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June 20 - June 21, 2025
For everyone who figured it out a little later in life.
“It’s a helluva start, being able to recognize what makes you happy.” —Attributed to Lucille Ball
“Peak Astrid. Polite, even when rude.”
“Oh, come on, she was empirically gorgeous,” Iris said. “Did you see the overalls? The hair? Total soft butch.”
She unlocked her phone, her bare feet coming to a halt as she stared down at the woman’s contact information. There was no name. There was only a number, saved under Delightful Human Who Ruined Your Ugly Dress.
“There’s running from something,” Angela said, “and there’s running to something new.
She felt suddenly ancient. She was barely thirty-one. She’d already met, courted, married, and lost the love of her life. She was too young to feel this goddamn old.
The Two of Cups whispered of romance and love, of new relationships. A perfect pairing. Matched souls.
Jordan Everwood was a walking catastrophe, and she needed careful handling.
She watched Astrid walking toward them now, her gait elegant and purposeful, perfectly poised. But a second ago, she hadn’t been so put together. Not at all. And Jordan . . . liked it.
It was fascinating. Jordan’s body was efficient, quick, like a finely tuned machine that knew exactly what it was built for. Astrid had only ever seen men do this kind of work, which was probably why this—Jordan, exhibiting such power—was so enthralling.
Still, in this moment, sparring with this gorgeous woman, she felt suddenly . . . alive.
She knew it was juvenile—she was thirty years old and a professional, for god’s sake—but she was starting to believe you were never too old to feel lonely, to wonder where you belonged in the world.
Jordan looked at her then. Shit, her eyes were pretty—a brown so dark Jordan could hardly make out her pupils. Juxtaposed with her sandy hair and thick dark brows . . . well, Astrid Parker was stunning. There was no doubt about it.
Astrid let her mouth hang open again for a second. “I . . . was . . . going to say that I can tie a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue.” Jordan blinked. Astrid blinked. The whole theater seemed to blink.
Yes, Astrid Isabella Parker really did just pull out a frat house party trick in response to news about Jordan’s cancer-surviving wife leaving her for a greater destiny than the one she already had.
“She left you like you didn’t mean anything. And you do. You mean something.”
“Sexuality is complicated. It’s not static. People change and sexuality can change too.”
Astrid nodded, swallowed one more sip of coffee and got a grip, because that’s what Astrid Parker did—she got herself together.
A slow smile spread over Jordan’s elfin face, lifting her mouth, her cheekbones, lighting up her eyes. It was like watching a sunrise.
Her gaze traced the other woman’s face like an artist would study a subject, and . . . Jordan did the same.
Jordan had taken her breath away from that first coffee-filled moment. Astrid could see it now—she could admit it.
“I didn’t let myself understand. My whole life, I’ve waited to feel like this.” Jordan’s mouth parted. “Like what, Parker?” Another step. “Like this. The way I feel when I’m with you. Like I’m twelve years old and going through my first crush. Like I might explode if I don’t see you, talk to you. Like I don’t care about anything else in this whole messed-up world but what you think about me. Feel about me.”
Jordan was like a drug—her jasmine-and-pine scent, the way her body felt under Astrid’s hands. Astrid suddenly felt wild, ravenous, and let one palm circle around to cup the nape of Jordan’s neck.
But as she joined Claire in the doorway, she did glance back to see a grin settle over Jordan’s face as she looked at her phone, no doubt seeing the name Astrid had entered for herself in Jordan’s contacts. Semi-Decent Human Who Wants to Kiss You Again
“By kick her ass, I mean kick her ass true lesbian style, where I glare at her with my mouth all twisted up like a butthole and give her the silent treatment.”
Then, before Astrid could laugh or protest or react at all, Iris grabbed her around the waist and pulled her onto the bed. She yanked both Claire and Delilah into her embrace as well, until the four women were wrapped up together on the bed, laughing and crying and swearing, everyone’s hair and makeup ruined good and proper. And no other moment in Astrid’s life had ever felt so perfect.
“It’s not. It’s really not you. And it’s not us. It’s just . . . I don’t know what I’m doing, okay? This has all been a lot. A great a lot—I’m not complaining, but I’m . . . I’m . . .” “A baby bisexual?” Jordan said, letting a smile curl one side of her mouth. Fuck, this woman was adorable.
Astrid. The adorable, vampire-toothed baby queer who pulled Jordan into a room and told her she wanted to kiss her, who’d spent every evening of the last week with Jordan.
Jordan adored this woman. Fucking adored her.
“It’s a fascinating organ, having nothing to do with reproduction whatsoever. It literally exists for pleasure. The clit is badass.”
She still made Jordan’s insides feel soft and light, gauzy like a fairy’s wings. And just like that, Jordan knew. She knew like she knew Simon was her brother, or the moon’s gravity pulled at the sea. She was in love with Astrid Parker. She was one hundred percent, wildly, make-stupid-ass-decisions in love with her.
“Shh,” Jordan said, spinning them around, her mouth pressed to Astrid’s jaw. “I’m singing to my girl.”
As the warm saltwater streaked down her cheeks, she realized she’d only ever really sobbed in front of one other person—Jordan Everwood, on her back porch, as she fell apart, and then Jordan put her back together again with a love song.
“I know that hurts, honey. But love doesn’t always think through the details. Sometimes, love just does.”
“I love you, Jordan Everwood,” Astrid said. “That’s what it comes down to. I thought I didn’t deserve you, that you deserved better, and that still might be true. I put you through hell these last few weeks. I used you. Even if I didn’t really understand what I was doing at the time, I still used you. And I’m so, so sorry. After everything. If you don’t feel the same, I’ll understand, but I had to tell you. I had to tell you that I want you, more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my whole life. And it might sound silly or childish, but I don’t care. You are my destiny, Jordan. Not because of a
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“Would it be a cliché to say that you had me at hello?” Jordan whispered. Astrid laughed. “I don’t care if it is a cliché. Tell me anyway.” “You had me at hello,” Jordan said, pressing a kiss to her neck and spinning them around. Astrid laughed—her real laugh, her real smile—and Jordan had never heard such a beautiful sound in her life.
