Before I know it, it's been a week since I got to Fisher. My stay is half over and I'm no closer to a permanent solution. I wish I could just stay here. Do what Riley's doing. Find a quiet job that doesn't piss me off too much, something that pays the bills and gives me the time and space to live my life, something that lets me fly to LA for the weekend to see my friends.

Except my friends aren't responding to me anymore.

Well, my friend. Tay is the same old Tay. But Gaby still hasn't replied to my message from Sunday and there's no way she hasn't seen it yet. Which means she's avoiding it, because she doesn't want to commit to a date for me to see her. Which makes me feel like there's a big black hole inside my chest, trying to suck up the happiness I have found in the last week.

Fisher may not be the same as it was when I was a kid, but it still makes me happy. Lounging on Lou's dock. Running a different route around town each day. Making new friends. Riley was behind the counter when I went to Cafe Au Late yesterday and we hung out while she was working, and it felt so good to know that I'm still capable of making new connections. It's been so much harder since college. It was easy to meet Gaby and Tay there and fall into our friendship, but ever since I've graduated, I've struggled to find new people. The city's too big, everyone too busy, too wrapped up in the friends they already have.

It's a different pace of life here. One that means I can spend a couple hours in a cafe and chat with the people making the drinks. Riley introduced me to a couple other baristas, both of whom are permanent Fisher residents: Diego, a high school senior who used to have piano lessons from Lou, and Madison, who is home for summer after her sophomore year at Idaho State down in Pocatello. She's working today, alongside Julia and someone I don't know yet; it's nice to get smiles and waves when I walk in somewhere. I like that they know me already, that you have to be intentional to be anonymous in this town.

But just because I'm meeting new people up here doesn't mean I want to lose the people I have. The tight little grain of low-grade anxiety I live with blooms into a full-grown beach ball in my chest when I open The Three Musketeers chat and see that Gaby was last seen online a couple hours ago. I should text her. Make sure she's okay. But I can't bear to be left on read by her twice. I text Tay instead.

Hey have you heard from gaby recently? Has she said anything about us all meeting in la? I send, then put my phone face down on the table and rest my chin on my fists.

The corner window seat in Cafe Au Late is the perfect place for people-watching, especially as the summer draws to an end, children sun-tired and their parents shattered, ready for the kids to go back to school. Half of the cars driving down Park Street are filled to the brim with the detritus of vacation. Several are towing fancy boats. There's still a few days left of the summer break and as I watch, I wonder if any of them are arriving, if they're making the most of every minute. Maybe they've been camping out in Salmon-Challis National Forest and this is their last stop for a bit of luxury, exchanging a tent in the woods for a cabin on the water.

Tay texts back a few minutes later. we haven't spoken in a couple days, she hasn't said anything. I get the vibe she's v busy?? which is fine!! we can totally do another weekend, right? I know you wanted to come down from idaho while you're there but flights from austin are probably cheaper anyway!

The ball of anxiety grows. Tay still doesn't know. I hate the deception. But I can't bear for her to compare me to her the way I already do and I know she'd only want to help, but the thought of her long-distance pity is nauseating.

we'll figure something out soon! I reply. Vague. Breezy.

Absolutely, Tay says, and she sends a stream of hearts. We text for a little while longer, about what it's like in LA (hot, dry, busy, although her brain might explode from how mad traffic makes her) and what it's like here (hot, wet, calm, although my heart might explode with how attracted to Lou I am).

At this point you just need to go for it, Tay says. You're home in a week right? What's the worst that could happen?

I could list off a reel of worst case scenarios, but I keep them to myself and instead, all I say is, true.

She sends a winky face. I send a fist followed by the water droplets; Tay replies with a crying-laughing face, and I know that the conversation has come to an end by the time that we're just exchanging emojis. I tap my nails on the back of my phone, trying to decide what I should say to Gaby. If anything. Maybe I just need to wait this one out. But if I do, it won't be Austin I'm flying from. It'll be Rapid City. If I don't see my friends next weekend, I don't know when I will, and what scares me is that I can't tell how much that would bother Gaby. What if, after six years, our friendship is fading out?

It happens. I know. It happened with everyone I went to high school with. People I considered my best friends are now acquaintances I occasionally keep track of on Facebook, grimacing when I see that they're getting married and having babies and once upon a time, I would've been a bridesmaid. A godmother. Now I'm just a digital witness.

I shouldn't Google it but I do. According to the internet, half of all friendships are replaced after seven years. God, is that what I'm doing? I've always been closer to Tay, an easier connection between the two of us, but that doesn't mean I'm prepared to let Gaby go. We have our differences, sure, but she's still one of my favorite people in the world.

hey gabs, I text, gripped by a new paranoia that I'm accidentally replacing her with my new Fisher friends. Is everything okay? Haven't heard from you in a while and im just checking in. how's san diego? Missing you xxx

I never add kisses to texts. But I feel the need today.

The message is delivered. I don't wait to see if she reads it. I've done my bit now. If she needs time, I'll give her that.

*

Lou is with her parents today. A slow round of golf on the eighteen-hole course before a late lunch at the clubhouse, which would inevitably lead to coffee at her parents' place and perhaps a wander into town with her mom. I was too slow this morning; she texted me her plans while I was in bed and left before I got up so I didn't see if she was wearing one of those golf outfits. Now that I've seen her legs, the thought of her in one of those little white skirts that barely covers her butt is enough to bring color to my cheeks.

God, I am no better than a man.

I jog back to the house after my morning with the Cafe Au Late crew, my feet worshiping my new shoes every cushioned step of the way. Even though I have the place to myself for at least a few hours, I don't snoop. I want to. I'm dying to know what Lou's room looks like, what she hides behind her closed door, but if I follow Tay's advice I might get to find out without sneaking around. As tempting as it is, I pass by her room on the way to mine to grab a blanket and my Kindle for an afternoon in the garden.

Uncle Harry's old cabin has stood empty the whole time I've been here. The Takahashis are back in Bend, Lou assured me. They won't be back until Thanksgiving at the earliest, if they come back at all before next spring, so I don't feel guilty when I hop the fence between our properties and find myself back at the tire swing. It's shaded by the tree it hangs from but it has an uninterrupted view of the water and the lake houses on the other side of the shore. I get on, resting my forearms on the top of the tire and my chin on my wrist, both hands around the rope. The slow swing is soothing. So is the gentle creaking of the branches, the rustle of the leaves, the distant sounds of fun.

I don't know how long I stay there, ruminating in the garden that once was my empire, but it's long enough for me to come to the long overdue realization that I need to be proactive. It's all well and good moping here and mourning everything that's gone to shit but if I don't do something, nothing is going to change.

And that's how I end up in Lou's deep armchair in the snug upstairs, a latte in one hand from the machine in the kitchen, the other balancing my laptop on my knees as I check out jobs in Rapid City. If that's where I'm going to end up, for the time being, I might as well be prepared. Somewhere must be searching for someone with skills in statistical analysis and data entry, a degree in politics, and low expectations.

This might be good for me. Going home for a bit — even if it's only home because it's where my mom is — and taking five. Time to regroup. Make a bit of money. Spend some time with family (or one member of it, at least) and take it easy while I'm still covered by my mom's health insurance. If that's my metric, I've got two years to get my shit together. It just hurts that I thought I already did. In Austin, I had a decent job; I had a decent apartment; I lived with people I love. It feels like I've taken ten steps back, like I'm back in the shoes of a clueless college graduate who is totally unprepared for the world. I've done this shit before. I've been through this. Why can't I just suck it up and do it again?

Because I don't want to.

I know that's the answer. I just wish my stupid brain was capable of doing something it doesn't want to do. The first time around, it was all new. A novelty. I'd never job hunted before, never had interviews. Now it's like trying to rewatch a movie I've already seen: my mind keeps wandering, looking for other things with which to occupy itself because this is all so tedious. Because I want to bury my head in the sand and stay here forever.

As much as it nauseates me, I tweak my resume. Add my last job, update my skills and responsibilities, big myself up as much as I can. I upload it to twenty different online applications. Any time an address is required, I use my mom's, and I ignore the twisting in my gut each time I hit submit. After the first hour of scrolling and clicking and exiting, I get less discerning. Start applying for anything, regardless of whether or not I'm remotely qualified for the position. If I turn it into a game, it's more fun, especially when I start recognizing phrases from my extensive Austin job search over the last few weeks. I try not to think too hard about that, though. How I must have applied for over a hundred positions, most of which I never heard back from. And yet I keep hearing about a worker shortage. About how my generation doesn't want to work. I do. I feel like Meredith fucking Grey as I fill out all these stupid forms. Pick me. Choose me.

It's soul destroying. I'm ruining the atmosphere Lou's created in here. One of peace and harmony. Bad vibes are radiating off me like stink waves in a cartoon. It's right when I've had enough that I hear Lou's car outside — the engine has a specific rumble, the tires a specific crunch on the gravel driveway — and then the whine of the door, her feet on the stairs, my name in her mouth.

"In here," I call out. She appears in the doorway and I just about lose my fucking mind.

The sexy golf outfit. Oh my god. She's wearing one. A tiny white skirt that comes halfway down her thighs. A sky blue racerback shirt, high-necked but sleeveless. Matching blue ankle socks. She even has a visor, her hair pulled up into a high ponytail. I could melt into this chair. Holy fuck. I have never seen so much of her skin, and now I see the freckles aren't limited to her face. Her arms are covered, from her shoulders down to her hands. Her thighs too.

"Hey. What're you up to?"

It takes me a moment to gather myself. I close my laptop. "Nothing interesting." I have to clear my throat. God, could I be more obvious? "How was golf?"

"Pretty good." She mimes swinging a club and says, "I came in two under par. Almost got an ace on the tenth hole but the ball bounced off the flag. Dad smashed it — seven under par. Mom came in at fifteen over but she's got a bad shoulder at the moment so we gave her a decent handicap."

I have never in my life given a shit about golf, but I could listen to her talk about it all day long. I am practically salivating and I know she can read me like a bedtime story because her grin widens, her head tilts, and she runs a finger along the rim of her visor. "Is this a kink of yours?"

I was not expecting that word to come out of her mouth. I actually choke in surprise; she looks satisfied. My voice comes out hoarse when I say, "I guess it is."

Lou takes off the visor and throws it at me, and she laughs. I put the visor on. It's warm from her head. I stand, moving my laptop to the side table, and strike a pose. "Do I look like a sexy golfer now?"

She says nothing, but her eyes don't leave me. There's a tense moment when neither of us moves, until she breaks the spell when she lifts her toned arms to let her hair loose and she says, "I'm going out with Talia this evening but I went to the grocery store so there's plenty to eat, so help yourself."

"Thanks. You didn't have t—"

"We've been over this, Charlotte." Tingles. I actually get tingles. The combination of the outfit, the disciplinary tone, my full name. "I don't do things purely because I have to. Most of the things I do, in fact, are things I want to do. I know I don't have to feed you." She pauses, that half smile twitching again. "I want to."

I want her to, too. Except in my imagination, it is less her providing a fully-stocked fridge and more her leaning over me with a strawberry in her mouth for me to bite into.

"Do you want a ride into town? I can take you in, pick you up, whatever. Talia too."

She purses her lips. "That'd be great, actually. Yes. Thank you."

*

At seven o'clock, I get behind the wheel of Lou's Toyota — I'm sorry, Emily, you are too messy for guests, especially when that guest is the immaculate woman I'm desperate to impress — and drive the best I've ever driven, picking up Talia on the way into town. I drop the two of them off outside a nice restaurant on Park Street and Lou asks that, unless she texts me, I collect them both at eleven. Which gives me almost four hours to myself.

I can't bear going anywhere near my laptop again so I read. After sixty-eight pages of a slow burn romance, I peruse the kitchen and end up boiling a pot of water for pasta, adding in a mixture of tinned tuna, shredded cheese, mayonnaise, chopped bell peppers and a half an onion. A one pot stovetop pasta bake, without actually baking it. It's kind of fun treating Lou's home like my own. Cooking in her kitchen. Taking my food through to her living room, where I find the TV remote and scroll through her streaming apps. She has all of them. I settle on Apple TV and a rewatch of the first season of Ted Lasso, and the way I feel when Lou walks into a room is a mirror of the way I feel any time Rebecca Welton is on the screen. Maybe I just have a thing for tall, middle-aged women with killer legs.

At nine twenty, I take a long and luxurious shower and I get a thrill from walking naked back to my room, where I find an unbelievably soft sweater in a thin, cozy material. I throw it on over a pair of leggings and nothing else and wait to be summoned. It's just gone ten when I get a text from Lou: taxi please!

It amuses me. In my head, she's a formal texter. I was expecting full sentences and proper punctuation.

Six minutes later, the car is full of Talia's raucous laughter. They're not drunk. Maybe a couple glasses, but Lou can handle a couple glasses. When I get to Talia's house, a cute little townhouse halfway between town and Lou's cabin, she thanks me effusively and says something to Lou that I don't hear. Something that makes Lou blush. Something that makes Talia wink at me. Oh god. They've been talking about me. I have been a topic of conversation. Fuck. Lou has definitely told her best friend about my newfound women-who-golf kink. I don't know what to say once she's gone and Lou moves forward to the front seat.

"Would you believe she only had one glass?" She laughs as she does up her seatbelt.

"What did she just say to you?"

"Nothing." But she has that smile. God damn it. That secretive little smile that drives me insane. Talia said something, then.

I drive us home, relieved to no longer be responsible for Lou's car when I reach her driveway. It drives beautifully and it feels so nice, but it's a lot bigger than the little Subaru I'm used to and I've never been that confident a night driver. I might be due a visit to the optician.

"Thanks, Charlotte," Lou says. "I really appreciate it."

"No problem. Happy to be your taxi. Whatever I can do for you," I say, splaying her car keys in my hand to find the front door key under the warm light of the porch. Unlike Lou, I'm not so comfortable leaving the place unlocked when I'm not there. I let us into the house, pretending for a second that it's mine. The momentary fantasy is ruined when I turn to shut the door and somehow manage to catch the sweater on the handle; I feel the rip before I hear it.

"Shit."

"You okay?" Lou turns around, halfway through shedding her jacket and her cross body bag.

"Shit, sorry, I don't know what happened." I twist, trying to find where the rip starts. "I must've caught it on the door. God, sorry, Lou. This is such a nice sweater as well." There's a hole in the side, big enough to put my hand through. Lou comes over, adjusting her glasses as she takes the fabric in her hands, examining the edges of the tear.

"Don't worry about it, I can fix that," she murmurs, nodding at the stairs. "Come up."

I follow up upstairs, into the utility room, where she shows off that she's a jack of all trades. "Give me that," she says when she reaches the table with her sewing machine, hand outstretched.

I peel off the top and only when it's over my head do I remember that I'm not wearing anything underneath. My boobs are on full display. Oh, god. I could tug it back on, pretend nothing happened, but I don't. I take it off. Hand it to her. I catch the bob of her throat as she swallows hard, the flit of her eyes as she tries not to stare at my chest. Even in the low light in here, I can see that her cheeks are darkening, her chest too, a patchy pink turning red.

I don't know what overcomes me. I'm a new person today. Someone who applies for jobs. Someone who gets shit done.

"Do you want me to put something else on?" I ask, my voice low. The ball is in her court now. Her pupils have darkened too, widening to accommodate for the poor light. To take me in. I stand my ground, even though it's cold in here and the chill is making my nipples ache and this is really very incredibly stupid. I should snatch the sweater back. I should turn around and leave. Bury myself in my bed and pray that come morning, she forgets.

But then Lou shakes her head.

She drops the top on the floor. Her lips are parted, her gaze fixed on me, and I know. I finally know.

Adrenaline courses through me; I take her limp hand, turn it over in mine, feel the heat of her wrist. I bring her hand to my lips and kiss the base of her palm, my nose pressed to the dip where her palm meets her wrist and her perfume is stronger. It goes straight to my head. Her fingers curl to cup my jaw and my skin is electrified, goosebumps erupting up and down my arms, the back of my neck. This is everything I've been waiting for, aching for, the way both her hands are in my hair now, her nose bumping mine as I pull her close to me and tilt up my chin to kiss her. A groan slips from the back of my throat as our lips touch, as my desire swells and spills over, as I find a reserve of confidence I didn't know I had.

I push her back until her thighs hit the table behind her and she sits on the edge, her legs limp when I push them apart to stand between her knees and feel her cheeks beneath my palms. I didn't think this would ever happen. I thought this was a fantasy — it has been a fantasy all week long, but now it is reality. She is letting me touch her. Kiss her. She is kissing me back; she is pulling me closer; she brings a hand to my hip. My waist. Her fingers glide up my skin until she is cupping my breast and I am undone.

"Is this okay?" she murmurs when our lips part.

"Please." The word comes out as a growl. I lean into her touch, every nerve ending shooting fireworks as she palms my breast, her other hand clutching my hip as though she's scared I'll leave. I'm not going anywhere. I've wanted this since the moment I laid eyes on her. It's hard to believe it has only been a week. My heart protests; it has been through far more of a beating than seven days could allow.

Lou wraps her legs around mine, pinning me in place as she kisses my neck, as her hands travel across every inch of bare skin and stop when they meet the elastic resistance of my waistband. She doesn't move it. God, I wish she would.

"You," she whispers, the word barely more than a breath, "are such. A fucking. Tease." Her kiss trails from my neck down to my breast. I feel her teeth on my nipple and oh my fucking god, this is moving faster than I expected but I want it so much. I could pass out from the exhilaration that rushes to my head, the desperate need that pulses between my legs.

"I can't help that you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," I say, my fingertips digging into her waist as she gently bites down and I whimper. I whimper. Push forward. Desperate for more touch. More everything. But Lou leans back, moving her attention away from my breasts. "Please don't stop," I urge, one hand at the nape of her neck, my head bent so our foreheads touch.

"Not here." She eases me away and stands. Her fingers weave with mine. I fall into step with her, numbly following as she leads me out of the utility room. Down the hallway. To the closed door of her bedroom.

And then, inside.

*

at last!