If she’d told herself a year ago that she’d find herself here, she might have smiled to hear about some of it. But she wouldn’t have known what to do with this part. This stirring of a drowsy thing in her chest made of soft wax and the smell of honey. The utter strangeness of yearning for something that she’d had—and had thoroughly, at that. Of being in a bed with a beautiful girl and still feeling her heart ache like a muscle long unstretched. She wanted to tell Maud stories and have her laugh at them, to flirt with her over coffee and watch her wander around rooms, thinking with the roaming
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