both know it, she is walking towards Mandy. Mandy finally looks up properly, meeting her gaze. She can't help herself; a smile curls on her face.

Sophie's eyes flick, just briefly, to Mandy's forehead.

There it is.

"Hey," Sophie says, voice light but uncertain.

"Oh hey, darlin'. You made it," Mandy grins, pulling her in for a quick hug. When she pulls away, Sophie's eyes are back on Mandy's forehead.

"I... of course. Is everything okay?"

Mandy doesn't miss a beat. She shrugs, casual. "You should see the other guy."

It earns a quiet, soft laugh. Sophie relaxes a fraction, stepping closer to the counter now, like the question was something she needed to ask to clear the air, and Mandy is grateful for that. She was dreading the whole tedious conversation where she tells her she's okay—yes, she's sure she's okay—and no, she doesn't want to talk about it.

"I left my papers back at the hotel, but I figured I'd come anyway."

Mandy smiles a smile that leaves a twinkle in her eye. "Well, I'm glad you did. Come on, let's get you comfortable."

Sophie follows Mandy over to the same booth they sat at yesterday by the window. She slides into the booth, and after glancing over at Caitlyn, who is occupied by the new girl, Mandy follows suit, sliding right in there opposite her, the vinyl squeaking as she does so.

Sophie's eyebrows lift slightly. "Aren't you—"

"On the clock?" Mandy finishes for her, waving it off. "Do you think I'd have you come all the way down here to sit on your own? You said yourself you don't have your papers, so it seems like you could use a little entertainment."

Sophie chuckles, hoping her cheeks don't flush. Mandy notices how she sits with a straight back. Her hands fold together neatly on the sticky tabletop like she doesn't quite know what to do with them. It's endearing. Mandy leans back and looks at Sophie's face, less worried than yesterday.

"So tell me, how was your first day in Alba?"

"I spent most of the day talking to people who didn't want to talk to me."

"That sounds about right," Mandy says. "Alba don't like bein' studied."

"Yeah," Sophie sighs. "I'm starting to see that."

Mandy watches her for a moment, then shrugs. "If you want my advice? You're asking the wrong people."

Sophie perks up. "Oh?"

"Town council types, business owners," Mandy says. "They'll tell you what they think you wanna hear. You wanna know Alba, you gotta talk to the people who don't get asked."

"Like who?"

Mandy grins. "Like the ones who come in here at two in the morning. Truckers. Single moms. Mr. Jaxon over there... they're honest. Don't got time for bullshit."

Sophie nods, absorbing the advice. Then she smiles. "That's... actually really helpful. Thank you."

"I may not know much, but I know Alba," Mandy chuckles.

Caitlyn clears her throat loudly from the counter, not unkindly but enough to be heard.

Mandy sighs exaggeratedly, already annoyed. She stands up. "I'll be right back, girlie. Wanna coffee?"

"Please," Sophie nods, watching Mandy slide from the booth and over to the counter.

At the counter, Caitlyn gives her a look—not annoyed, exactly, but knowing. "Is blondie over there gonna order somethin' or just keep starin' at you like that?"

Mandy snorts, grabbing a towel. "She ain't starin'."

"She absolutely is," Caitlyn replies, a mischievous look on her face. "So, you plannin' on stayin' over there all night?"

"Maybe," Mandy says, grinning. "She's nice."

"I noticed," Caitlyn replies. "Funny. You flirt like that with half the town, and none of 'em ever get you to sit still."

Mandy smiles, unbothered. "Maybe she's different." She lowers her voice, tilting her head to the side. "Hey... you remember yesterday?"

Caitlyn sighs. "What about it?"

"I covered for you when Ms. Stuck-Up-Her-Own-Ass came in here," Mandy reminds her. "I didn't complain, didn't ask questions. I covered for you..."

Caitlyn rolls her eyes. She knows exactly what Mandy wants, and she knows she can't protest. She looks over at the new girl. "You're lucky she's here."

Mandy's smile widens. "Go on, before I change my mind."

"Thanks, girl." Mandy squeezes Caitlyn's cheek between her thumb and index finger, making her push her off with a laugh.

"Get outta here."

Mandy walks back over to Sophie, and the blonde's head turns, realising she hasn't brought the coffee. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Mandy nods. "I just bought myself the night off."

Sophie tries not to look too hopeful. "Oh?"

Mandy slides back into the booth, this time settling beside Sophie rather than across from her. She leans against the edge of the table, close enough that Sophie can feel the warmth of her shoulder and the faint brush of her arm. Sophie's chest tightens. Her heart hammers in a way that makes her suddenly very aware of Mandy's presence. "You wanna get outta here?"

Sophie hesitates, then bites her lip, nervous but eager. "My hotel's not too far... if you want to go for a drink? They have a lovely bar."

Mandy tilts her head, letting a slow smile curl on her lips. "No," she says softly, almost to herself. "Not there." She leans back just enough to watch Sophie, letting the amusement linger in her eyes. Being someone else's guest, sitting politely, following rules that aren't hers—it feels wrong. She wants to steer. She wants to lead. She wants Sophie to follow her.

Sophie looks uncertain for a moment, then nods. She trusts Mandy in a way she hasn't trusted anyone here. "Where do you want to go, then?"

Mandy grins, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead, casual, confident. "Somewhere we can just... be." Her voice dips, playful but intimate. "Come with me. I'll handle the rest."

Sophie smiles softly, a little flustered but willing. She rises without another word, letting Mandy take the lead, heart still fluttering, knowing she'll follow wherever Mandy wants to go.

Chapter Text

Sitting in the back of the cab, Mandy and Sophie fall into an easy kind of comfort. Their knees knock occasionally as the car hits uneven patches of the road, but neither of them moves away. Sophie is well aware that there is probably a dangerous side to Mandy; she can't quite put her finger on why, but she feels it.

And still, she doesn't care.

As they sit listening to the cool waves of jazz music coming from the radio, Sophie glances at Mandy, who is staring out of the window in comfortable silence. She watches her without meaning to and feels a sudden flutter low in her stomach. It startles her. She looks away quickly, annoyed with herself. She doesn't quite know why she feels this way, and she kicks herself for it. She feels like a teenager on her first date.

Her thoughts drift, uninvited, back to Graham.

She feels a familiar pinch of guilt at how little attention she's given him since arriving in Texas. If she's honest, though, she's been enjoying the distance. She loves him — but he can be overwhelming at times. His constant affection, the texts, the reassurances, the way he wraps himself so tightly around her life have begun to feel less like love and more like suffocation.

He recently convinced her to move in with him. No one had ever persuaded her to do anything like that before, and the adjustment had been harder than she expected. So when the research trip to Alba came up, she jumped at the chance without hesitation. A week away feels like oxygen.

The guilt settles in her chest again, familiar and heavy. She tells herself she shouldn't be too harsh on him; she knows she's being unfair. She loves him, and he's a good man. She knows he loves her too, but she often asks herself if love is enough.

Now she is sitting in the back of a cab with a woman she met less than twenty-four hours ago, and her pulse won't slow. The pull she feels toward Mandy confuses her more than anything because she has never felt this kind of excitement before.

Sophie's eyes drift to Mandy's forehead, to the stitches dark against her pale skin, then to the faint bruises blooming along her jaw and neck. She swallows, trying not to let her worry show. Mandy doesn't want to talk about it — and Sophie knows that.

Sophie bites her lip, hoping Mandy's okay, but she knows it isn't her place to press. She stays quiet, letting the cab's gentle hum and the scratch of the tyres on the road fill the space between them.

Mandy feels the weight of Sophie's gaze. Slowly, deliberately, she turns her head toward her. A lazy smirk curls on her lips.

"Well, darlin'... if you're staring, at least make it worth my while," she says, her voice low, teasing, almost purring.

Sophie flinches slightly, caught off guard, heat creeping up her neck. The concern she'd been holding in her chest tangles with a sudden, inexplicable thrill. Mandy leans back just enough, letting the tension linger, letting Sophie feel the pull.

Mandy shifts slightly in the seat, letting her shoulder brush against Sophie's. It's casual but deliberate enough that Sophie notices, her heart picking up speed. She can feel the warmth radiating from Mandy's side, the subtle brush of her arm, and she struggles to keep her breathing steady.

"You look tense," Mandy says, her voice low and teasing, a corner of her mouth curling into that familiar, mischievous grin. "Relax... I'm not leading you to your death."

Sophie flushes, forcing herself to meet Mandy's gaze in the mirror. "I — uh — I just... don't even know where I am right now," she admits, half laughing, half nervous. "I mean... I don't know this town, I barely know you, and yet... I'm just... in your cab. It's crazy."

Mandy chuckles softly, the sound warm and easy. "Crazy, maybe. Fun? Definitely. You're trustin' me, though... and I like that." She lets her eyes flick to Sophie, then back to the road, giving just enough distance to keep herself unpredictable, untouchable.

Sophie swallows, glancing out of the window. "I just... you said we're going to a motel?"

Mandy interrupts gently, leaning back a little so their knees brush again. Her tone is soft but confident, more a whisper than a statement. "It's shabby, I have to admit. But that's the point. Quiet, private... a little bourbon, a little gin, no one to bother us. Perfect for a couple of hours away from the world."

Sophie's stomach twists — not from nerves exactly, but from the pull of it all, the way Mandy's words feel like a rope drawing her closer. "And you... you're okay with it? Staying there alone?"

Mandy glances at her from the corner of her eye, letting the teasing hang between them. "I'm always okay, sweetheart. But it's more fun with company, don't you think?" Her voice drops just enough that Sophie's pulse hammers in her ears.

Sophie swallows hard, caught between disbelief and desire. She knows part of herself should hesitate, should say no, step back — but she can't. She's already leaning in, drawn into Mandy's orbit. "I guess you're right. I need to stop worrying," she says quietly, almost as if confessing.

Mandy's smile deepens, satisfied. She lets her hand rest lightly near Sophie's on the seat, not touching, just close enough. "Damn straight you do. Nothing bad will happen to you when I'm around. I've got you, Sophie," she murmurs, her eyes gleaming with that mix of sincerity and quiet command she always carries.

The cab rumbles on, and Sophie lets herself sink a little closer, drawn into the thrill, the unpredictability, the magnetic pull of a woman who knows exactly what she wants — and knows Sophie will follow.

When the cab stops outside the motel, Sophie gets out, feeling a little spooked. The building is old, low, stretched out across the concrete. The parking lot is empty, and Sophie can see why. Even from the outside, this place looks like it was at its best in the 90s and abandoned since. The neon light above them still lights, but half of the letters are missing, leaving it like a game of countdown at night.

But still, everything doesn't seem too bad, because Mandy's here, grabbing Sophie's hand and dragging her into the building.

"Like I said, it's not much to look at. It's just somewhere I rent every now and again when I need a little space," Mandy lies easily. It's easier to lie than to let anyone into the truth, she thinks, and Sophie thinks nothing of it. She is already way too under Mandy's spell to question anything she says. If she told her the sky was green, she'd probably believe it.

When the cab finally pulls up, Sophie follows Mandy out without thinking. Only once her boots hit the pavement does she pause. The motel squats low against the dark, stretched thin across cracked concrete. The neon sign flickers like it's on its last breath, MOTEL buzzing unevenly while the last two letters stay dark. Peeling paint, yellowed curtains, a single office light humming behind grimy glass. The air smells like dust and cold asphalt.

The place feels forgotten.

Mandy laces her fingers through Sophie's and tugs her forward. That's enough.

Inside, the room is even more bare than Sophie expects. Outdated furniture, empty walls, a bed made too neatly. No suitcase. No clothes. No sign that anyone actually stays here. She doesn't judge Mandy for it — the space feels deliberate, chosen for utility rather than comfort.

Then she sees the rifle.

It's propped neatly in the corner, almost casual in its presence. Sophie's stomach tightens. She tells herself this is Texas, that guns are normal here, expected even. A tool. Protection.

The logic doesn't help.

The sight of it settles something cold and restless in her chest, and no matter how hard she tries, she can't quite make it go away.

Mandy notices Sophie staring. She nudges her gently and laughs.

"What, you never seen a gun in Boston?"

Sophie feels the heat creep up her neck. "I... no... I mean, yes, just not..."

She gestures vaguely, then lets her hand fall.

Mandy smirks, amused. "It's not gonna hurt you. We play by different rules down here."

Sophie hesitates for half a second, then lets out a short laugh, surprised by it. "I guess you're right."

She's anti-gun, but not delusional. She can't expect the entire country to think like her. Especially not Texans.

Mandy's grin widens, soft and quiet. "That's the spirit."

Mandy crosses the room and reaches for a crumpled paper bag sitting by the dresser. From it, she produces the bottle of gin and bourbon she promised Sophie earlier. She sets them down like prized treasures. Other than the gun, these are the only things she owns at the moment. That thought flickers through her mind.

"I know the room's nothing special," she says, gesturing around them. "But—" she points to the old TV bolted to the wall "—we got cable. Or at least we got a TV. That counts for somethin'."

She tosses Sophie the remote. "Here, put something on. We need a bit of background noise in here."

The casual cheer in her voice does more than the joke itself. Sophie feels the last of her tension drain away, her shoulders loosening without her realising they'd been tight.

Mandy pours two glasses without asking, generous and unmeasured, then pauses, considering Sophie.

"Bourbon," she decides at the last second, handing one to her. "Trust me."

Sophie eyes the generous measure. "You didn't even ask."

Mandy smirks. "I know."

Sophie snorts, then kicks her shoes off and climbs onto the bed, folding her legs beneath her. She watches Mandy move around the room, relaxed now, talking easily as she caps the bottle and nudges the bag aside.

Sophie takes a sip and immediately winces. "Oh... wow. That's strong."

Mandy laughs, genuine and warm. "Yeah, it doesn't apologise."

She lifts her own glass in a small toast. "You'll get used to it."

Sophie smiles despite herself, bourbon burning its way down. The room suddenly feels smaller, safer, filled not with questions or edges, but with Mandy's voice, the low hum of the TV, and the strange, comforting sense that, for the next little while, nothing else is expected of her.

She shifts, cradling the glass between her hands. She takes a deep breath, weighing her words.

"I was thinking on the way over here...about what you said at the diner. What you said about Alba."

Mandy leans back against the dresser, arms folding loosely. "Yeah?"

"You said I should talk to people who don't get asked."

Sophie pauses, trying to read Mandy's face.

"Well... I didn't get much done today. As I told you earlier, my boss sent me out here to research the town, but everyone just gave me the same rehearsed answers. I think you were right."

Mandy studies the blonde for a second. "So?"

"So I was wondering," Sophie says carefully, like she's skating on thin ice, "if you'd... maybe let me interview you?"

There's a brief pause.

Then Mandy laughs — not sharp, not deflecting. Genuinely surprised.

"Me?" she says, eyebrows lifting. "You came all the way to Alba to hear what I think?"

Sophie nods. "Yeah, I get the feeling you know this place better than most people. And you don't sugar-coat it."

Mandy's smile shifts, softer now, edged with something like pride. "Well, I'll be damned. Ain't nobody asked me what I think before."

She pushes off the dresser and steps forward, raising her glass.

"Alright, Boston. You got yourself an interview."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Mandy says easily. "Like you said, we ain't got nothin' else to do. Just don't expect me to make Alba look pretty."

Sophie grins. "Honestly... that's exactly what I was hoping for."

Mandy chuckles, taking a sip of bourbon. "Careful, though. You ask the wrong questions, you might get more than you bargained for."

Sophie's pulse quickens, but she doesn't look away. "I think I can handle that."

Sophie gets herself comfortable on the bed. She turns the volume down on the TV but keeps it on, offering a warm glow over the worn furniture.

"Alright," she says, taking another sip of her drink. It still burns her throat, but Mandy was right; she is getting used to it. "Let's pretend this is a real interview. But like... the relaxed kind."

Mandy smirks, leaning back onto the dresser once more. "I hope you brought your notepad."

Sophie rummages around in her jacket pocket, then pulls out a tiny notepad, a ballpoint clipped to it. She looks ever so pleased with herself as she waves it in the air. "I always come prepared."

Mandy laughs, shaking her head. "You're unbelievable, Sophie. You know, curiosity can be dangerous, but go ahead — ask your questions."

"Okay... first question. What's a typical day like for you here in Alba? Or does typical even exist?"

"Oh, typical exists, alright," Mandy answers, swirling her bourbon lazily. "It's just... same shit, different day. You wake up, you work, you survive, repeat. Weather changes sometimes, people change rarely, but not much else. Small towns don't do surprises — they just... linger," she says honestly, then clamps a hand over her mouth. "Shit, is cussing allowed?"

"It is now," Sophie laughs, then tilts her head to look at Mandy again. "So nothing really happens here?"

Mandy shrugs, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "Well, you came here. That's exciting. Well, for me it is anyway... I just hope you don't make it too exciting for anyone else." Her eyes glint with mischief, daring Sophie to react.

Sophie's face blushes. She catches herself trying not to grin and quickly scribbles a note anyway. She glances up, trying to keep her voice even. "I think we'll leave that bit out," she giggles. "But it takes us nicely to the next question."

Mandy raises an eyebrow. "Oh? And what's that?"

"Outsiders," Sophie says, carefully leaning back against the pillow. "Do people around here welcome outsiders?"

"Outsiders?" Mandy echoes, tilting her head, her smirk widening. She leans forward just slightly, letting her hand brush against Sophie's as she adjusts the notebook. "Well... depends on the outsider," she murmurs, letting her fingers linger a moment longer than necessary. Before Sophie can respond, Mandy cups her cheek lightly, her thumb grazing her skin. Her voice drops, low and teasing. "Someone like you... you tell me — have I welcomed you?"

Sophie freezes, her heart skipping a beat. She swallows, trying to hide her grin behind her pen, but it betrays her anyway.

Mandy leans back just a little, letting the moment linger, her smirk playful and unapologetic. "Alba doesn't see many outsiders," she says casually, though the glint in her eye says otherwise, "but the ones who catch my attention... they usually don't forget it."

Sophie scribbles her note, her hand shaking slightly, her voice steady but her pulse betraying her. "Right... I'll... keep that in mind," she murmurs, trying to sound professional, even as Mandy's flirtation lingers in the air.

She flips the page, hoping a fresh start might help her think more clearly. "The governor," she mumbles to herself, not entirely sure why that thought came to her. "What do people really think of him?"

Mandy snorts, low and effortless. She did warn Sophie that she wasn't going to sugarcoat anything, and as controversial as it is, that includes her thoughts on their current governor. "People love him," she says finally, and Sophie scribbles that down. "Now don't get me wrong... some people genuinely do. Others are pretendin'. You get a lot of that here — pretendin'."

Sophie nods slowly, noting the sharp clarity behind Mandy's words. The statement lands heavier than Mandy intended, and she realises so when Sophie's eyes drift again to the fresh stitches in her forehead. Sophie's pen hovers over the notebook.

Before she can stop the question from stumbling out of her mouth, she's asking, "What really happened to you?"

Mandy's bright blue eyes flick towards her, and for a fraction of a second, the usual mask slips — a flash of something dark, raw, and unspoken. Sophie feels the tension immediately, the kind that makes your chest tighten and that little voice in the back of your head ask why you would say something so stupid.

And then Mandy pauses, catching herself almost admitting the truth. She leans back, shrugging, brushing it off with a casual ease like she always does. "Life happened, girlie," she says softly, almost intimately, but she doesn't offer more. Not yet.

Sophie doesn't note that down.

Her phone buzzes, sharp and intrusive, and Mandy is glad for the distraction. Graham's name lights up the screen, a reminder to Sophie of her real life — the one she has back in Boston.

Her thumb hovers over the screen. She's screaming at herself to answer it. She knows she should. She knows it will be simple: reassure him that she's safe, let him know she's been thinking about him as much as he's thinking about her — but the latter would be a lie. The moment stretches. She's reaching for her phone, but she isn't answering the call. Instead, she flips it face down, her pulse hammering in her ears.

Mandy watches quietly, taking in everything — the way Sophie's shoulders stiffened, the way she hesitated, her tongue touching her bottom lip — then the immediate deep breath she let out when the phone stops vibrating.

"Does he always check up on you?"

"He checks up on me enough," Sophie says, then, almost as if trying to convince herself, adds, "It's not a bad thing. I know he worries when I'm out of town."

Mandy hums — a sound that doesn't judge, doesn't probe — but she's good at reading people, and she's reading Sophie right now. "Are you happy with him?" she finally asks, casually.

"Yes." Sophie smiles, and Mandy realises that the smile doesn't reach her eyes. The words sound brittle, like she's forcing them over her tongue. "I am."

She isn't lying, exactly, but she isn't telling the truth either, and they both know that.

Mandy tilts her head. "Well, you coulda fooled me. The way you flipped that phone over, you'd've thought it was Satan himself tryna get ahold of you."

Sophie doesn't reply to that. She stands up, announcing she needs the bathroom. Mandy watches her go, not saying a word. She notices everything anyway.

The bathroom is small and stark, buzzing faintly with bad lighting. Sophie grips the edge of the sink and stares at her reflection — flushed cheeks, eyes too bright. She looks younger somehow. The bourbon is starting to get a hold of her. "What the fuck are you doing?" she mutters to herself, then shakes her head. There is a part of her — the sensible part — that knows she should make her excuses and leave, but she can't bring herself to do it. It is like Mandy has a spell on her that she can't shake off.

When she comes back out, Mandy is standing near the bed, one hand resting on her hip and the other flicking through the TV channels. The picture changes from game shows to late-night reruns, nothing particularly grabbing Mandy's attention. She continues to flick through them without much interest, like she's killing time rather than actually choosing.

"I thought maybe we could put the interview on hold for the time being and watch a bit of TV. Not exactly interesting... but why waste this perfectly good TV?" She chuckles, and Sophie's smile widens.

"I like boring," Sophie replies, pausing by the doorway. For a moment, she just watches her — the ease of her posture, the way she fills the room without trying, like she belongs in every spot she stands in.

"Get your butt over here, then."

Sophie doesn't need telling twice. She crosses the room and sits back down on the bed. "I think I need this sometimes. Quiet. Normal. Nothing expected of me."

Mandy looks at her then — really looks.

"Well," she says, handing Sophie the remote, "knock yourself out, Boston."

Sophie hesitates just for a moment before taking it. Her fingers brush Mandy's, and the contact lingers half a second longer than necessary. Sophie pretends not to notice, but Mandy absolutely does.

Sophie settles against the pillows, flicking until she lands on something harmless and slow. Mandy joins her a moment later, sitting beside her, close enough that their thighs touch. Neither of them moves away.

They fall into a natural, intimate quietness. Sophie laughs softly at the sitcom. Mandy teases her about choosing the worst thing possible for them to watch. Mandy's arm brushes Sophie's, deliberate but casual. When Sophie reaches for her drink, Mandy leans closer, eyes glittering with mischief.

"You really do like boring," she teases. "I can see it in the way you're trying not to look like you're enjoying yourself too much. But you are."

Sophie's stomach flips. She can feel herself the way Mandy sees her — small, hesitant, yet undeniably pulled in. It is different than with Graham — with him, she is used to being in control, used to expecting what will happen next. With Mandy, she feels off balance, watched in a way that is thrilling but unsettling all at once.

Mandy reaches over, resting her hand lightly on Sophie's arm. "Relax. Just... be boring with me for a while. That's all I want."

Sophie's cheeks burn. She laughs, caught between embarrassment and an odd, heady thrill. "I... I don't know how to just..." Her words trail off, and she realises she doesn't need to finish. Mandy's eyes are on her, steady and unflinching, seeing her completely — and she likes it more than she thought she would.

Mandy nudges her shoulder with hers, light, but the weight of the touch lingers longer than that of a casual friendship. Sophie feels herself smiling, caught in the moment that is intimate, warm, and teasing, and she realises with a quiet thrill that she has never looked at herself through someone else's eyes like this before. Sophie settles back against the pillows again, by Mandy's side.

Slowly, without thinking, she rests her head on Mandy's shoulder. The warmth of the woman beside her, the flickering of the TV, the quietness — it is comforting in a way Sophie wasn't expecting.

Mandy doesn't pull away. Her hand comes to rest lightly on Sophie's thigh, and the touch sends a jolt through Sophie. Her chest tightens. Suddenly, the comfort feels dangerous, the closeness wrong in a way she hadn't noticed before. Even though she isn't really doing anything wrong, the thought of staying like this makes her stomach churn.

Sophie scrambles up, muttering a half-hearted excuse. "I just thought... I really need to go. I'm so sorry." She grabs her bag, her voice hurried, as if trying to convince herself more than Mandy.

"Soph —" Mandy's voice calls her, playful at first, then sharper. "Sophie, wait!"

But Sophie is already at the door, fumbling with the lock. Her heart thumps in her ears. She wants to stay, she wants to sink into Mandy's touch, but something in her chest tells her she shouldn't.

Mandy calls her name again, but Sophie ignores it, waving her hand with another excuse. Then she's in the hallway, letting the door close behind her. Her pulse slows, but the feelings still linger. The guilty tug she feels tells her she shouldn't have let herself get that comfortable.

Inside the motel room, Mandy just stands there. She pushes her hair out of her face, puffing out her cheeks. "Damn straight girls," she mutters, glaring at the TV screen as if it were somehow to blame. She curses again, low and sharp, frustrated at herself, not so much Sophie. It annoys her how her heart still hammers in her chest even though she has gone.

Chapter Text

Mandy slowly wakes up to the sound of nothing.

No traffic, no voices, no hum from the TV — just the faint electrical buzz of the motel room and the slow drag of her own breathing. For half a second she forgets where she is. She half expects to see her own bedroom when she opens her eyes — then reality hits her.

For a moment, she doesn't move. She opens her eyes and just lies there, staring at the old water stain on the ceiling. Then she feels it: the throb of the recently stitched cut in her head, and she tells herself she will take a painkiller — at least then she can forget everything that happened yesterday.

But not everything can be easily forgotten.

Sophie's face etches into her mind.

The way her warmth wrapped around her as they sat side by side in a comfortable silence she's never felt with anyone before. The way Sophie nuzzled into her slightly like she belonged there. The hitch in her breath before she pulled away, startled at herself for being so free. Mandy brings a hand up to her face and leaves it there, trying to push those thoughts away.

She went too far.

That's what she tells herself, over and over again, until it's like a one-track record playing on repeat.

She would never admit it out loud, but the thought lands heavy in her chest. Last night she had forgotten herself. Let her hand linger. Let her eyes say more than they should have.

She shifts onto her side, the sheet rasping against her skin. The other half of the bed is cold now, flattened where Sophie had been. Mandy looks at it longer than she means to.

Sophie hadn't left because she didn't want it.

That's the part that needles.

She left because she'd wanted it too much, and Mandy had seen it — named it without words — and that kind of thing scares people who still believe their lives are supposed to stay tidy.

Mandy swallows. There's no bitterness in it. Just a low, steady acceptance.

She pushes herself upright, the sheets sliding off her body. Her whole body aches — she can thank Big Jim for that, but she ignores it. It's nothing a painkiller won't fix.

She looks down at herself.

Naked. The thin white sheet is bunched around her waist. It reminds her of how little she has. Everything she owns she left back at the trailer, without really thinking their plan through.

Yesterday, when she ran out of the trailer with Jim's gun in hand and one-week wage in her pocket, she hadn't planned her next step. Survival has a way of narrowing your vision — stops you planning ahead, seeing reality.

Yesterday's clothes are where she left them, crumpled in a heap on the floor beside the bed. She shed them without care, but now she's reaching for them again. She gets dressed slowly. The denim of her jeans is stiff against her skin. The tank smells faintly like Sophie. Her perfume still clings to the denim from their closeness last night.

She avoids the mirror with purpose. There is no way that she wants to see herself like this.

The cash sits on the nightstand.

She picks it up, counts it once, then again, methodical. Her thumb pauses on a folded bill, and for a second she sees herself younger — slipping money into Jim's hand, telling herself it was easier that way. That it kept things calm. That it was just money.

Her mouth hardens.

It was never just money.

It was control. Years of it. Every dollar she earned turning into something she never got to keep. The pile in her hand feels insulting now. A fraction. A tease.

She wants more.

Not greed — not hunger for luxury — but a need so deep it feels structural. She wants what's owed. Every cent she bled for.

There's a loud banging on the door.

Mandy doesn't flinch. She knows how Kyle knocks. He bangs his fist against the wood like it's an emergency, every single time. Normally she'd scream at him for it, but this morning she hasn't got it in her.

She pulls the door open and he barges inside. "You look like shit."

She allows herself to laugh at that. Typical Kyle. "You don't look too pretty yourself."

He kicks the door closed behind him. He glances around the room, eyes landing where he thought he'd find company. "I thought you were havin' a party of your own last night?"

Mandy shakes her head and Kyle ignores it. He knows his sister well enough to know she doesn't give him — or anyone — the details of her life. So he just sits at the end of the bed, elbows on his knees.

"Look, Mand. I been thinkin'. We didn't get enough yesterday," he says, as if reading Mandy's mind.

"No," Mandy agrees. "We didn't."

She hops up onto the dresser, looking into her brother's face. "Everything we own is still in that goddamn trailer. Clothes. Papers. Stuff."

"Your money."

Mandy nods once, then a smile spreads across her face. "You thinkin' what I am?"

"If you're thinkin' we go back and get what's ours, then hell yeah I am," Kyle laughs. "Hear me out: broad daylight. Neighbors out front. He won't risk showin' his ass."

Mandy's eyes lift from Kyle to the rifle, still sitting in the corner like a prized possession. "And if he does, we got somethin' that will do a little persuasion."

Kyle laughs again, more manic this time. "I like how you think, Sis." He slams his palm down on the bed, excitement filling his eyes. "Let's go show that motherfucker we ain't scared of him no more."

"We shoulda done this a long time ago," Mandy grins, the thought of finally standing up for herself putting a smile on her face.

She pulls on her boots. Sophie slips back into her thoughts. A quiet awareness she doesn't bother fighting.

She knows she'll see her again.

Before Boston. Before goodbyes. Before anything gets locked in as permanent.

Mandy straightens, shaking the thought of Sophie off. She has more important things to think about this morning. One wrong move and everything could go wrong.

Kyle slings his arm around her shoulder and grins at her. "Let's go," he says.

"I'm done leavin' things behind."

And this time, she means everything.

*

Barb Smith has just got in from work and is pouring herself a large brandy when Big Jim walks in. She is tired, and it shows. Her eyes have dark circles around them that no amount of concealer can cover, and her skin is grey. Her shoulders are sore, her legs aching from the night spent on someone else's desires. She looks like a woman who has spent a very long night with way too many men. And of course, she has.

The cash in her pocket is damp and folded too many times, smelling faintly of smoke and despair. She hasn't counted it yet. There's no point. Jim will do that for her. Without a word, she pulls the money out and pushes it into his waiting hand.

Mandy's wages from the diner had softened the edges of her life, given her a few fewer nights of work, a few more hours of sleep. Now the girl's gone, free, and Barb can already feel the gap closing in. With less income coming through Jim's hand, Barb knows it will fall on her to make up for it. He will want more from her—more nights, more bodies, more endurance. She'll take it. She has no other choice.

He'll want her out tomorrow. Maybe the night after, too.

"Move," Jim snarls, the single word cutting through the silence in the trailer, and it makes her tense.

She watches as the man she tied herself to pushes past her in a hurry. His enormous bulk makes it hard for him in the tiny trailer. He is sweating; it's far too hot for someone his size.

Barb glances out of the window, watching the neighbours chatting on the lawn. She mutters under her breath as she feels Big Jim come up behind her.

"Thinkin' about those kids of yours again? Useless, the both of 'em. I told you that since the day I met you," he says. "Walkin' out on us is one thing. Stealin' my money and threatenin' us with my gun is another. Just wait till I get my hands on 'em—they'll be real damn sorry."

She feels the familiar prick of irritation, but she keeps her face still. She's not annoyed that her children have left once and for all—that was inevitable, and she won't miss them, not one bit. What she will miss is the regular income Mandy brought into this home and the peace-making she did when Big Jim would come back all guns blazing. The thing is, Mandy handled Big Jim—or at least she tried her best. Always had. Barb learned early it was easier to let the girl get in the middle of their fights than risk fighting back herself.

But that's who Barb is—selfish.

Barb tells herself Mandy owes her. Both of them do. She'd dragged them up for years, fighting her own habits, put a roof over their heads when plenty of mothers wouldn't have bothered. If Jim shouted, if his fists flew—well, that was life. They survived it, didn't they? Kyle distanced himself first. Mandy should have known better.

Barb shifts closer to Jim, feeling the heat radiating from him, the smell of sweat and grease curling in her nose. The thought of Mandy and Kyle out there, free, stirs something sour in her. Whatever they thought they were owed, this is her life. Jim is her man. You don't turn your back on your own. Not for children who couldn't even show gratitude.

She's pulled from her thoughts by Jim's heavy breathing. "You make my sandwiches?"

"They're in the fridge."

No more is said after that.

Five minutes later, Jim is shoving the food into his mouth. Barb is watching him chew, jaw working, crumbs clinging to his stubble. She doesn't move away. She never does.

Watching him eat makes her stomach turn. Still, she feels the old pull settle in her chest—heavy, familiar. She loves him. Leaving would mean she was wrong about everything.

Then the trailer door bangs open.

Mandy steps in first, eyes blazing. Jim freezes mid-bite, crumbs falling from his lips as he blinks in disbelief.

Kyle follows closely behind, rifle slung loosely but deadly in his grip. His eyes are locked on his father. His loyalty to Mandy knows no bounds. It's carved into his bones. He doesn't speak, doesn't hesitate like yesterday—he simply mirrors his sister's resolve, and the wild intensity in his eyes isn't lost on Jim. Kyle's pupils are sharp; a twitch at the corner of his mouth makes Jim sink further into his chair without realising it. He's used to their fear, submission, trembling. Not this.

Mandy's gaze sweeps the room, landing on her mother.

Her voice cuts through, calm but edged with authority. "Don't worry, Ma. I'm just here to get my things. Kyle ain't givin' back the rifle. We'll keep it—just in case."

Barb freezes mid-motion, brandy halfway to her lips. The heat from fear curls in her chest. Part of her wants to stop them, wants to scream, to beg Big Jim to do something, but she can't. The gun. The look in Kyle's eyes. The confidence in Mandy's voice.

Jim's hand twitches, jaw tight, anger bubbling—but uncertainty creeps in. He looks at Kyle again, sees the rifle, sees the wild focus. A cold prickle of fear runs down his spine. He's never been shaken down like this before.

Mandy steps closer, casual, deliberate. "Everything I earned," she says, voice steady. "Every damn cent. Hand it over."

She doesn't flinch. Kyle doesn't flinch. Jim does. And for the first time, he knows he's not in control—but he still tries to fight it. He doesn't rise. He stays planted in his chair, shoulders hunched, jaw set hard as stone. He keeps his hands on the armrests like anchors, knuckles whitening as he grips tighter.

Kyle snaps.

In two strides across the room, he's grabbing his father by his wife-beater vest. His fist twists the fabric tight as he hauls him forward, pressing his face in close, their noses touching. "You heard her!" he bellows, voice shaking with something sharp and broken. His eyes are wide now, pupils blown. There's no fear left in him. He's not a little boy anymore, and his father will realise that today.

Jim opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

Kyle shoves him back as hard as he can. Jim crashes into the chair, the springs creaking under his weight. He lets out a loud grunt of surprise. Never did he think the day would come that his son had the guts to stand up to him. He's bullied everyone in this trailer for years, and today is the day he gets his comeuppance. Kyle throws his head back and laughs, loud and unhinged, the sound bouncing off the trailer walls.

"Just look at you," Kyle says, pacing now, manic energy rolling off him. Barb watches, but Mandy is in their former bedroom throwing their belongings into trash bags. Kyle hitches his leg up and rests his foot on the armchair. "Funny how the tables turn, ain't it?" He's grinning again, nudging his father with the head of the rifle. "You gonna piss on yourself, Dada? Huh?"

Jim's chest heaves, and Barb screams now—high and frantic—screaming for her son to leave them alone. Kyle shushes her with a wave of his hand, and she doesn't need telling twice. He steps back in, crowding Jim again.

"You remember when I was a kid? When I was just a boy?" His voice drops. "I was so damn scared of you I'd piss all over myself. You remember that, Pa? You loved that shit, didn't you?"

His head turns when he hears Mandy's voice from the doorway. "Enough, Kyle. They ain't worth it," she says.

She tosses him the bags and steps towards Jim. He looks up at her, really looks, and something in his gut twists. She isn't scared. Not even a little. The girl who used to flinch if he breathed too loud—that girl is gone.

"Money," she says again. "Now."

Jim's jaw works. Then he points his finger to the bottom cabinet on the kitchen counter. "In there."

Mandy grins like the Cheshire Cat and pats his sweat-soaked cheek. "That weren't so hard now, was it, stepdaddy?"

Barb watches from the corner, frozen, heart pounding—not because Jim might lash out, but because for the first time she understands something she never wanted to admit.

Her children are no longer afraid of him.

And that terrifies her.

Mandy grins at Kyle, who's still standing over Jim, rifle in hand, chest heaving. She tosses him the trash bags, then the jar of cash she's recovered from the kitchen. "Take it," she says firmly. "Take the stuff and get in the truck. I need a minute."

Kyle's eyes widen, panic and loyalty warring in his expression. "I ain't leavin' you. Ain't no damn way."

"Go, Kyle. I'll be right out."

He hesitates, but he knows she means business, so he gives in. "Fine—but I ain't leavin' you here without a gun to shove up their asses," he says, passing her the rifle, which she takes with ease. She holds it like a natural, like she's done this her whole life. Mandy nods toward the door, and Kyle curses loudly before saying his last "fuck you" to his parents and leaving.

Mandy watches him go, the sound of the truck door shutting behind him echoing.

Alone now, Mandy stands in the middle of the trailer, taking it in like it's the first time her eyes have lain on it. She looks at the old, faded carpet, the stained walls, the furniture. She takes in the sickly smell of smoke. She inhales once, twice, letting the memories wash over her—every scream, every shove, every hour spent shrinking in the shadows.

Mandy drops a bag onto the worn carpet, then slowly turns to face her mother. Her posture is rigid, her eyes steady, but a single tear traces down her cheek. She wipes it away quickly, annoyed with herself for letting it show.

"Mama," she says, her voice quiet at first, then gaining confidence. "I shoulda done this a long time ago."

Barb lifts her eyebrow, smirking, as if the weight of Mandy's words bounces off her harmlessly. "Done what? Be a good daughter to me?"

Mandy's jaw clenches. "You know damn well what I mean. I used to think you weren't strong enough to save us... but I get it now. It wasn't that you weren't strong—it's that you never cared enough."

Barb snorts. "Oh, I cared. I cared enough to survive. That's more than most folks would've done for you two."

Mandy swallows down the anger rising in her throat. "You call that carin'? You let him—him!—run this house, run our lives. You let him hurt all of us, humiliate us... and you stood there watchin'."

Barb's smirk widens, unapologetic. "You got a lot to learn, Mandy." She shakes her head, running a hand down her face. Then she looks Mandy directly in the eye, like she wants to watch her words sting. "I never asked for this. And I sure as hell didn't ask for you or your brother. But accidents happen, and I was reminded of that mistake every goddamn day of my life. Every time I looked you in those pretty eyes of yours."

Mandy's single tear threads down again, and she wipes it with the back of her hand. "Don't say that, Mama. Please... I don't hate you. I ain't even sayin' I blame you. I just never understood why you didn't love us."

Barb tilts her head, eyes narrowing slightly. "Well, now you know. Love's messy, and I did what I had to. You're here, ain't you? You're alive... breathing. You're here, able to yell at me. That's enough for me. I did my best."

Mandy swallows hard, but the lump forms again. Fury and sorrow coil tight in her chest. "It's not enough. It's never been enough. You can't think it is, Mama. You can't—"

Barb interrupts her. "Well, I do think it's enough, and one day when you got your own children, you will understand. Life ain't all sweet-smellin' roses."

Mandy blinks. The tears she's been fighting are free now, and she can't hide them. "You can save those crocodile tears, child. I ain't seen you cry since you were knee-high—"

"Guess I'm still human, huh?"

Barb's laugh is low, knowing, cruel. "Dry your eyes and get your things. Don't keep your brother waitin'."

Mandy straightens up, looking at her mother for the last time in her life. She knows this is goodbye, but she isn't even sad about it. She's relieved. Freedom is calling her, and she can't let it go to waste.

"I'm done, Mama," she says. "I'm done with all of this. But I needed you to hear it. I needed to tell you the truth."

"Truth's overrated. You'll figure that out one day."

Mandy turns, lifting the bag slowly. She shuts her eyes for a moment and tells herself to pull herself together. Each step towards the door is purposeful, leaving the past behind her. She pauses at the door for a second, looking back one last time. Her eyes meet Barb's, then she steps out, letting the door slam softly behind her.

The trailer seems smaller, darker, emptied of control.

Mandy walks toward the truck waiting outside, the weight of her childhood finally lifting from her shoulders.

She hauls the bag into the truck. Every step away from the trailer feels like a mile, and she's grateful for that. Once her tears start to flow, she's unable to stop them. She wouldn't want anyone but Kyle to see this side of her—this messy, human side.

But then she hears it.

"Mandy?"

The voice is soft, hesitant, and it immediately makes her freeze. Her heart twists in a way it hasn't in years. She turns, trying to keep her posture casual, like she is just another woman walking through the park.

It isn't just another woman, though.

Sophie is there. Standing a few yards away, eyes wide, a paper binder clutched to her chest. Her hand raises slightly, unsure, and Mandy's throat tightens.

"Sophie..." she says, voice low and soft.

She takes a careful step towards the truck, trying to appear steady, untouchable.

Sophie moves forward anyway, calling her name again, worry etched into her features. Mandy feels something twist in her chest—a dangerous pull—but she shakes her head violently, almost laughing at herself for feeling it. She couldn't. She shouldn't. Not now.

Kyle's hand rests on the wheel, impatient. He just wants to get the hell away from here. Mandy climbs in, and she stops him from speaking before he's even opened his mouth.

"Drive!" she snaps.

She looks out of the window, catching Sophie's gaze. She wants to tell her it's not personal, to make her understand it's not her she's running from. But she can't allow herself to do that. Instead, she inhales sharply, forcing herself to focus on the road, the hum of the engine, the weight of the bag on her lap—anything but the pull in her chest. Sophie's worried eyes follow the truck as it disappears.

Mandy leans back, chest tight and shoulders heavy. She wipes her face, annoyed at herself for showing weakness, for letting anyone—especially Sophie—catch a glimpse.

Chapter Text

Sophie stands on the opposite side of the road from the motel Mandy is staying at, her phone pressed to her ear.

The place looks even worse in daylight, but she’d never say that to Mandy, of course.

Old blue paint peels off the doors. There’s an eerie feeling she gets every time she’s near it. The kind of place you tell yourself you’d never stop at, never look twice at — and yet here she is, staring at it, thinking that there is nowhere else right now she’d rather be.

Graham is talking.

She realises she’s missed half of what he’s said.

“—I just wanted to check in,” he’s saying now, his voice just a little too chirpy. “I know you’re busy, but I miss you.”

Sophie closes her eyes briefly.

“I know,” she says. It comes out flatter than she means it to.

There’s a pause on the line.

She can picture him standing in their kitchen, leaning against the counter, brow creased — the way he gets when he’s trying to figure out what he’s doing wrong. And the thing is, he feels like this most days now, and it’s starting to wear thin.

“You okay?” he asks.

Sophie opens her eyes again, looking back at the motel.

“Yeah. I’m just… tired.”

It’s the easiest lie in the world. The kind that doesn’t even feel like lying, and she lets herself believe it’s convincing.

Graham starts talking about his day. About work, about how quiet the apartment feels without her, how he’s spoken to her mom, how he’s counting down the days until she’s back.

Sophie hums in the right places, tries her hardest to make it seem like she’s listening.

But her fingers are tightening around the phone.

He couldn’t have called at a worse time.

Because she isn’t thinking about the apartment.

Or her mom.

Or Graham at all.

She’s thinking about Mandy earlier outside the trailer.

The way her eyes had looked — the way fresh tears clung to her makeup-free face. The way her confidence had cracked for just a second, like a fault line opening beneath her feet. Sophie hasn’t been able to get that image out of her head since. It’s been eating away at her, enough to make her take a detour on her round of interviews and trek all the way over here.

“You there?” Graham says gently.

“Yeah. Sorry, I’m still here.” There’s silence between them again. “I actually have so much work to do, so I should go,” she cuts him off before he can start another story. “I’ll try and call you later.”

There’s another pause.

“Did I do something?”

The question hits harder than it should.

“No,” she says immediately. Too quickly. “Of course not. I’m just tired and overworked, that’s all.”

Silence again. Thicker this time.

“I just miss you,” he says.

And that’s the thing she’s supposed to want.

When irritation rises in her again, she feels it immediately, sharp and unfair, and it makes her stomach twist.

“I feel like we’ve barely spoken since you landed in Texas,” he adds quietly. “I can barely get a text back at the minute.”

Guilt creeps in, slow and heavy.

“I love you, Graham,” she says, forcing the words to sound warm. “And I miss you too. I’m sorry I’ve been so hung up on work. I’ll call you tonight, I promise.”

“I love you too,” he replies, not sounding fully convinced.

The call ends.

Sophie shoves the phone back into her bag, silencing it before he can change his mind and call again. She rolls her eyes at the thought, then turns her attention back to the motel she’s been thinking about all day.

Her chest tightens in a way that has nothing to do with guilt this time, and everything to do with want.

She tells herself she’s only here to check.

To make sure she’s okay.

But the truth sits underneath all of that, unspoken and uncomfortable.

She doesn’t want their brief glance earlier to be their goodbye.

So she crosses the road before she can change her mind.

Inside the motel she’s hit with the smell of smoke and something vaguely chemical. The carpet is thin and threadbare, worn down to dark patches where too many people have dragged too many suitcases across it.

Last night she wondered why Mandy would stay somewhere like this, but now she’s starting to realise why. She has no choice.

Sophie, though, feels out of place instantly.

Her footsteps sound too loud as she moves down the dimly lit hallway, eyes scanning the door numbers. Each one feels heavier than the last, her stomach tightening with every step.

She stops outside Mandy’s room.

For a second, she just stands there.

Her heart is beating far too fast for someone who’s only here to “check in.” Her hand lifts, hovers near the door, then drops back to her side.

This is stupid, she thinks. She can still leave.

She almost does.

Then she mutters under her breath, barely audible even to herself. “Get a grip,” and then… she knocks.

Nothing happens.

She knocks again, lighter this time.

From inside, a voice calls out, lazy and dismissive. “Nobody’s in.”

Sophie’s lips twitch despite herself. It’s exactly the kind of thing Mandy would say.

“It’s me,” she says quietly, then knocks again, softer. “Sophie.”

There’s silence.

Not the empty kind — the kind that feels deliberate. Like someone on the other side is standing perfectly still, deciding what to do.

When Mandy speaks again, her voice is different. Flatter. Less playful.

“Now ain’t the best time.”

Sophie swallows. Her fingers curl against the doorframe.

“I just— I need to see you. Just for a minute.”

Another pause.

Long enough that Sophie’s chest starts to ache with it.

Then the lock clicks.

The door opens only a few inches.

Mandy stands there in an oversized T-shirt, hair pulled back messily, face bare. No eyeliner. No lipstick. No carefully constructed confidence. Her expression is guarded, eyes sharp in a way Sophie hasn’t seen before.

Her eyes don’t light up the way they had yesterday.

“What do you want?” Mandy asks bluntly.

The words land heavier than Sophie expects.

“When I saw you earlier, you looked upset. I just wante—”

Mandy interrupts her before she can even get her words out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, starting to half-close the door, but Sophie catches it. She shoots her hand out, stopping it gently. Not pushing. Just there.

“Mandy.”

Mandy’s eyes flick down to Sophie’s hand, then back up to her face, and something in her chest tightens in a way she doesn’t want to acknowledge. She hates that her first instinct is to lean closer, to close the distance herself, hates that part of her is relieved Sophie has come back at all, standing here now like she belongs in this doorway.

“You must’ve had me confused with someone else,” she says lightly. Too lightly, forcing the words into place like a habit she’s worn smooth over the years. “Half this town looks like me.”

Sophie shakes her head. “Nobody looks like you.”

Mandy looks away first, fixing her eyes somewhere over Sophie’s shoulder, anywhere but at her face. The confidence she usually wears so easily feels heavier today, like something she’s holding up with tired arms, and for a brief moment she’s aware of how thin it actually is. “Look, whatever you think you saw, you didn’t,” she says, but it comes out less convincing than she hoped. “I’m fine.”

She isn’t, and they both know it. The lie sits between them, obvious and fragile.

“You can go now,” she adds, quicker, sharper, because she has to say it before she changes her mind. “You couldn’t leave fast enough last night.”

The words come out harsher than she means them to, and she feels the regret almost immediately, a dull ache settling in her chest as she watches Sophie’s expression shift, the smallest drop in her face, the quiet kind of hurt that doesn’t demand anything but still manages to wound.

Mandy tightens her grip on the door, aware that she should close it, end this, retreat back into something safe and familiar — and yet she doesn’t move, standing there caught between being the person she’s pretending to be and the one Sophie saw earlier, the one she’s spent years trying not to let anyone look at for too long.

“Please,” Sophie whispers. Then again. “Please let me in.”

Mandy shuts her eyes for half a second.

It’s stupid. Reckless. Exactly the kind of thing she swore she wouldn’t do again. Let someone see her when she’s not ready. Let someone stay.

But when she opens her eyes again, she steps back.

Sophie slips inside before Mandy can change her mind.

“I didn’t mean to run out like that the other night,” Sophie explains quietly. “I just… panicked, I think. Everything felt a bit too real, all at once.”

Mandy scoffs, folding her arms like armour. “You make it sound like I proposed.”

Sophie almost smiles, but it doesn’t quite land.

“I didn’t mean it like that… it’s just— well… you know I have a boyfriend.”

“Well yeah,” Mandy says, stepping aside to let her in properly now. The last thing she wants is the whole motel knowing her business.

Sophie steps in and glances towards the bed, wishing they were sat close watching TV again like they were last night. She forces herself to look away as she stands awkwardly near the door. Mandy drops onto the edge of the bed, dragging her hand down her face.

“So,” Mandy says. “You checked. I’m alive. You can go now. Your good deed of the day is done.”

“That’s not what this is,” Sophie replies. “I just… you looked upset this morning and I wanted to check up on you because I care.”

“You make a habit of carin’ about strangers?” Mandy snaps.

Silence stretches between them. Not comfortable, but not empty either. Sophie doesn’t know what to say. She just stands there looking at Mandy properly now — the tired eyes, the stitched gash in her forehead.

Without thinking, Sophie opens her mouth. “I care about you.”

Mandy laughs. Not kindly. Not amused either. “Well, you shouldn’t. Caring for people like me is dangerous, and I ain’t someone you want to be around.”

“That’s not true,” Sophie says softly, stepping closer.

Mandy’s jaw tightens. Her eyes harden like she’s bracing for something.

“You don’t know what’s true,” she snaps again — she can’t help it. “You don’t know me. You know diner Mandy. You know the version of me that laughs and slides you a free slice of pie.”

She stands up abruptly, forcing Sophie to step back.

“This ain’t real,” Mandy continues, voice sharper now. “The real me is broke, drifting, and real good at ruining things. So if you’ve got any sense at all, you’ll turn around and go back to your nice little life, with your nice little boyfriend, before you start pretending I mean anything to you.”

The words sting. They’re meant to.

Sophie swallows. “…Okay.”

Mandy freezes.

Sophie steps back towards the door, slower than she should, giving Mandy every chance to stop her.

She reaches for the door handle.

For a heartbeat, nothing happens.

Then Mandy’s voice cracks.

“Don’t.”

It’s barely louder than a breath.

Sophie stops.

Mandy doesn’t sound sarcastic anymore. Or defensive. Or anything she’s been pretending to be.

“Don’t go,” she says again, and this time it’s worse — raw, unguarded, almost panicked. “I didn’t mean it. I just— I say shit before people can leave me first.”

Sophie turns slowly.

Mandy is standing in the middle of the room now, hands clenched at her sides like she doesn’t know what to do with them.

“I’m bad at this,” she admits, voice low and shaking in a way Sophie’s never heard before. “I don’t know how to let people stay without pushin’ them away. But I don’t want you to go. Not tonight.”

She swallows hard.

“Please.”

The word hangs in the air, small and devastating.

Sophie walks back to her without saying anything and gently takes Mandy’s hands in hers.

“I’m still here,” she says.

And Mandy closes her eyes like she’s been holding her breath the entire time.

Mandy exhales shakily, then lets out a short, breathless laugh that doesn’t quite sound real.

“Well,” she mutters, dragging a hand down her face, “this is gettin’ real depressin' real fast.”

Sophie smiles faintly. “You’re the one who started it.”

“Yeah, and I regret it already.” Mandy clears her throat, takes a step back, putting space between them before the moment can get any heavier. “If I keep talkin’ like that I’m gonna scare you off for real.”

Sophie tilts her head. “You just begged me not to leave.”

“Don’t quote me on my worst moments.” Mandy manages a crooked grin, reaching for her jacket. “Come on. I know a place with cheap whiskey and loud music. That usually fixes my emotional crises.”

Sophie laughs softly. “You’re asking me out?”

Mandy smirks, slipping back into her familiar tone like a shield.

“I’m offerin’ you a distraction.”

Sophie hesitates for half a second. Just long enough to remember she has a flight in three days. A life waiting for her somewhere else.

Then she nods.

“Okay.”

Mandy’s smile widens, relieved and a little too quick.

“Good. ’Cause if we stay in here any longer, one of us is gonna say somethin’ we can’t take back. But I can’t go like this. How ’bout you wait for me downstairs and I fix myself up a little?”

*

The bar is everything Sophie hoped it would be. Loud country music blaring from hidden speakers, leather boots dancing on sticky floorboards, the kind of place nobody asks questions as long as you’re drinking.

Mandy’s already had a few whiskeys, and it shows.

Her laughter is easier. Her eyes linger longer. Her body is loose in the way she sways to the music, glass raised in the air like she’s having the best time of her life — and she is. This is exactly what she needed after the few days she’s had.

Sophie’s trying to keep up, nursing her drink but failing, the alcohol sitting warm and reckless in her chest. It’s given her a buzz she hasn’t felt in a while. She feels lighter than she has in weeks, like she’s found her own kind of happy in this little honky-tonk on the outskirts of Alba.

Mandy leans in close, voice loud in her ear. “What do you think of this place?”

Sophie grins, looking up into Mandy’s face. “I love it. It’s really fun.”

“You ain’t seen the half of it yet.”

Mandy’s eyes linger, slow and deliberate, the way they did the other night before everything went wrong. Sophie feels it settle on her like a challenge, and this time she’s not looking away. She’s melting under her gaze, and Mandy feels that.

“So,” Mandy says, eyes glinting, “you ever been to a place like this before?”

“Not with someone like you,” Sophie replies.

Mandy’s smile widens. Dangerous now. Mischievous.

She laughs against Sophie’s cheek. “You don’t know what you’ve been missing, baby.”

And Sophie thinks she’s right.

When Mandy goes off to get them another drink, Sophie feels more content than she has in a very long time. Her eyes wander around the room. It’s not a big, flashy bar with high-end liquor lined up on glass shelves and leather-clad seating — but it’s comfortable. The kind of comfortable that feels earned. The kind that lets you breathe.

A band climbs onto the small stage near the far wall, all steel guitars and heavy boots, the singer shouting into the mic, already half drunk by the look of him. The music vibrates through the room, through Sophie’s chest, through the soles of her shoes.

She scans the cowboy hats crowding the bar, looking for Mandy. It doesn’t take long to find her.

She’s leaning onto the counter, one elbow propped like she belongs there, talking easily to the bartender, smiling like she owns the place.

 

Sophie feels something swell in her chest as she watches her, a quiet, unexpected pride settling there. She hadn’t realised it before, but people know Mandy. Not just recognise her — know her name, her brother. Heads turn when she laughs, a couple of regulars nod at her in passing, someone calls her name from further down the bar.

And Sophie likes it.

She tells herself that that’s stupid. She wouldn’t feel that way over a friend. But right now, in this moment, she’s stopped fighting those thoughts. Stopped pushing the feeling away every time it rises in her chest.

The whiskey has helped with that.

It dulls the part of her that usually overthinks, that pulls back, that reminds her of what she’s supposed to want and who she’s supposed to be. Right now, all she feels is warm and light and strangely safe, watching Mandy laugh with the bartender like the world hasn’t chewed her up and spat her out this morning. Sophie takes a sip and lets herself enjoy it.

Lets herself enjoy Mandy.

Sophie still has that silly smile on her face when another woman slides beside Mandy at the bar, close enough that their shoulders brush. She doesn’t hear what is being said, only sees Mandy’s face change as recognition sets in, the way she smiles with ease, the way her body turns without thinking, angling itself toward the newcomer like gravity has shifted.

The woman is older. Confident in the way only someone who’s been here a hundred times can be. She says something that makes Mandy laugh, and Mandy leans in, close enough that their mouths nearly touch as they speak into each other’s ears over the music. Sophie watches her kiss the woman’s cheek, watches her hand settle at her shoulder and stay there just a little too long, familiar in a way that makes her chest tighten before she can even name why.

It shouldn’t matter. Mandy doesn’t belong to her. Mandy isn’t hers to watch or guard or resent. Sophie knows that. Knows it logically, but the feeling comes anyway, hot and unwelcome and stubborn. A twist of irritation settles low in her stomach, curling around the warm haze of alcohol and making it sharper and unpleasant.

She tells herself it’s nothing, that she’s being ridiculous, that she’s projecting meaning onto gestures that probably mean nothing at all, but she can’t look away. Her eyes narrow at the way they lean in together, laughing at things Sophie can’t hear. More thoughts start to spiral, filling the silence with imagined intimacy, with histories she doesn’t know and could never compete with.

Her fingers tighten around her glass without realising it. Again, she tells herself she shouldn’t feel like this — not when she has Graham at home who thinks she’s missing him, yet here she is, irritated by the sight of another woman standing too close to someone she’s barely allowed herself to admit she wants.

The jealousy lands fully then, undeniable, and Sophie hates herself for it, but she can’t push it off.

By the time Mandy comes back to the table, a drink in each hand, Sophie’s already pulled herself into something tighter and quieter, her expression smoothed into something that doesn’t match the way her chest feels.

Mandy drops into the seat opposite her, grinning like nothing in the world could touch her. “Sorry I took so long, girlie. That girl still can’t handle her drink.” She laughs, but Sophie just hums in response and takes the drink without looking at her.

The irritation hasn’t faded; it’s just settled deeper, heavier, sitting behind her ribs like it’s waiting for a reason to surface.

Mandy notices it then. The lack of eye contact. The clipped way Sophie lifts the glass, then pours the contents down her throat, swallowing it without wincing. The shift in the air between them that was not there five minutes ago.

“What’s crawled up your ass?” Mandy asks, frowning.

“Nothing,” Sophie replies too quickly, pushing her chair back. She knows the way she feels shouldn’t be Mandy’s problem. She has no right to act like this, so she needs to get away, just for a minute. Just to breathe and have a quick word with herself. “I just need some air. I’ll be right back.”

She stands before Mandy can say anything else, already half turned away. “I need a cigarette.”

Mandy blinks, her lips curling into half a knowing smile. “You don’t smoke.”

Sophie pauses just long enough to look back at her. “Well, I do now.”

She reaches into Mandy’s open purse without asking, fingers closing around a half-empty pack and a lighter, then walks off before Mandy can say another word.

Mandy doesn’t sit with the moment for long. From the second Sophie pushes past her and disappears out into the night, Mandy knows exactly what happened. She’s been watched, measured, resented in a way that feels far too deliberate to be nothing. She saw it in Sophie’s eyes at the bar, the way her mouth had tightened as she sat at the table pretending not to stare, the way her body had gone still like she was holding back from something she didn’t want to admit to.

And God, Mandy loves it.

Not in a cruel way, not because she wants Sophie to hurt, but because it makes something warm and dangerous bloom in her chest. It is proof of something Mandy knew all along.

So she downs her drink and follows Sophie outside.

Sophie is standing against the wall with a cigarette already lit, trying very hard to look like someone who knows what she’s doing, even though the way she inhales makes her cough almost immediately, eyes watering as the smoke burns her throat. Mandy watches her for a second before she speaks, the sight far more endearing than she’ll ever admit.

She laughs softly and steps closer, close enough to feel the night air shift between them, to smell the smoke and whiskey clinging to Sophie’s clothes, to feel the tension humming under her skin like a live wire. Sophie doesn’t turn to look at her at first, just tells her to go back inside in a voice that’s too tight to be convincing, and Mandy feels another rush of satisfaction at that.

“She’s an old school friend,” Mandy says, tone casual, almost lazy. “I grew up with her. Ain’t seen her in years.”

Sophie frowns slightly, finally looking at her. “What?”

Mandy smiles at that, slow and deliberate. “The girl at the bar. The one you got all twisted up over.”

Sophie lets out a short laugh of disbelief. “What are you talking about? I didn’t even realise you were talking to anyone.”

Mandy laughs properly then, head tipping back slightly. “Alright, Boston. That’s why you stormed outta there like you just caught me kissin’ your husband.”

Sophie rolls her eyes, cheeks warming. “I came out here because I needed some air.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Mandy says, still smiling. “You were watchin’ so hard I thought you were gonna burn a hole through us… not that there is an us, mind you.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Sophie says. “That did not happen.”

Mandy steps forward, close enough that Sophie can’t pretend she doesn’t feel her there. “Well I’ll be damned,” Mandy smirks, taking the cigarette from her fingers, lingering there for a second longer than she had to. She takes a drag from the cigarette, then blows the smoke from the corner of her lips. “Now don’t get me wrong, I ain’t sayin’ I’m mad about it.”

Sophie just blinks at her, then opens her mouth to speak. “I—”

“You don’t got to explain yourself, baby. I don’t mind if you were jealous,” she says, softer now, but still with a menacing look in her eye. “I actually kinda like it. Love it, in fact.”

Sophie stutters, not knowing what to say. Mandy laughs again, flicking the cigarette away. She reaches for her hand and slides her fingers between hers, and Sophie doesn’t stop her this time. “Come on, let’s go.”

They go back inside together, the noise of the bar swallowing them whole again, the music louder now, the crowd thicker, the heat heavier. Mandy keeps close to Sophie as they weave through bodies, one hand briefly at the small of her back to guide her through, not pushing, just there — a steady presence that makes Sophie feel oddly anchored in the chaos.

By the time they reach their table again, the tension has softened into something looser, less sharp. Mandy drops into her seat and immediately starts talking, some story about the band, about how the singer used to play at her cousin’s wedding and got so drunk he fell off the stage halfway through the first set. She exaggerates it wildly, of course, gestures getting bigger, accent thicker, until Sophie can’t help it — she laughs.

It surprises her, the sound of it. It feels like it’s been sitting in her chest all night, waiting for permission.

“There she is,” Mandy says, grinning like she’s won something. She reaches across the table and lightly taps Sophie’s knee with her fingers, playful, almost affectionate. “I was startin’ to think I lost you for a minute.”

Sophie shakes her head, still smiling, a little embarrassed now that the jealousy feels smaller in the light of it all. “I was just being stupid.”

Mandy’s expression shifts at that. Not dramatically — just enough. Her smile softens, loses its edge.

“Oh, honey,” she says quietly, leaning closer. “Don’t say that.”

She reaches up, almost without thinking, and tucks a loose strand of Sophie’s hair behind her ear, her fingers brushing her cheek in the process. The touch is gentle, unhurried, like she’s not trying to make a point, just doing what feels natural.

Then she leans in, close enough that her voice is only meant for Sophie.

“Feelings aren’t stupid.”

The words settle between them, warm and dangerous and honest in a way that makes Sophie’s breath catch before she can stop it. She turns her head slightly without really meaning to, drawn in by the closeness, by the softness in Mandy’s voice, until their cheeks brush briefly, skin to skin.

It’s nothing. And it’s everything.

Just a second of contact. Just enough to make Sophie aware of her heartbeat again, of how warm Mandy is beside her, of how easy it would be to lean in a fraction more and stop pretending this is still harmless.

She pulls back first, but not far. Just enough to meet Mandy’s eyes.

And this time, neither of them jokes it away.

When the band starts their rendition of “Your Man,” Mandy slams her palm down on the table, startling Sophie for a second. “I love this song!” she announces, already on her feet, swaying like the music has hooked straight into her bones. She holds out her hand, eyes bright and expectant.

There’s no hesitation left in Sophie. She feels like she’s already bared herself tonight, in ways she hadn’t even meant to, so what does it matter now? She takes Mandy’s hand and lets herself be pulled up from the seat, letting the noise, the heat, and the whiskey carry her forward.

Mandy moves like the blues guitar being played on stage — all aching slides and knowing pauses. She’s had one hell of a day, but she’s forgetting her last goodbyes at the trailer and remembering her newfound freedom — what really matters. The frustration of the day is now being transmitted into pure, liquid motion. Her hips carve lazy circles in the smoky air, her denim shorts ride high on her thighs. The thin cotton of her tank top is damp from where she spilled her drink earlier, clinging to her curves that Sophie tried, and failed, to stop staring at.

Sophie’s fingers slide between Mandy’s as they dance.

God, Graham would lose his mind. The thought is faint, a guilty whisper, easily drowned by the thrum of bass and the way Mandy’s fingers pull out of hers and hook into Sophie’s belt loops, pulling the denim.

Sophie takes another gulp from her glass. Graham doesn’t have to know. This is just Alba. Maybe what happens in Alba doesn’t need to be taken home?

Mandy leads Sophie through the edge of the crowd first, weaving between bodies and boots and half-empty glasses until they find a pocket of space near the stage where the lights are low and the music feels closer than the people.

At first it’s almost awkward.

Sophie stands there, not knowing what to do. She’s never been a dancer, but she feels like she has no choice tonight. Mandy sways easily in front of her, in time with the song. She watches Sophie, amused, then she reaches for her.

“Dance with me,” she says quietly.

Mandy’s hands settle at Sophie’s waist, light at first, like she’s giving her time to pull away if she wants to. Sophie doesn’t. Instead, she lets herself be guided closer, close enough that their hips brush, close enough that she can feel the warmth of Mandy’s body through denim and cotton.

They start moving together slowly, not really dancing so much as swaying, the kind of movement you fall into when the music is loud and the world feels far away. Mandy leads with small shifts of her hips, gentle pressure from her hands, and Sophie follows without even thinking about it, her body learning the rhythm through touch instead of sound.

It feels intimate in a way Sophie isn’t prepared for.

Too close. Too easy.

Mandy leans in then, her mouth near Sophie’s ear, breath warm against her skin as she starts to sing along, low and soft, like she’s only singing for her.

Sophie’s eyes flutter closed without her meaning to. The room fades. The band fades. All she can feel is Mandy’s hands, the slow roll of her hips, the way her voice vibrates through her chest and straight into Sophie’s.

When Mandy rests her cheek against Sophie’s, it feels natural, like that’s where it was always meant to be.

They stay like that for a few seconds, moving together, foreheads nearly touching, the space between them charged with everything neither of them is saying out loud.

Then Mandy pulls back just enough to take both of Sophie’s hands, smiling like she knows exactly what she’s doing to her, and they keep dancing — slower now, softer, like the rest of the bar has disappeared and they’re the only two people left in it.

Mandy leans in behind her at first, mouth close to Sophie’s ear, her voice low enough that Sophie feels it more than hears it.

“Never felt a feelin’ quite this strong…”

Her lips brush Sophie’s skin when she sings it, accidentally on purpose.

“I can’t believe how much it turns me on…”

Sophie’s breath stutters because it doesn’t even feel like a lyric anymore — it feels like Mandy admitting something she’s been pretending not to feel all night.

Then Mandy goes quiet on the “to be your man” line, doesn’t sing it at all.

Instead, she rests her forehead against Sophie’s temple, cheek to cheek, their noses almost touching, both of them breathing the same air, the tension thick enough to make Sophie dizzy.

They sway like that for a few seconds, eyes closed, Mandy’s hands steady at Sophie’s waist like she’s afraid if she lets go the moment will break.

Then Mandy pulls back just enough to look at her, takes both of Sophie’s hands, and they start moving again, slower now, softer, like the world has faded to background noise.

And when the next line comes —

“There’s no hurry, don’t you worry, we can take our time…”

Mandy sings it straight into Sophie’s ear again, smiling this time, because it’s exactly what she means.

Not just about the dance.

About them.

And Sophie knows it. That’s the dangerous part.

She knows Mandy isn’t just flirting anymore.

She’s choosing her, in front of everyone, without saying it out loud.

Which is why the tension feels unbearable — because they both want to cross the line, and neither of them quite dares to yet.

Sophie turns her head without really thinking about it. Not fully, not enough to face Mandy properly, just enough that her cheek brushes hers, that their noses nearly touch instead of passing.

It’s such a small movement it barely feels like a choice.

Mandy feels it anyway.

She goes quiet, the lyric dying in her throat, her hands tightening at Sophie’s waist like she’s grounding herself. For a second, neither of them moves. The music keeps playing. The crowd keeps dancing. But they’re suspended in something fragile and breathless and entirely their own.

“Mandy…” Sophie says softly, and it comes out wrong, not a name so much as a feeling.

Mandy exhales a laugh that isn’t really a laugh at all. Her forehead rests against Sophie’s, her voice barely there when she speaks.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble, girlie.”

Sophie’s eyes flick down to her mouth before she can stop herself.

“So are you.”

That’s all it takes.

Mandy closes the space between them, slow enough that Sophie has time to pull away, time to remember Graham, time to remember every sensible reason not to do this.

She doesn’t take any of them.

The kiss is gentle, almost uncertain, Mandy’s lips warm and soft against hers, like she’s testing something she’s wanted for longer than she’s willing to admit. Sophie freezes for half a heartbeat, then melts into it, her hands sliding up Mandy’s arms, fingers curling into the fabric of her top like she needs to hold on to something real.

It’s not desperate.

It’s not messy.

It’s careful, lingering, the kind of kiss that feels heavier than something rough ever could.

When they pull back, it’s only a fraction. Their foreheads touch again. Mandy’s thumb brushes Sophie’s waist like she’s checking she’s still there.

For once, neither of them jokes.

Sophie’s breath is unsteady when she finally opens her eyes. “We probably shouldn’t have done that.”

Mandy smiles, soft in a way Sophie’s never seen before.

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “But I’m real glad we did.”

Chapter Text

Mandy wakes up slowly, the kind of slow wake-up call that comes with cheap whiskey and thin motel curtains letting in too much sun.

She keeps her eyes closed, hoping to get a little more sleep, but sleep doesn’t come. With a hand pressed over her eyes, she touches the tip of her tongue to her lips. Her mouth tastes like last night’s liquor and smoke, but she doesn’t wake up with a hangover the way she thought she would.

She groans softly and rolls onto her other side.

That’s when the memory comes back.

The honky tonk.
The music thumping through the floorboards.
Sophie’s jealousy bubbling to the surface.
And then the kiss.

Mandy lets out a quiet breath through her nose and catches herself smiling at the thought.

“Shit,” she mutters.

She remembers exactly how it felt. Sophie’s soft lips against hers, the hand that cupped Sophie’s face, and how Sophie melted into her, not going anywhere. This time Sophie leaned into Mandy’s touch instead of pulling back and running away.

That’s the part that sticks with her.

Unable to get comfortable, Mandy rolls onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. Her lips are still tugging at the corners of her mouth and she can’t stop it, no matter how much she tries. There’s a strange feeling sitting in her chest—warm, light, almost ridiculous.

She doesn’t push it away.

Usually she would. Usually she’d bury it under a cigarette or a drink, or a reckless decision before breakfast.

But this morning she just lets it sit there, almost embracing it. And damn, it feels good.

She swings her legs off the bed and stretches, and for the first time in a long time she notices something strange about herself.

She’s in a good mood.

She laughs to herself as she reaches for her phone, tapping the screen.

One new message.

Mandy squints at it for a second before opening it.

Good morning. Still on for 5?

For a moment Mandy just stares at the words. Then she’s grinning wider.

She feels about sixteen, but she doesn’t make herself feel bad because of it. Instead she chuckles and runs a hand down her face.

“Jesus Christ, get a grip, girl,” she tells herself.

Then it hits her properly.

Dinner. She asked Sophie to dinner.

An actual restaurant—the kind of place Mandy’s only ever driven past, the kind with white tablecloths and menus that don’t list the prices.

Last night it seemed like a good idea. When she kissed Sophie’s cheek goodbye in the cab on the way over here, she asked her to let her take her out, and surprisingly Sophie had agreed. Based on the early morning message, it seems like Sophie woke up thinking about it—maybe even excited about it.

Mandy glances back at the message again, the strange warmth blooming in her chest once more.

She types back before she can overthink it.

“Morning, girlie. I’ll pick you up, just send the addy.”

She tosses the phone back onto the bed, shaking her head slightly.

Still smiling.

And that’s when the motel door rattles.

Kyle stumbles in, looking like he hasn’t long woken up himself. His hair is a mess, his hoodie is slung over one shoulder, and there’s a faint smear of lipstick on his neck. The overwhelming stench of cheap perfume fills the room as he kicks the door shut behind him.

Before Mandy can tease him about who he’s been with this time, Kyle’s already frowning at her.

“Well ain’t this a damn miracle,” he says, a mischievous grin on his face. “I didn’t think you’d be awake.”

Mandy snorts, looking at herself in the mirror, plumping up her hair.

“Not all of us need a full day to recover from the night before, y’know.”

Kyle stretches, joints popping. Then he finally looks at her properly.

“…Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

Kyle gestures at her face, making himself comfortable by throwing himself across the bed.

“Like you just won the lottery.”

Mandy scoffs.

“Jesus, Kyle. It’s eight in the mornin’. Nobody looks like they won the lottery.”

“Yeah, but you usually look like you wanna punch somebody before noon.”

Used to her brother’s constant wind-ups, Mandy just rolls her eyes, grabbing a bottle of water from the nightstand.

“Maybe I just slept good.”

Kyle studies her for a moment longer. Then a slow grin spreads across his face.

“Oh no.”

Mandy shoots him a look.

“You’re smiling.”

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and avoids eye contact.

“No I ain’t.”

“Yes you are.”

“Mind your business, Kyle.”

Kyle lets out a low laugh.

“Oh this is interesting.”

Mandy groans dramatically.

“Don’t start.”

“I ain’t startin’. I’m observin’… and I ain’t seen you lookin’ so chirpy before.”

He studies her again and she’s failing to hide the glowing happiness on her face.

“You meet somebody last night or something?”

Mandy shrugs like it’s nothing, starting to brush her hair.

“Maybe.”

Kyle raises his eyebrows.

“Well hell. I didn’t think you were the smilin’ type.”

“It ain’t like that.”

“That’s exactly what someone says when it is like that.”

Mandy pauses and grins at her brother. He always did see right through her.

“We’re getting dinner later.”

Kyle laughs.

“Dinner?”

“At five.”

He shakes his head, still amused.

“You ain’t taking someone to dinner.”

“Yeah I am. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. Nothin’. Just outta character, that’s all. When have you ever gone to dinner with someone? You didn’t even go out to eat with Harry.”

“Harry was a bum,” Mandy says, matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, well. You barely remember people’s names by mornin’. Now you’re booking dinners.”

He’s grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“I’d be careful if I were you. This kinda thing ain’t really Mandy territory.”

Mandy swats him with her hand. She can’t help but laugh, because he does have a very valid point. This isn’t like her, and Kyle knows her better than anyone.

“Would you just shut up and let me be happy in peace?” she snaps playfully. “Damn, can’t I do anything without you bein’ in my business?”

Kyle blocks her hand, laughing louder.

“Ain’t that part of being a little brother?”

“I suppose so,” Mandy says, standing up. “I’m gonna shower. Oh, I forgot to mention—I’m gonna need your truck.”

*

Mandy eases Kyle’s old truck out of the motel’s gravelled lot, the engine growling like it’s been waiting for her. The afternoon sun glints off the scratched windshield as she turns onto the main road, her stomach fluttering for reasons she’s never known before. Butterflies. Real, undeniable butterflies. She takes a deep breath and curses herself silently, feeling ridiculous for feeling like this. She reminds herself that this isn’t anything. It’s just dinner. But she knows that she’s only trying to fool herself.

She rolls up the road, past gas stations and trailer parks, and then—there it is. In a fancier part of town, she sees the hotel Sophie has sent her to.

From the outside, it’s like a different world. Glass panels reflecting the sun, polished marble arches dotted with gold flakes around the entrance, and a driveway that looks like it was designed for fancy cars, not pickups. Even the landscaping is perfect—manicured hedges, fountains, flowers planted precisely. Mandy’s boot scuffs the truck floor as she brakes. Her motel is a far cry from this, and if she were anyone else in the world, she would feel embarrassed.

Mandy leans forward on the steering wheel. Her pulse quickens as she spots Sophie coming down the steps. The sight makes her chest tighten in anticipation. Her blonde hair is curled softly around her shoulders, catching the sun just so, and the white flowy dress she’s wearing moves with the morning breeze, delicate and light. Her makeup is subtle but flawless, emphasizing features Mandy hadn’t noticed before. She looks… almost ethereal.

Mandy swallows hard; her mouth has suddenly gone dry. She’s done a little more than usual herself—jeans that hug in all the right places, a top that sparkles just enough to catch attention—but she hasn’t traded in her boots. There’s a tension in her chest that isn’t nerves exactly, but something closer to awe.

Sophie reaches the truck, and Mandy rolls the window down before she can think better of it.

“Well, don’t you scrub up well, Boston,” Mandy grins, leaning slightly toward her and brushing a quick kiss across Sophie’s cheek.

Sophie flushes, tucking a curl behind her ear as she climbs into the truck. “You don’t look too bad yourself, cowboy,” she jokes. Her smile lingers longer than usual, and her eyes light up as she looks at Mandy.

She sits down in the passenger seat and adjusts the hem of her dress before putting her seatbelt on.

“You smell like heaven,” Mandy confesses.

Sophie’s perfume is subtle but intoxicating, different from what she wore the other days they’ve been in each other’s company, and Sophie’s pulse quickens at the fact that Mandy has noticed that. Mandy’s hand brushes over the shifter as she starts the engine, suddenly aware of how close they are.

“This is a new perfume I picked up,” Sophie says, stretching her hand out so Mandy can sniff her wrist. “It’s called Maison Francis, I think.”

“Smells expensive,” Mandy says, raising her eyebrow. “I like it.”

They pull out of the hotel driveway, and the tension is quiet but palpable, threading through every glance and brush of an elbow. Mandy grips the wheel a little tighter than necessary, stealing a glance at Sophie, who’s turning her head to catch the sunlight. There’s something different in the way Sophie smiles at the world today—carefree, unguarded.

“I feel like I can’t get away from country music at the minute,” Sophie teases after a moment, her voice light and mischievous.

Mandy laughs, a low, easy sound that surprises her own ears. “You’re in Alba, what do you expect? You know I heard a saying once… don’t know it till you’ve danced it. And you’ve danced it now.”

Sophie smirks, leaning back against the seat. “Yeah, I guess I have, because of you.”

The words make Mandy’s stomach flip again, as she realizes Sophie is letting herself be vulnerable in this little bubble they’ve created. For once, Sophie hasn’t checked her phone, worrying about Graham’s calls or texts, hasn’t carried the guilt she usually tucks under layers of self-control. She’s here. With Mandy. Giving in, and loving it.

Mandy clears her throat, glancing at Sophie. “Well, good. Because there’s a lot more where that came from.”

Sophie’s grin turns sly. “I’m counting on it.”

And just like that, the butterflies in Mandy’s stomach multiply, dancing along to the hum of the truck engine as they drive toward the restaurant. For both of them, this is a first. Uncharted, unguarded, and charged in a way neither expected.

The truck rumbles to a stop in front of the restaurant, and Mandy pauses, letting her eyes linger on the elegant façade. Tall windows framed in dark wood, soft golden lights glowing through sheer curtains, and a black awning with the restaurant’s name embroidered in gold. Even the doorman tipping his hat as they step out catches Mandy’s attention.

Sophie exhales beside her. “Wow… you brought me somewhere like this?” she says, voice low.

Mandy smirks, adjusting her shirt. “I think you deserve it, don’t you? Besides, what kind of woman would I be if I took you somewhere you had to eat off a paper plate?” She laughs, then tilts her head, taking in the marble steps and polished brass handles. She feels a thrill she’s never felt before. “Gotta say, though… it’s a lot fancier than I imagined. Makes a girl feel… like she could be someone, y’know?”

Sophie’s eyes sparkle as she links her arm through Mandy’s. “You already are someone,” she says casually, letting herself enjoy the feel of Mandy’s warmth against her side.

They walk up the steps, shoulders brushing lightly, and Sophie secretly hopes people notice them—her chest tightens with the satisfaction of walking arm in arm with Mandy, the thrill of being seen together.

Mandy, for her part, is loving the luxury. The carpets underfoot, the soft lighting, the faint hum of piano in the background—it’s intoxicating. She straightens her back and swishes her boots over the polished floor, imagining herself in a life of this kind of elegance: the money, the power, the pleasure. She lets herself dream, if only for tonight.

They’re led to a small, intimate table near the window. Mandy’s pulse quickens as they approach the table. She knows she shouldn’t be spending this much, even for a single night, but it doesn’t feel like throwing money away. Not tonight. Not when Sophie deserves it. Not when she is manifesting a life she fought tooth and nail to claim. She remembers that day—the day she took what was hers back from her stepfather, the day she decided she would never let anyone else control her fate again. Everything she is now, everything she wants to be, started there. And tonight, in this small indulgence, she can taste it, feel it, and it’s electric.

Sophie’s eyes drift over Mandy, drinking in the effortless confidence she radiates. Her hair catching the soft light, the sparkles in her top, the faint curve of her lips as she adjusts her napkin—Sophie can’t look away. Her thoughts briefly flicker to the kiss—the memory of it warm and lingering—but she keeps her mouth shut, letting it remain theirs, unspoken.

Mandy notices Sophie staring and tilts her head, eyebrow raised. “You been caught starin’, Bosty,” she teases, voice low.

Sophie’s cheeks flare pink. She ignores the comment, tucking a curl behind her ear.

The waiter arrives with a polished smile, setting a chilled bottle of white wine on the table. Mandy, normally more of a whiskey girl, looks at it curiously. “I’ll give it a try,” she says, lifting the cork and letting the fragrance curl up to her nose. “Seems… classy.” She winks at Sophie. “Might be just what I need to fit in around here.”

Menus open, and they begin to peruse the offerings. Mandy asks about Sophie’s research.

“It’s been okay,” Sophie admits, tracing the rim of her glass. “I just… haven’t been able to concentrate lately, so I’m worried I’ll be heading back to Boston with less than I planned.”

Mandy glances at her, half-smile teasing but her eyes soft. “Yeah? I’d say it’s probably got something to do with other things being on your mind,” she says lightly, and Sophie bites back a grin, shaking her head. Neither of them says more, the unspoken tension thickening around their shared smiles.

As Mandy scans the menu, Sophie’s eyes wander again, lingering on her—her confidence, the subtle sparkle of her top, the way she’s so entirely herself. A pang strikes Sophie as she remembers that in two days, she’ll be back in Boston, miles away from this. She pushes the thought down, refusing to let it darken the night.

The waiter walks over with a polite smile, taking their orders. Mandy chooses a pasta dish she can barely pronounce, Sophie something equally fancy. The wine is poured again, glasses refilled, and conversation flows between them, easy and light, yet charged with subtle tension. Under the table, their legs brush briefly, an electric, unintentional touch that makes both of them shift slightly but not pull away. Eyes meet over the rims of glasses, smiles linger longer than they should, and every little laugh carries the weight of something neither wants to name aloud.

By the time the appetizer arrives, the room feels like theirs, the soft clinking of silverware and murmur of other diners fading into the background. They’re present, entirely absorbed in each other, and Sophie can’t help the grin tugging at her lips as she watches Mandy take a delicate sip of wine, like she’s discovering a new kind of pleasure. Tonight, nothing else exists except them—dinner, conversation, the thrill of stolen touches and secret smiles, and the knowledge that whatever this is, it feels absolutely, entirely… right.

Mandy takes the time to really get to know Sophie tonight. She asks what made her want to work in PR, she asks about her family, if she has siblings—but not Graham. She steers far from that conversation, and Sophie is grateful for that. Her phone is turned off in the bottom of her bag, and for once she doesn’t feel guilty for cutting him off for the night. If she lets her thoughts linger on him too long, she’s afraid she will scare herself and bolt once again.

So for now, she tells Mandy about her parents, how they’re not really close, but close enough; about her sister, who has two children that she rarely sees; and she feels comfortable, forgetting the world around her. Mandy is nodding, listening intensely. It’s not often she’s genuinely interested in people’s stories, but she wants to know everything there is to know about Sophie, and even that doesn’t feel enough.

“Families are funny. I mean, look at mine—fucked-up mom, an even more fucked-up stepdad, and don’t even get me started on my brother Kyle,” Mandy laughs. “Kyle is as mad as a box of frogs, but I love ’em. I don’t think I’ll be introducing you to him anytime soon, though.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I don’t wanna scare you off… again.” There’s a teasing in Mandy’s smile. Sophie knows what she’s doing, and it makes her laugh, shaking her head.

“You will never let that go, will you?”

“I don’t think so… I enjoy the reaction it gets outta you too much,” she teases, voice low, as if letting a secret slip.

Sophie grins, lifting her glass to sip her wine. Mandy takes a slow sip too, swirling it thoughtfully in her glass before setting it down. For a moment, she watches Sophie’s face—the way her eyes soften when she listens. It makes Mandy feel… exposed in a way she isn’t used to, and yet, for the first time in a long time, she doesn’t want to hide.

“You ever notice how families… well, they mess with you?” Mandy begins, her voice quieter than usual, almost hesitant. Sophie leans in slightly, giving her her full attention.

Mandy laughs lightly, but it’s a little tight, a little raw. “I know I joke too much, and pretend things don’t bother me, but you saw me that day at the trailer.” Her eyes flick to Sophie’s, searching for judgment but finding none. “I guess I don’t tell people the truth because it’s easier that way. Keeping my business tucked away makes life simpler.”

Sophie reaches across the table, sliding her hand on top of Mandy’s. “I’m glad you feel like you can talk to me now,” she says softly. “It must be hard keeping everything to yourself.”

“I’m used to it. But it feels kinda good having someone to talk to.” She smiles, genuinely, and turns her hand so she can slide her fingers through Sophie’s. Mandy swallows, the gesture almost involuntary.

“Part of me wants to be… better than where I come from. Smarter, richer, someone people notice for the right reasons.” She laughs, a little self-deprecating, but there’s fire in her eyes. “I don’t want to be… stuck, y’know? Always looking over my shoulder, worrying about who’s mad at me now and where I’m going to get the next dollar from.”

Sophie studies her, feeling a flutter in her chest. She’s seeing cracks in the armor Mandy usually wears so tightly—the walls Mandy has built to protect herself. And it’s breathtaking. She doesn’t speak, just lets Mandy say what she needs to say and listens intensely because she knows this is a big moment.

“And yet,” Mandy continues, leaning back in her chair, “even with all the messed-up stuff, I wouldn’t change it. Made me who I am. Maybe that’s why I’ve… always been so careful who I let in. I don’t wanna get hurt, don’t wanna let anyone see me crack. But tonight… I don’t know. Damn, it feels like I can.”

They laugh, the tension softening for a moment, replaced by a quiet intimacy. Sophie sees it—the little glimpses of the girl behind the tough exterior, the vulnerability Mandy doesn’t show anyone. And she loves it. Loves seeing her like this. Loves that Mandy trusts her, even if it’s just a crack, just a tiny opening.

Their knees brush again under the table—brief, almost accidental, but enough to make Mandy’s pulse jump. She glances down, surprised at how natural it feels, how comfortable she is letting Sophie’s hand linger over hers. Just yesterday, before last night, Sophie would have bolted if Mandy had touched her leg. Now… she lets herself be close, even welcomes it. It’s a small thing, a fleeting touch, but it hits Mandy harder than she expects. She likes it. Likes that Sophie is different, softening around her edges, letting herself stay.

Sophie notices Mandy staring for a moment, and her chest flutters. She feels the memory of running out the door the night before last, panicked and unmoored, and compares it to now—leaning into Mandy’s hand, letting the warmth linger, letting herself feel safe. It feels… new, thrilling, and a little terrifying. But she doesn’t pull away. Not tonight. Not here. She lets herself imagine what it would feel like if this night stretched on forever.

The meal continues in a rhythm of conversation, laughter, and stolen glances. Mandy talks about her day at the motel, her voice casual but warm, and Sophie fills in little details of her research and errands, though her mind drifts frequently toward Mandy—the curve of her smile, the glint of her eyes, the way she moves. Every time their hands brush, a shiver runs through Mandy, and she realizes she could get used to this.

Sophie leans back in her chair, swirling her wine slowly, giving herself over to the moment. She’s turned her phone off so Graham can’t distract her, and for once, she doesn’t feel guilty about it. She allows herself to notice Mandy’s hand over hers again, squeezing gently in a silent rhythm. It’s a quiet confirmation—something has shifted between them, and Sophie likes it. Likes feeling seen, liked, even wanted.

Mandy laughs at something Sophie says, the sound low and genuine, and Sophie leans forward, resting her elbows lightly on the table, pretending to study the menu but really just watching her. Every movement feels charged, every glance weighted with possibility. She thinks about how different it feels—how she’s not running, how she’s letting herself stay. And it thrills her in a way she didn’t think she’d ever allow herself to feel.

By the time their mains arrive, their knees brush constantly, their fingers nearly grazing each other across the table. Words feel secondary to the quiet electricity that hums between them, unspoken but undeniable. For both of them, the restaurant is no longer just a fancy place to eat—it’s a private world where they can explore this tension, their attraction, without interruption, without guilt. And neither wants the night to end.

As Sophie and Mandy start to eat, the conversation settles into quiet appreciation—forks clinking against porcelain, the low hum of the restaurant wrapping around them. Sophie watches Mandy attempt to pronounce the name of her pasta dish again, and she smiles into her wine.

“You know,” Sophie says lightly, cutting her food but not quite looking up yet, “I was thinking…”

“Mm-hm,” Mandy hums, twisting her pasta around her fork.

Sophie looks up now. “The minibar in my room is actually really good,” she says, trying for casual. “Way better than it has any right to be. I thought maybe… after this… we could have a nightcap?”

The words sit between them. Mandy stills. Not dramatically. Just enough. Her instinct flickers—suggest the motel. Her space. Her rules. Her exit if she needs it. Instead, she leans back, studying Sophie over the rim of her glass.

“You invitin’ me back to your hotel, Blondie?” she asks, her voice warm with teasing.

“I’m offering you a drink,” Sophie replies, lifting her chin. “Don’t flatter yourself,”

Mandy huffs a laugh. “Last time we went back somewhere for a drink, you made me sit through that god-awful sitcom.”

“It is not god-awful—”

“It absolutely is,” Mandy cuts in. “I’m not surprised you ran off the other night. I nearly did myself. I thought about bolting right out that door five minutes into that shit.”

Sophie’s eyes widen in mock offense. “You are unbelievable.”

“I’m just sayin’,” Mandy continues, leaning forward now, lowering her voice. “If I’m coming up to your room, I’m not letting you control the TV.”

“Okay, a deal is a deal.”

Mandy sees it then, in Sophie’s eyes—she doesn’t want the night to end. Mandy swallows, thumb tracing the stem of her wine glass. Her comfort is her motel. Her worn sheets. Her territory. But Sophie’s asking her to step into her world. And tonight… that doesn’t feel like a threat. It feels like trust.

She holds Sophie’s gaze. “I’d like that,” she says quietly. No swagger. No wink. Just truth.

Sophie exhales—subtle, but relieved—and takes another sip of wine to steady herself. And the rest of the meal tastes different after that.

Chapter Text

The hotel room glows softly in the dark.

Not bright. Nothing harsh. Just warm golden light spilling from lamps tucked into corners and low lights built into the walls. The kind of light that makes everything look softer than it really is.

The room itself is almost entirely white.

White carpet that looks too clean to step on. White curtains hanging heavy by the windows. White sheets stretched smooth across a bed so large Mandy thinks she could lie across it sideways and still not reach the edges.

Even the sofa they’re sitting on is white.

Mandy curls her fingers around the stem of her wine glass and shifts a little deeper into the cushion. The fabric is smooth and soft in a way that makes her almost afraid to move too much.

It is nothing like the motel.

Back there the light is yellow and tired, the kind that hums faintly in the ceiling. The carpet is worn thin and the curtains don’t quite meet in the middle. When someone walks past outside the door the floor creaks and the whole place smells faintly like old cleaner and damp air.

She glances around the room again.

White. Gold. Quiet.

If Sophie were anyone else in the world, Mandy thinks she might be embarrassed that Sophie had seen the motel room she’s staying in.

Embarrassed that Sophie might compare the two.

But Sophie doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would do that.

Soft music drifts through the room. Mandy can’t even see the speaker—it must be hidden somewhere. The song is slow and gentle, piano notes floating quietly through the warm light.

Sophie is sitting beside her, one leg tucked underneath herself, barefoot against the sofa cushion. Her hair falls loosely over her shoulder and the golden light makes it look warmer than usual.

She raises her glass slightly.

“This is nice,” Sophie says.

Mandy lets out a quiet laugh.

“This?” she says. “Sophie, this place probably costs more for one night than my motel does for a week.”

Sophie smiles a little, shaking her head.

“I mean this,” she says, gesturing vaguely between them.

Mandy feels heat creep into her chest that has nothing to do with the wine.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “It has been nice.”

The music changes to another slow song.

For a moment they just sit there, listening to it.

Sophie leans her head back against the sofa and exhales like she’s letting something out she’s been holding in for a long time.

“It’s funny,” she says after a moment. “I came all the way to Alba for work and I’ve barely done any.”

Mandy glances sideways at her. “I’ve got to admit, I’m not too mad about that”

Sophie laughs. “Yeah, but I think my boss might be”

Mandy watches her for a moment.

Something about Sophie feels different now.

Not just relaxed. Not just happy.

Different.

Since they kissed yesterday, everything feels like it’s shifted slightly, like the world tilted just enough that nothing sits exactly where it used to.

Sophie seems lighter somehow.

Like she stepped outside the life she’s been living and realized she doesn’t have to walk straight back into it.

The music hums quietly in the background.

Sophie turns toward her again, lifting her glass with a small smile.

“To Alba,” she says.

Mandy smiles back.

“To Alba.”

Their glasses touch softly.

And Sophie leans back into the white sofa, golden light wrapping the room in quiet warmth, Mandy sitting close beside her, the phone still dark on the table.

For the first time in a long while, she doesn’t feel like checking it. She goes quiet, then looks up, looking for Mandy’s eyes. “I’m going to miss you when I leave.”

The words hang heavy in the air. Mandy hears it, feels it land somewhere deep in her chest, a place she’d been trying so hard to keep boarded up. She’s been avoiding this exact conversation, and still she doesn’t want to think about it, because the reality is that Sophie’s flight back to Boston is looming.

It’s been almost a week. Almost a week of getting to know Sophie, showing her Alba, laughing with her, getting close to her. It’s been five days of simmering tension that Mandy has expertly — or so she thinks — deflected with cocky smirks and playful jokes.

Now, with only one full day left together, the deflection has failed.

Mandy, normally so sure of herself, so fluent in the language of casual flirting, just stares into her wine glass, swirling the golden liquid around. She’s been trying hard not to think about Sophie leaving. Now it’s staring her in the face. The thought is cold and hollow in the pit of her stomach, because she has no idea what this means for them — if there even is a ‘them’ at all.

“Mandy?”

Sophie’s voice pulls Mandy back from the edge of her own thoughts. Mandy reaches forward to put her glass down, then turns to look at Sophie.

Sophie rubs her brow and relaxes back into the sofa. “I know I’ve only known you for a week. But it feels… I don’t know. It feels like I’ve known you forever.”

Mandy’s throat feels tight. She doesn’t do feelings, not like this, not the raw, unpackaged kind. She deals in winks and one-liners, and nights that don’t promise mornings. This is different. This is Sophie from Boston with her shy smiles and her sweet laugh, Sophie whose hand just brushed hers and sent a jolt straight up her arm.

Mandy zones out again, deep in thought, and the silence stretches between them.

“Mandy?”

She says her name softly, then her hand comes to rest on Mandy’s thigh, just above her knee. The contact is enough to bring Mandy back into the room. It feels like Sophie’s palm is burning straight through the denim of her jeans.

Mandy blinks, then smiles apologetically. “Sorry, I zoned out for a second.”

“It’s okay.” Sophie’s thumb moves, a barely there stroke against the fabric. Her eyes are big, searching Mandy’s face, trying their hardest to read what’s there. “Did you hear what I said?” she asks quietly, and Mandy’s hand comes down to rest on top of Sophie’s.

Mandy nods. The truth claws its way up her throat and over her tongue before she can even stop it. She turns her body towards Sophie and looks directly into her eyes.

“I’m gonna miss you too.”

The admission is quiet, but it’s real. And Sophie sees it. She sees the vulnerability there, the crack in Mandy’s confident armour that she so often hides behind, and it makes her own heart kick against her ribs.

Without thinking, driven by a surge of emotion she can’t name, Sophie lifts her hand from beneath Mandy’s and cups Mandy’s cheek. For a second, Mandy thinks Sophie might pull it back again.

She’s done it before — several times this week. Every time they’d drift too close, every time the air between them started to spark, Sophie would panic. Mandy had watched it happen: the flicker of guilt across her face, the quick retreat, the sudden need for space.

But tonight she’s different, like she knows what she wants and has stopped trying to fight it.

Sophie leans in, the space between them disappearing into a mere breath, and she whispers the words like a secret meant only for the two of them in this silent hotel room.

“I wish things were different.”

Mandy closes her eyes and leans forward, letting her forehead rest against Sophie’s. Their noses brush. They breathe the same air, a shared, intimate rhythm.

“I wish things were different too,” she whispers back, the words leaving her lips and dusting Sophie’s.

The world narrows. The town, the room, the future- it all dissolves into the space where their foreheads meet.

And then Mandy moves.

It’s not a decision. It’s a gravitational pull. She tilts her head just a fraction and closes the last impossible millimetre.

Her lips meet Sophie's.

It’s a soft kiss. A question. A press of warmth against warmth. The contact is so gentle it makes Mandy’s chest ache. It’s not hungry, not yet. It’s a discovery.

Sophie freezes for a heartbeat, then melts. A tiny, shuddering sigh escapes her nose. Her hand falls from Mandy’s cheek, slides down her neck and comes to settle at her waist, her fingers curling into the fabric of her sparkly top.

Mandy kisses her again.

This time, she coaxes. Her lips part, just a fraction. An invitation. Sophie answers, her own lips opening. Mandy’s hand comes up cradling Sophie's cheek, her thumb stroking the high bone there. And then they are kissing. Truly kissing.

It’s slow. It’s deep. It’s so intensely passionate it feels like its own form of conversation. Their mouths move together in a rhythm that feels ancient, pre-ordained. Mandy’s tongue slides along Sophie's lips, and Sophie welcomes it, a soft gasp swallowed by the kiss. Their tongues meet, a tentative brush that ignites a flash of heat low in Mandy’s belly. Sophie’s tongue is shy, then curious, then eager, tangling with hers.

Mandy lets out a low, involuntary sound against Sophie’s mouth. “Mmm” it’s a hum of pure satisfaction. She turns her face slightly, breaking the kiss to nuzzle her cheek against Sophie’s. Their skin is flushed, hot. She can feel the rapid flutter of Sophie’s pulse beneath her lips where she presses them to her temple.  

“I haven’t stopped thinking about last night” Mandy confesses. The words a rough whisper into Sophie’s ear.

Sophie shivers, her arms tightening around Mandy’s waist. “I haven’t either”

Mandy chuckles, a soft, breathy sound. “Well shit… There we both were, tryin’ to act like it didn’t happen”

She pulls back just enough to find Sophie’s lips again. This kiss is different. It’s deeper, more calming. Mandy kisses her with a focused intensity, her hand sliding into Sophie's hair, tilting her head to get a better angle.

She kisses so good.

The thought floats through Sophie’s mind.

Mandy’s mouth is demanding and giving all at once. She sucks gently on Sophie's lower lip, then soothes it with her tongue. She explores the contours of her mouth like she’s memorising a map.

And then Mandy does something that makes Sophie feel like she’s in another world. As their tongues dance, Mandy captures the tip of Sophie’s between her lips and sucks. Gently, firmly. The sensation is direct, electric, a pull that connects straight to her core. A ragged moan tears from Sophie’s throat, swallowed instantly by Mandy’s mouth.

Sophie, for her part, is drowning in sensation. She’s never been kissed like this before. The kiss remains slow and deliberate, but each movement is loaded with passion that steals the air from her lungs.

Their breathing changes. It becomes more ragged, desperate. Mandy’s hands are everywhere- in Sophie’s hair, stroking her neck, tracing her spine through her thin dress. Sophie is lost, her own hand fisting in Mandy’s shirt, holding on, pulling her closer.

Then with a smooth, effortless motion that speaks of a strength Sophie didn’t know Mandy possessed, Mandy pulls. She guides Sophie forward, up and over, until Sophie is straddling her lap, face to face.

The new position brings them chest to chest, mouth to mouth. Sophie lets out another soft moan into the kiss, settling her weight on Mandy’s thighs. Mandy’s hands slide up her back, under the fall of her hair, pressing her as close as physically possible.

Sophie turns her head, breaking the kiss to gasp for air. The sudden absence of Mandy’s mouth feels like a loss. Mandy panics, a sharp, stabbing fear that she’s pulling away, realising she’s gone too far.

But Sophie’s hands come up, framing Mandy’s face, holding her steady. She leans her forehead against Mandys again, her breath coming in warm, shaky puffs.

“Take me to bed” she whispers, the words a plea. Her thumbs stroke Mandys soft skin. “Please, Mandy. Take me to bed.

Mandy doesn’t need to be asked again. She kisses Sophie once more, a hard, promising kiss. Then, in one fluid motion, she wraps her arms around Sophie's back and under her thighs. She stands up, taking Sophie with her.

Sophie’s arms wrap around Mandy’s neck as she carries her the short distance to the king-sized bed as if she weighs nothing. The confidence in the action, the sheer physical ease of it, makes Sophies head spin.

She lowers Sophie onto the bed, the white sheets giving way beneath her. Their lips never part, and Sophie’s hands keep roaming. They’re hesitant and shy, but she can’t help herself. She needs to touch her, needs to feel her warm skin beneath her palms, so she runs them down Mandy’s back, over her shoulders, the strong curve of her spine beneath her top.

With a groan of regret, Mandy breaks the kiss. She peels her body off Sophie’s. Sophie whimpers at the loss of contact, a sound so needy it makes Mandy’s head spin. She pushes herself up onto her elbows, watching Mandy stand at the foot of the bed.

“Shit, ” Mandy breathes, the words coming out huskier than she realises. Her fingers are fumbling with the button of her jeans, her eyes locked on the woman sprawled before her. Sophie's lips are swollen and red, glistening. So inviting. Her chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths, the white cotton of her dress stretches taut over her breasts, and Mandy hasn’t seen anything like it in her life. It’s Sophie’s eyes- wide, dark, filled with a want so profound it steals Mandy’s breath- it undoes her completely.

She shoves the jeans down her hips, stepping out of them, kicking them carelessly to the side. She’s left in a simple black thong, but she doesn’t give Sophie a moment to appreciate the view as she’s crawling back onto the bed, eyes locked on Sophie’s, the mattress dipping under her weight until she’s hovering over Sophie, caging her in.

“You’re so fucking beautiful” She whispers, the words ghosting Sophie’s lips before she captures them again. This time, Mandy guides them up until Sophie's head is nestled against the white pillows. She settles on top of her again, and Sophie's hands are claiming, slating down Mandys back. Over the defined muscles of her shoulders, tracing the dip of her spine. They slide lower, over the curve of her lower back, and finally, tentatively cup the full, toned globes of her behind. Her fingers there, squeezing gently, learning the shape and the astonishing firmness of her.

Mandy gasps, then peppers a line of quick, tender pecks across her lips, then shifts her attention. Her palm finds the swell of Sophie's breast through her dress, the material so thin that she feels exactly what she’s looking for. She strokes, her thumb circling until it finds the hard, eager peak of Sophie's nipple. Sophie arches off the mattress with a sharp gasp.

That’s it, Mandy thinks, a thrill shooting through her. She leaves Sophie’s mouth, kissing along the line of her jaw, a trail of fire on soft skin. She nuzzles into the sensitive spot just below her ear, inhaling the scent of her. Then she licks. A slow, flat stroke of her tongue from the hinge of Sophie’s jaw down the elegant column of her neck.

Sophie’s reaction is instantaneous and breathtaking. Her back bows off the bed, a full-body shudder wracking her frame. Her head falls back, surrendering her throat completely, and a low, melodic moan pours from her lips. It’s a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, sweet and husky, and it goes straight to Mandy’s core, clenching deep in her belly. She moans in answer, the sound torn from her, and she does it again, licking and then sucking gently at the tender skin, tasting salt and perfume.

She kisses her way down, across Sophie’s collarbone, to the shadowed valley of her cleavage. She pauses there, looking up through her lashes, a silent question hanging in the air between them. Sophie’s hand comes up, trembling slightly. She doesn’t push or pull. Instead, with a tenderness that makes Mandy’s heart twist, she tucks a stray strand of Mandy’s hair behind her ear. The gesture is so intimate, so loving, Mandy has never felt a connection so strong.

“I need you,” Sophie whispers, her voice ragged with vulnerability. That raw openness, that trust, makes Mandy’s heart clench with a fierce, protective ache.

“I’m here, sweet girl,” Mandy says, her own voice soft. “I’m not going anywhere.” She seals the promise with a kiss, softer now, pouring all that reassurance into the slide of her lips.

But the hunger returns, swift and consuming. Their mouths meet again, and it’s like they can’t stop, like they’re trying to drink each other in. Sophie’s hands slide under the hem of Mandy’s sparkly top, pushing it up. Mandy leans back just enough to let her pull it over her head and toss it aside. Sophie’s hands are on her immediately, cupping her breasts through the simple black bra, her thumbs brushing over hard nipples.

Mandy groans, dropping her head back for a second before diving for Sophie’s neck again. This time, she doesn’t stop at her collarbone. She kisses a heated path lower, her mouth trailing over the thin white fabric of Sophie’s dress. Her fingers find the delicate straps, and she eases them down Sophie’s shoulders, following the path with her lips. The material loosens, the neckline gaping. Mandy takes a deep, steadying breath, her hands trembling with a need she’s never felt before. She hooks her fingers in the fabric and gently, so gently, pulls it down.

Sophie’s breasts are revealed, pale and perfect in the lamplight. They’re full, beautifully shaped, with nipples a delicate, blushing pink, pebbled tight and begging for attention. Mandy just stares for a heartbeat, drinking in the sight.

“So beautiful,” she gasps, the words for herself alone.

Then she lowers her head and closes her mouth around one taut peak.

The sensation for Sophie is cataclysmic. A sharp, sweet zing of pleasure-pain arcs from her nipple directly to her clit, making her cry out. Her hand flies to Mandy’s head, not to push her away, but to hold her there, fingers threading into her hair. “Oh, Mandy,” she gasps, the name a benediction. She’s never had this before.

“Mmm,” Mandy hums, the vibration travelling through Sophie’s breast, setting every nerve ending alight. The sound is one of deep, visceral satisfaction. She’s never done this before, either. The fantasy was one thing—the soft weight, the taste, the responsiveness. The reality is a thousand times better. Sophie is melting beneath her, a symphony of soft gasps and sighs, her body pliant and eager.

Sophie lets herself relax fully into the pillows, her eyes fluttering closed, lips parted as she surrenders to the purely sensual feeling. Mandy swaps breasts, giving the other one the same devoted attention, stroking it with her tongue before drawing it deep into the heat of her mouth. A deeper, throatier moan escapes Sophie, her fingers tightening briefly in Mandy’s hair before she pushes, urging her closer, needing more.

When Sophie’s moans become a constant, breathy soundtrack, Mandy reluctantly lifts her head. She comes up to kiss her again, but shifts her body, rolling onto her side beside Sophie, so they’re face-to-face. She keeps one hand on Sophie’s breast, a possessive, comforting weight, as she kisses her. It’s deep, it’s passionate, but it’s slower now, a conscious reconnection. Mandy cups Sophie’s face, her thumb stroking her cheekbone as their tongues slide together.

Then she slides her thigh between Sophie’s legs.

Sophie moves against it instantly, a helpless, instinctive roll of her hips. The friction is exquisite. Mandy can feel it too—the shocking heat, the undeniable wetness already soaking through the white lace of Sophie’s thong. The material is slick, and the proof of Sophie’s desire for her makes Mandy’s own clit throb.

“That’s it, baby,” Mandy whispers directly into her ear, her breath hot. “You know just what you’re doin’.” She guides Sophie gently, rolling her on top so that Mandy is sitting back against the pillows and Sophie is straddling her thigh. The new position brings a new intensity. Sophie braces her hands on Mandy’s shoulders, her eyes wide and dark, the blue almost swallowed by black. She begins to move in earnest, riding the firm muscle of Mandy’s thigh, the damp lace of her thong providing a maddening, perfect friction against her clit.

Mandy’s hands are everywhere—stroking her back, tracing the line of her spine, then gripping her ass, urging her hips into a faster, more deliberate rhythm. She kisses Sophie’s neck, sucking at the pulse point as Sophie’s head drops back, a string of panting breaths filling the air.

“Oh God,” Sophie moans, her voice raw. One hand slides from Mandy’s shoulder to cup the side of her neck, holding on as if for life. Mandy watches her, mesmerized by the play of pleasure on her face—the fluttering eyelids, the parted lips, the faint flush spreading across her chest. She feels herself getting impossibly wetter, a throbbing ache building between her own legs.

“Oh god,” Sophie repeats, the words a breathless chant. She leans forward, resting her forehead against Mandy’s, her hips still working in that slow, desperate grind. For a second, they just breathe together, forehead to forehead, the connection deeper than the physical. Then Sophie pulls back just enough for Mandy to capture her mouth again. They kiss, open-mouthed and messy, Sophie’s moans vibrating against Mandy’s tongue.

“Tell me how it feels,” Mandy murmurs against her lips.

Sophie struggles, her mind blank of everything but sensation. “It feels… fuck.”

Mandy cups her face, forcing her to hold her gaze. Her thumb strokes the apple of her cheek with infinite tenderness. “How does it feel, baby?”

Sophie’s hips stutter. “It feels good,” she manages, the admission wrenched from her. “It feels so good.”

Mandy closes her eyes, a wave of sheer lust crashing over her. Her own clit is throbbing in time with Sophie’s movements. She kisses her again, swallowing the sweet, needy sounds Sophie makes into her mouth. The kiss is all tongue and shared breath, a wet, desperate tangle.

“Mandy,” Sophie gasps, breaking the kiss to gulp for air. “Mandy, I…”

“I’m right here, sweet girl,” Mandy soothes, cupping her face, kissing her cheek, her temple. “I’ve got you.”

Sophie searches for her eyes, her movements slowing but not stopping. The coil inside her is winding tight, too tight, too fast. She doesn’t want to fall over the edge yet, not like this. She wants… more.

“Make love to me,” she whispers. The vulnerability is back, softening the edges of her desire, making it sweeter, deeper. “Please, Mandy. Make love to me.”

The words are a key, unlocking something profound in Mandy’s chest. She kisses her, a kiss that is all promise and devotion. Then, with a gentle strength, she lowers her thigh and guides Sophie onto her side, so they are lying face-to-face, chest to chest, legs tangled in the white sheets. She cradles Sophie’s face, kissing her again, deep and slow, their tongues mating with a luxurious, exploratory rhythm. It’s sensual. It’s intimate.

Mandy’s hand begins a slow journey down Sophie’s body. It skates over the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the flare of her ass. It slips between their bodies, over the flat plane of her stomach, and finally, fingers splayed, rests over the soaked lace of her thong. She strokes her there, a slow, firm press of her fingers, and feels Sophie jerk against her, a broken moan hot against her neck.

She watches Sophie’s reaction—the way her eyes squeeze shut, the way her teeth sink into her lower lip—as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of the thong. She peels the wet fabric down, over Sophie’s hips, helping her kick it free from her ankles. Sophie is bare, waxed smooth, her skin flushed and gleaming.

Mandy touches her.

Her first touch is a reverent exploration. Then her fingers drift lower, skating up and down. She gathers the wetness, coating her fingers, and then begins to stroke her slowly, deliberately. She traces the outer lips, then parts them, gliding through the slick heat, avoiding the trembling bud at the top.

Sophie’s moans are a continuous, breathy melody now. Mandy leans in, her lips brushing the shell of Sophie’s ear. “You’re so fuckin’ wet,” she whispers, her own voice ragged with awe.

“All because of you,” Sophie gasps, her body arching into Mandy’s touch. “All for you.”

Mandy moans, the sound a low rumble in her chest. She shifts, cuddling Sophie closer, tucking the smaller woman’s head into the crook of her neck. She wraps her free arm around her, holding her, cradling her, as her other hand continues its work between Sophie’s legs. It’s the most intimate position imaginable—Sophie clinging to her, face buried, body trustingly open, while Mandy loves her with her hand.

She circles Sophie’s clit with two slick fingers, a teasing, maddening orbit that never quite makes contact. The sounds Sophie is making—high, keening whimpers muffled against her skin—are taking Mandy to heaven. She’s never felt so powerful, so needed, so connected.

Sophie pulls back, her eyes glazed, a hand coming up to cradle Mandy’s jaw. Mandy holds her gaze, her own dark with intensity, and slowly, so slowly it’s agony, she pushes her first finger inside.

They both curse, the words a synchronized burst of awe.

Mandy’s finger sinks to the knuckle, into a tight, clutching heat that is pure silk and fire. “Damn, you’re so tight,” Mandy breathes, the observation slipping out without thought. She begins to move, pushing in and out with a torturous, shallow slowness that has Sophie’s eyes rolling back. Mandy watches every micro-expression—the flinch of pleasure, the parted lips, the desperate clutch of her hand on Mandy’s arm.

She kisses her again, a deep, soul-searching kiss, even as her finger continues its slow, penetrating rhythm. She’s cuddling her, kissing her, fingering her, all at once. The intimacy of it is overwhelming. Sophie moans directly into Mandy’s mouth, the vibrations mingling.

“How does it feel?” Mandy asks against her lips, a cocky, tender grin tugging at her mouth. She already knows the answer.

“I need more,” Sophie gasps, the words a plea. “Please.”

Mandy complies without hesitation. She withdraws her finger, only to push back in with a smoother, firmer stroke, establishing a steady, rhythmic pace. Then, on the next inward glide, she adds a second finger.

Sophie’s back arches off the bed, a sharp cry tearing from her throat. Her inner muscles flutter wildly around the new, delicious stretch. Mandy kisses her, swallowing the cry, but Sophie is lost to the sensation, her mouth going slack, her kisses becoming uncoordinated, open-mouthed pants against Mandy’s lips. Mandy kisses her anyway, kisses her jaw, her cheek, her open mouth, swallowing every gasp and moan.

She crooks her fingers inside her, finding a spot that makes Sophie see stars. “That’s it, sweet girl,” Mandy whispers, her lips moving against Sophie’s temple. “You’re doin’ so good. You look so beautiful like this.” Her words are a soft, constant stream of praise, each one winding the tension in Sophie’s body tighter.

Sophie cuddles closer, if that’s even possible, burrowing her face into Mandy’s neck, her breath coming in hot, ragged bursts. Mandy holds her tight, her arm a secure band around her back, as her fingers pump steadily. With her thumb, she finally, finally finds Sophie’s clit.

The contact is electric. Sophie’s whole body seizes, a broken “Oh!” punched from her lungs. Her head falls back, exposing her throat, and Mandy is there, kissing the frantic pulse, licking the salt from her skin.

“You feel so good,” Sophie moans, her voice cracking. Her hand fists in Mandy’s hair, not guiding, just holding on.

Mandy can feel it—the telltale tightening, the rhythmic clenching around her fingers. She’s close. So close. Mandy needs to see her. “Look at me, baby,” she murmurs, her own breathing labored. “C’mon, let me see those pretty eyes.”

Sophie tries, her eyelids fluttering wildly. It’s a struggle to break the hold of the pleasure, to focus. She manages to meet Mandy’s gaze, her blue eyes hazy and unfocused, then they slip closed again.

“Open em, baby girl,” Mandy coaxes, her voice impossibly soft. “I want to see you.”

Sophie forces her eyes open, the effort monumental. The connection is instant and profound.

“Good girl,” Mandy whispers.

The words, the praise, the possession in that term, sends Sophie spiralling. “My good good girl,” Mandy adds, kissing her open mouth.

“Don’t stop.” Sophie moans, the words barely coherent.

“I’m here“

“I’m so close…”

“Shhh, I know,” Mandy soothes, kissing her again, her fingers driving deeper, her thumb circling that aching nub with perfect, practiced pressure. “Open up them eyes, baby girl. I want to see you. I want to watch you come.”

“Yeah?” It’s a breathless, disbelieving whisper.

“Yeah.”

Sophie holds her gaze, her world narrowing to the dark, intense pools of Mandy’s eyes. Mandy feels the exact moment the orgasm begins to crest. She does something then, a clever twist and curl of her fingers, a sustained pressure right on that sweet, secret spot inside.

Sophie’s eyes fly wide, her mouth forming a perfect, silent ‘O’. The pleasure detonates, white-hot and all-consuming. “Oh my god, Mandy—fuck!” she cries out, the word fracturing. She cups Mandy’s face, her fingers trembling, and rests her forehead hard against Mandy’s, her body bowing into a taut arc as the waves crash over her. She pulses around Mandy’s fingers, a hot, rhythmic flooding of release.

“Let go for me,” Mandy whispers, her own body trembling with shared ecstasy. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

That’s all Sophie needs. She shatters completely, a raw, sobbing cry of Mandy’s name tearing from her throat as the most powerful, sweeping orgasm of her life rolls through her in endless, shuddering waves. She feels a hot gush of liquid release, and then she is collapsing, boneless and spent, against Mandy’s chest.

Mandy slowly, gently, withdraws her glistening fingers. Without breaking eye contact, she brings them to her own lips and sucks them clean, tasting Sophie’s essence—musky, sweet, uniquely her. The act is so primal, so claiming, that Sophie whimpers again.

Then Mandy wraps both arms around her, rolling them slightly so she can hold Sophie fully, enveloping her trembling form. She kisses her hair, her forehead, the damp skin of her temple, whispering soft, wordless sounds of comfort. “Shhh, I’ve got you,” she murmurs, her hands stroking up and down Sophie’s back in long, soothing passes. “Just breathe, sweet girl. I’m right here.”

She holds her through the aftershocks, through the slowing of her breath, covering her with love, of quiet affection and the solid, steady beat of her own heart.

Mandy cuddles her, the silence in the room filled only by the slowing rhythm of their breathing and the distant music. Her arms are a warm, secure band around Sophie’s shoulders, one hand stroking the silken fall of her hair, the other tracing idle, loving patterns on the bare skin of her arm. She kisses the top of Sophie’s head, her lips lingering in the soft, fragrant strands. The scent of shampoo and sex and them is intoxicating.

“Just breathe, sweetheart,” Mandy whispers, her voice a low rumble that Sophie feels through her chest. “You just float right back here.”

Sophie makes a soft, contented sound, nuzzling deeper into the crook of Mandy’s neck. Her body is a limp, pleasantly heavy weight, every muscle languid and sated. Mandy continues her gentle exploration, her fingertips skating over the curve of Sophie’s cheek, the line of her jaw. She traces the pad of her thumb over Sophie’s bottom lip, feeling the swollen, tender fullness.

She smiles as Sophie’s lips instinctively part slightly on a sigh, the barest hint of a response. Mandy keeps stroking, her touch a silent conversation. After a long, peaceful moment, Sophie’s eyelids flutter. They open, those stunning ocean-blue eyes still hazy with the aftermath of pleasure, focusing slowly on Mandy’s face just inches away.

Mandy is smiling, a soft, tender, utterly smug curl of her lips. Seeing it, Sophie can’t help but smile back, a shy, dazed reflex that makes Mandy’s heart turn over.

“There she is,” Mandy chuckles, the sound rich and warm. She runs her fingers through Sophie’s hair, pushing the damp strands back from her forehead. Her touch is possessive, adoring. “Welcome back, darlin’.”

“That was…” Sophie trails off, her voice husky and spent. She bites her lip, the gesture shy, but her eyes hold Mandy’s with a new-found boldness. The confession feels monumental. “I’ve never… I’ve never had an orgasm like that before. Or experienced anything… like any of that.”

The admission hangs in the air, raw and honest. Mandy’s cocky grin widens, her own blue eyes glittering with pure, unadulterated triumph. She loves this. Loves the knowledge that she’s the one who did this, who unlocked this for her.

“Well, sugar,” Mandy drawls, her thumb stroking Sophie’s lower lip again, “I think I’ll be replaying that in my head over and over again until I’m on my deathbed.” The joke is delivered with such affectionate warmth that it strips away any vulgarity.

Sophie’s eyes widen, then a giggle bubbles out of her—a genuine, surprised, happy sound. She swats weakly at Mandy’s shoulder. “Mandy!”

Mandy laughs too, a full, throaty sound of pure joy, and presses a firm, lingering kiss to Sophie’s bare shoulder. “I’m just tellin’ sayin’. I don’t think I’d ever get tired of hearing you moan my name”

She’s still tracing her fingers up and down Sophie’s arm, a ceaseless, soothing caress. Her voice drops, becoming more earnest, the humor fading into awe. “But seriously, Soph. I have never seen anything so fuckin’ hot in my entire life. Watchin’ you come for me like that… the sounds you made, the way your body just… surrendered.” She closes her eyes, a wicked, satisfied smile playing on her lips as she replays the memory. “Shit. I’ll be dreamin’ about that for the next fifty years.”

Sophie’s cheeks flush a deep, rosy pink. The praise is overwhelming, intoxicating. She lets out another embarrassed, delighted giggle and hides her face in the warm hollow of Mandy’s chest.

For a long moment, Sophie just breathes her in, feeling the strong, steady beat of Mandy’s heart against her cheek. The desire to reciprocate, to give Mandy even a fraction of the pleasure she just received, blooms hot and urgent inside her. But it’s tangled with a thick vine of nervousness. She’s never done this. What if she’s bad at it? What if she disappoints her?

She lifts her head, her expression earnest. “Babe… I want to make you feel good, too.”

The words are brave, but Mandy sees it instantly—the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, the slight tension in her jaw. Mandy’s smile softens. She cups Sophie’s cheek, her thumb stroking gently. “Hey,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. “There is no pressure. None. You are not obligated to do a damn thing, you hear me?”

She leans in, brushing her nose against Sophie’s. “I enjoyed what we just did just as much as you did. Trust me on that. Watchin’ you grind on my thigh, moanin’ my name… the way you cuddled up into me when my fingers were inside you…” Mandy closes her eyes, a soft groan escaping her. “Christ, Sophie. You don’t understand what you’ve done to me. I’m as wet as you are. Wetter, maybe.”

Sophie’s eyes widen, the nervousness momentarily eclipsed by shock and a thrill of power. “Really?”

“Really,” Mandy insists, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. She guides Sophie’s hand from her shoulder down, over the flat plane of her own stomach, pressing it firmly against the front of her black thong. The material is soaked through, plastered to her skin, and noticeably warm. “Feel that? That’s all you, baby girl. Damn, my clit’s got its own heartbeat.” She laughs, a self-deprecating sound, but her hips give a tiny, involuntary rock against Sophie’s palm.

Sophie’s breath hitches. The evidence is undeniable. She can feel the damp heat, the swollen shape of Mandy beneath the cotton. The nervousness returns, but it’s now mixed with a fierce, protective desire. She did this. She wants to see it.

“I’ve never…” she starts again, her voice small. She looks down, her fingertips brushing over the edge of Mandy’s bra. “I’ve never done this with a woman before. Any of this.”

A surge of pure, primal satisfaction rolls through Mandy. She’s the first. The first woman to touch her, to taste her, to make her come apart. The knowledge settles in her bones, a dark, possessive joy. She likes it. She likes it a lot.

She kisses Sophie, a slow, deep kiss that lingers, pouring that feeling into it. When she pulls back, she’s grinning. “Could’ve fooled me,” she murmurs, then pecks her lips again. “You kiss like you’ve been kissing women forever.”

“But that’s different,” Sophie protests softly, her fingers toying with Mandy’s bra strap. “I’m… I’m afraid I won’t be able to make you feel as good as you made me feel.”

“Impossible,” Mandy says immediately, her tone absolute. She runs her fingers through Sophie’s hair, tucking it behind her ear. “I could’ve come just from watchin’ you. But I mean it, Soph. We can just lay right here, cuddled up together for the rest of the night. I am perfectly happy just knowin’ I gave you the best orgasm of your life.” She laughs again, the sound easy and content. “That’s a trophy I’m takin’ to my grave.”

The out is there, generous and real. But Sophie shakes her head, a newfound determination hardening her delicate features. “No. Really, I want to.” She takes a shaky breath. “I need to. I want to make you feel good.”

“Mmm,” Mandy hums, the sound vibrating against Sophie’s lips as she kisses her again, a slow, sensual slide. “Like I said before, darlin’, you’ve already made me feel incredible. You’ve got me so wet it’s embarrassin’.”

She pulls back just enough to whisper directly into Sophie’s ear, her breath hot and promising. “Wanna see for yourself?”

Sophie nods, a quick, eager jerk of her head. Her throat is dry.

Mandy’s smile is all encouragement. She takes Sophie’s hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. Then, still holding her gaze, she shifts onto her back, pulling Sophie with her so they’re lying side-by-side, facing each other. She guides Sophie’s captured hand down her own body, over the tense muscles of her abdomen.

She doesn’t stop at the waistband of her thong. She guides Sophie’s hand under it, straight down into the hot, waiting wetness.

They both gasp in unison.

Sophie’s fingers come into direct, shocking contact with Mandy’s bare, soaked pussy. The skin is impossibly soft, swollen, and slick. Her fingertips sink into the folds, finding a heat that steals the air from her lungs.

Their eyes lock. Mandy’s are dark, heavy-lidded, watching Sophie’s face for every reaction. Sophie’s are wide, filled with awe and a dawning hunger.

Mandy releases her hand, leaving it there, buried in the damp, intimate darkness of her underwear. Sophie’s fingers twitch, exploring on their own for the first time. She strokes upward, feeling the soft, bare skin of Mandy’s pussy, then down, through the incredible slickness, her fingertips slipping easily between swollen lips.

“You’re right,” Sophie whispers, her voice full of wonder. “You are really wet. You’re… soaked.” Her middle finger slides through the centre, gathering wetness, and she feels the different texture of Mandy’s opening, the tight, clinging heat just beneath. “You’re so soft. So… mmm…” She doesn’t have the words. It’s like touching live velvet, heated silk.

A breathy, uncontrolled moan escapes Mandy, her hips lifting off the mattress to press into Sophie’s tentative touch. “Fuck,” she breathes. Her hands fly to the sides of her thong, and in one impatient motion, she shoves the black lace down her hips and kicks it away, leaving herself completely bare.

“That’s much better,” Sophie says, her voice gaining a thread of confidence. She leans in, kissing Mandy’s lips as her hand, now unencumbered, returns to its exploration. She strokes slowly, up and down over Mandy’s outer lips, her touch delicate, curious. She’s learning the landscape—the full, plump folds, the hard, eager nub of her clit hiding at the top, the slick, welcoming entrance below.

Mandy bites her lip, a sharp hiss of air escaping through her teeth. She’s being patient, letting Sophie explore, but the slow, tentative touches are a sweet agony. Her fists clutch at the white sheets, her knuckles white.

“You feel so good,” Sophie murmurs, more to herself, cataloguing the sensations. She’s getting bolder, her strokes becoming more deliberate. She circles the entrance with a fingertip, dipping just inside, and Mandy’s whole body jerks.

“Mandy,” she gasps.

“It’s ok, baby,” Mandy manages, her voice strained. “Have a feel. Get to know her. Take your time.” The permission is a gift, and it unlocks something in Sophie.

She bites her lip, her gaze fixed on Mandy’s face as she continues her exploration. She strokes slowly, up through the wetness, letting her fingers glide over Mandy’s clit. The reaction is immediate—Mandy’s back arches, a sharp, guttural cry tearing from her throat. Sophie freezes.

“Are you okay?”

“yes,” Mandy pants, her eyes squeezed shut. “God, yes. Do that again. Please.”

Emboldened, Sophie does. She rubs slow, cautious circles over the hard little bud. Mandy moans, long and low, her head thrashing on the pillow. After a few moments of this exquisite torture, Mandy’s hand comes down to cover Sophie’s again. She doesn’t take control, just lays her palm over Sophie’s knuckles, applying the slightest pressure, guiding the rhythm.

“Mmm, yes, baby girl. Just like that,” Mandy whispers, her voice thick. “Just a little faster… yeah, just like that.”

Sophie follows the guidance, her circles becoming more confident, more rhythmic. The more noises Mandy makes—these deep, ragged moans that seem to come from her very core—the more Sophie’s own arousal reignites, a hot coil tightening low in her belly. She watches, mesmerized, as Mandy’s hands grasp at the sheets, as the muscles in her stomach clench and release, as a fine sheen of sweat breaks out on her skin.

“Does it feel ok?” Sophie asks again, needing the reassurance.

Mandy’s eyes snap open, dark and burning. “Better than ok,” she groans. “It feels fuckin’ incredible.” With a swift, fluid motion, she reaches behind her back, unclasps her black bra, and shrugs it off, tossing it to join the growing pile of clothes on the floor. She falls back against the pillows, her breasts bare and beautiful, her nipples pink and pebbled tight.

“Just a little faster, sugar,” she begs, her hips beginning to move in tiny circles, meeting Sophie’s touch.

Sophie obeys, her fingers moving with more purpose now, the pad of her middle finger finding a perfect, insistent rhythm on Mandy’s clit. She’s enthralled by the sight before her. Mandy’s hand comes up to her own breast, her fingers pinching and rolling a nipple, her head thrown back in abandon. The combination of watching Mandy pleasure herself and feeling the wet, eager response under her own fingers is the most potent aphrodisiac Sophie has ever known.

She loves how Mandy talks to her through it, her voice a husky, broken soundtrack.

“That’s it… right there… oh, fuck, Sophie… you’re a natural, baby, I told you…”

The praise floods Sophie with warmth and courage. She’s making Mandy feel like this. Her. She takes a risk, feeling brave. Keeping her right hand working on Mandy’s clit, she brings her left hand down. She hesitates for only a second before sliding her index finger slowly, carefully, into Mandy’s soaking wet entrance.

Mandy’s reaction is volcanic. Her eyes fly open, a strangled shout ripping from her throat. Her inner muscles clamp down on Sophie’s finger in a fierce, hot spasm. “Yes!” she cries out, her hand leaving her breast to fist in Sophie’s hair, not pulling, just holding on. “Oh, god, yes. Just like that. Fuck me, baby. Please.”

Sophie is trembling, her own breath coming in short pants. She pushes her finger deeper, to the knuckle, into that incredible, clutching heat. She starts to move, a slow, tentative in-and-out, while her right thumb continues to circle Mandy’s clit. The coordination is clumsy at first, but she finds a rhythm, her movements becoming smoother, more synchronized.

Mandy moans, a long, drawn-out sound of pure ecstasy. “You feel so good... Add another finger, baby, I can take it. I need it.”

Sophie’s heart hammers against her ribs. She withdraws her finger, slicks it again in the drenching wetness, and pushes back in with two fingers together.

Mandy screams. It’s a raw, unfiltered sound of pleasure, her body bowing off the bed. Sophie feels the stretch, the incredible, hot tightness yielding to her, and a surge of power and tenderness washes over her. She leans down, capturing Mandy’s nipple in her mouth, sucking hard as her fingers begin to piston in and out, her thumb a relentless counterpoint on Mandy’s clit.

The room dissolves into a symphony of wet, rhythmic sounds, ragged breathing, and Mandy’s broken, pleading litany.

“Oh God… right there… don’t stop, don’t you fuckin’ stop… I’m gonna come… I’m gonna come all over your pretty fingers, baby girl…”

Sophie can feel it building, a tangible tension coiling in Mandy’s body, the way her muscles are clenching rhythmically around her thrusting fingers, growing tighter, faster. Mandy’s hand is a vice in her hair, her other hand scrabbling at Sophie’s back, pulling her closer, needing her mouth, her touch, everything.

“Come for me” Sophie whispers, surprising herself. She pulls her mouth from Mandy’s breast, lifting her head. “come for me, Mandy”

It’s the final trigger. Mandy’s orgasm hits her like a freight train. A raw, shattered cry tears from her throat, her body seizing in a violent, beautiful arc. Her back lifts completely off the bed, held only by Sophie’s arm and the hand fisted in her hair. Her inner walls convulse around Sophie’s fingers in a series of rapid, fluttering pulses, a hot rush of liquid release coating Sophie’s hand. The sounds she makes are guttural, uninhibited, a continuous stream of “Yes! Yes! Fuck! Sophie!” that goes on and on as the waves crash through her.

Sophie holds her through it, her fingers still buried deep, her thumb still pressed to Mandy’s throbbing clit, gentling her touch as the spasms begin to subside. She watches, mesmerized, as the powerful, confident Texan comes completely undone because of her. It’s the most profoundly beautiful thing she has ever witnessed.

Slowly, the tremors lessen. Mandy’s body collapses back onto the mattress, boneless and spent, her cries softening into whimpers, then into shallow, ragged pants. Sophie slowly, carefully, withdraws her fingers. They gleam in the lamplight, slick and wet.

“Come here,” Mandy rasps, her voice wrecked.

She doesn’t have to ask twice. Sophie moves into her arms, curling against her side, laying her head on Mandy’s shoulder. Mandy’s arms come around her instantly, holding her close, one hand stroking her hair, the other splayed possessively on the small of her back. Their legs tangle together, skin against slick skin. They are both sticky, sweaty, and utterly spent, but neither cares.

For a long time, they just breathe together, the aftermath humming in the air around them. The lights still twinkle beyond the window, but the world outside has ceased to exist.