The water fell in sheets, steam curling around their shoulders, the tile warm against Jackie's back. Helena's thigh pressed against hers, the water streaming over both of them. Mira had her head tipped back, eyes closed, letting the spray hit her face.

The buzz came from the bedroom.

Mira's eyes opened. Her gaze flicked toward the half-open door, then back to Jackie. "Your purse."

"I know." Jackie didn't move.

The water kept falling. Helena's hand found Jackie's knee under the stream, the touch light and absent-minded, like she hadn't noticed the sound at all.

Jackie waited.

The buzz didn't come again. Not yet. But it had been Nicky's name on the screen—she didn't need to see it to know. The timing was right. The afternoon had stretched past what any reasonable person would call "a quick appointment."

Mira's eyes stayed on her. "You're going to check it."

"Eventually."

"Eventually is not the same as now."

Jackie smiled—that low, knowing smile that usually ended conversations. "I've been in this shower for—" She glanced at the fogged mirror, the clock invisible behind the steam. "I don't know how long. Long enough to know it's good to be here."

Helena's hand moved up Jackie's thigh, a slow sweep of her palm across wet skin. "Then stay."

"I am."

"You're thinking about leaving."

Jackie turned to look at her—really look. Helena's dark hair was plastered to her skull, her face open and bare without the practiced composure from the living room. She looked younger like this. Softer around the edges.

"I'm thinking," Jackie said, "about how I keep ending up in showers with women I barely know."

"And is that a complaint?"

"No. Just an observation."

Mira reached past Helena and touched Jackie's shoulder, her fingers sliding through the water. "The woman in the car. She's waiting for you."

"She is."

"Is she your girlfriend?"

The question landed in the steam, simple and direct. Jackie felt it settle in her chest, somewhere near the ribs. "No."

"But you want her to be."

Jackie laughed—a dry, honest sound. "I don't know what I want."

Helena shifted, turning so the water hit her back instead of Jackie. "That's the first honest thing you've said all afternoon."

"I'm honest with my clients."

"We're not clients." Helena's voice was quiet. "Not anymore. You said that yourself. You said this wasn't about the case."

Jackie looked at her. The water traced lines down Helena's throat, pooling in the hollow at her collarbone. She was beautiful in the way most women were beautiful when they stopped trying—the soft weight of her breasts, the dark patch of hair between her thighs, the small scar above her eyebrow that Jackie hadn't noticed before.

"No," Jackie said. "It's not about the case."

Mira's hand was still on her shoulder. "Then what is it about?"

The question hung in the steam, patient and unhurried. Three women in a shower, the water running warm, the world reduced to this small wet room and the soft sound of falling water.

"I don't know yet," Jackie said. "But I'm trying to figure it out."

The buzz came again.

This time it was longer. Insistent. The phone vibrated against the hardwood floor, the sound sharp and urgent through the closed door.

Mira's hand dropped from Jackie's shoulder. "Go."

Jackie didn't move.

"Go," Mira said again. "She's been waiting long enough. You can come back."

The water drummed against the tile. Jackie looked at Helena, who nodded once, a small resigned movement of her chin.

"She's right. Go answer it. We're not going anywhere."

Jackie stood. Water streamed off her body, pooling on the tiles. She stepped out of the shower, her feet leaving wet prints on the bathmat. The steam followed her out, curling around her shoulders like a cloak.

The bedroom was cool. The clock on the nightstand said 2:47. Nearly an hour since they'd stepped into the shower. Nearly two hours since she'd told Nicky to wait in the car.

Her purse lay on the floor where she'd dropped it, the phone face-up on the wood. The screen glowed with Nicky's name.

Two missed calls.

Jackie picked it up. Her thumb hovered over the callback button. Water dripped from her hair onto the screen, beading over Nicky's name.

She called back.

It rang once. Twice.

"Jackie." Nicky's voice was careful, held in check. "I was starting to wonder."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm—" Jackie looked back at the bathroom door, steam seeping through the crack. "I got caught up."

A pause. Then: "With the two women. The couple."

"Yes."

"And you're still there."

Jackie closed her eyes. "Nicky—"

"I don't mean to—" Nicky's voice broke, then steadied. "I'm not trying to rush you. I just. I didn't know if you were coming back at all."

The words landed in Jackie's chest, soft and sharp. "I told you I would."

"You told a lot of women things."

The truth of it sat between them, neither denying it. Jackie pressed the phone harder against her ear, feeling the weight of everything she hadn't said in all those conversations, all those promises.

"I am coming back," she said. "Give me ten minutes."

"Okay."

"Nicky."

"Yeah?"

Jackie hesitated. The words sat on her tongue, waiting to be spoken. "Thank you for waiting."

"I'll always wait," Nicky said. "But I'd rather not have to."

The line went dead.

Jackie stood in the middle of the bedroom, naked and dripping, the phone warm against her ear. The steam was thinning, the air cooling on her wet skin. She could hear the shower still running, the murmured voices of Helena and Mira behind the door.

She had ten minutes.

She pulled on her underwear from the case—black lace, matching bra, suspenders, stockings. The routine was familiar, the silk sliding over her damp skin. She dressed quickly, efficiently, the motions practiced from a thousand hotel rooms and strange bathrooms.

When she finished, she stood in front of the bathroom door. Her hand rested on the wood, her forehead pressed against it.

"Helena?"

The water stopped. A beat of silence. Then Helena's voice, muffled through the wood: "You're leaving."

"I have to."

"Will you come back?"

Jackie closed her eyes. "If I can."

The words felt hollow. She'd said them before. To Michelle. To Alison. To all of them, the same promise with the same escape clause.

She heard movement behind the door. A towel being pulled from the rack. Then the door opened, and Helena stood there, wrapped in white terry cloth, her hair dripping onto her shoulders.

"You said that to her, too." Helena's voice was quiet. "She told me. In the shower."

Jackie felt her throat tighten. "Who?"

"Mira." Helena's eyes held hers. "She asked you what this was about. You said you didn't know."

"I don't."

"I think you do." Helena stepped closer, her bare feet silent on the wood. "I think you know exactly what this is about. And you're scared of it."

Jackie opened her mouth to deny it. The words wouldn't come.

Helena reached out and touched her cheek, her hand still warm and damp. "You can come back, Jackie. To all of us. Or you can keep moving. But you can't keep doing both."

She leaned in and kissed Jackie softly—a gentle press of lips, no urgency, no demand. Then she pulled back, her hand falling from Jackie's face.

"Go. She's waiting."

Jackie picked up her case from beside the bed. The weight of it was familiar in her hand, the leather handle worn from years of use. She walked to the front door, her heels clicking against the hardwood.

At the threshold, she stopped. Looked back.

Helena stood in the bedroom doorway, the towel wrapped around her. Mira had come out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel of her own, her hand finding Helena's.

"Thank you," Jackie said. "For trusting me."

Helena smiled—a small, tired thing. "You earned it."

Jackie opened the door and stepped out into the afternoon light.

The street was quiet. A few cars parked along the curb, trees casting long shadows across the pavement. Nicky's car was still across the street, the engine off, the windows rolled down.

Jackie crossed the road. Her case swung at her side, her stockings whispering against each other. Nicky watched her approach, her face unreadable behind the windshield.

Jackie opened the passenger door and slid in. The car was warm, the seatbelt cool against her shoulder.

"Hey," she said.

Nicky looked at her. Her hair was different—the blonde pulled back into a loose ponytail that showed the line of her jaw. She was wearing a simple white blouse, the top button undone, a thin gold chain at her throat that Jackie hadn't noticed before.

"Hey," Nicky said. "You made it."

"I told you I would."

"You said ten minutes. It's been twelve."

Jackie's breath caught. Then she saw the corner of Nicky's mouth twitch.

"I'm kidding." Nicky started the car. The engine hummed to life, air conditioning pushing through the vents. "I was timing you."

"And?"

"You're punctual. I like that."

Jackie settled back into the seat. The case sat at her feet, the leather warm against her ankles. "Where are we going?"

"I don't know." Nicky pulled away from the curb, her hands at ten and two. "But I thought we could drive for a bit. Figure it out."

Jackie looked out the window. The houses slid past—neat lawns, picket fences, a child's bicycle left in a driveway. Somewhere behind her, Helena and Mira were getting dressed. Somewhere across town, Michelle was reading a script or filing a report, her body still carrying the memory of last night. Somewhere in a conservatory, Sally's hand was touching the gold scissors at her throat.

"Figure it out," Jackie repeated. "That's a big request."

"I know." Nicky glanced at her, then back at the road. "But you said you didn't know what you wanted. I thought maybe if we drove, we could talk about it."

The car turned onto a wider road, the houses thinning out into fields and scattered trees. The afternoon light was golden, slanting through the windshield, catching the dust motes floating in the air.

"I've been doing this a long time," Jackie said. The words came slowly, like they were being pulled from somewhere deep. "Selling lingerie. Visiting women. Giving them what they need."

"And what do you need?"

The question sat in the space between them, simple and devastating.

Jackie watched the fields roll past. A barn. A fence line. A cow standing motionless in the shade of a tree.

"I don't know," she said. And then, because it was the truth: "I've been giving so long I forgot how to ask for anything."

Nicky reached over and took her hand—a simple gesture, palm to palm, fingers lacing together. Her hand was warm, her grip firm.

"Then we'll figure it out together," Nicky said. "That's what I want. Not just one afternoon. Not just a fitting. I want to be part of whatever you're figuring out."

Jackie looked at their hands—at the way Nicky's fingers fit between hers, at the gold chain that glinted at Nicky's throat, at the afternoon light spilling over them both.

"Okay," she said. And she meant it.

The car kept driving, the road unfurling ahead of them, the sun warm through the windshield. Jackie's case sat at her feet, full of silk and lace and promises. But for now, she wasn't thinking about any of them.

She was thinking about the woman beside her, holding her hand, driving toward something neither of them could name.

And for now, that was enough.

"Pull over here."

Nicky's eyes flicked from the road to Jackie, then back. "Here? It's just a field."

"I know."

The car slowed. Nicky signaled, pulled onto a gravel shoulder that widened into a rough parking area—enough for maybe two cars, a rusted gate leading into farmland, and a path disappearing into a copse of trees. The engine idled. Birdsong filtered through the open windows.

Nicky killed the engine. The silence rushed in, thick and sudden, the only sound the ticking of the cooling engine and the distant hum of insects.

"What are we doing?" Nicky asked.

Jackie unbuckled her seatbelt. The case sat at her feet, the leather warm, the brass clasps cool under her fingers. She lifted it onto her lap and worked the latches—two sharp clicks—then lifted the lid.

The contents lay in their usual ordered rows. Silk folded into precise squares. Lace spilling over the edges of velvet lining. The glass wand in its velvet pouch. The harnesses coiled like sleeping snakes. And there, in the corner, nestled between a burgundy corset and a set of black stockings still in their packaging, was something Jackie had forgotten she'd brought.

A small box. Black. Velvet. No branding.

She pulled it out and held it in her palm. The weight was negligible—hardly anything at all.

"What is it?" Nicky leaned over, her shoulder brushing Jackie's.

Jackie opened the box.

Inside, nestled on a bed of cream satin, lay a thin gold chain—delicate, almost invisible—with a single charm: a tiny pair of scissors, no bigger than her thumbnail, the same shape as the ones she'd given Sally.

Nicky's breath caught.

"I bought it months ago," Jackie said. "At a little shop in Brighton. I don't know why. I just—" She stopped. The words felt clumsy, too big for the small box. "I kept it. For the right person."

Nicky was very still. Her hand was still on the steering wheel, her knuckles pale. "You're giving it to me."

"I'm offering it." Jackie's voice was quiet. "You don't have to take it. It's just—" She looked at Nicky, really looked—at the way the afternoon light caught the line of her jaw, at the small furrow between her brows. "I've been giving women what they need for a long time. But I've never given anyone a piece of me. Not like this."

Nicky's hand left the steering wheel. She reached for the box, her fingers brushing Jackie's, and lifted the chain out. It caught the light, glinting, the tiny scissors swinging gently.

"It matches." Nicky's voice was rough. "The one you gave Sally."

"It does."

"You're giving me the same thing you gave her."

Jackie shook her head. "No. I'm giving you something different. Sally has the one I wore. This one is new. It's never been around anyone's neck before." She paused. "It's never meant anything before."

Nicky looked at the chain in her palm. Then she looked at Jackie. Her eyes were bright, but she wasn't crying—not yet.

"Help me put it on."

Jackie took the chain. Her fingers found the clasp, delicate and small, and Nicky turned, lifting her hair away from her neck. The blonde ponytail fell forward, exposing the nape of her neck—the soft skin, the fine hairs, the curve of her spine disappearing into the collar of her blouse.

Jackie's hands were steady. She brought the chain around, the gold cool against her fingertips, and fastened the clasp. It took two tries. Then the chain settled against Nicky's throat, the tiny scissors resting in the hollow at the base of her neck.

Nicky turned back. Her hand went to the charm, her fingers tracing the shape of it. "It's perfect."

"It suits you."

They looked at each other. The car was warm, the light golden, the air thick with dust motes and the smell of grass. Somewhere outside, a bird called, and another answered.

"Jackie."

"Yeah?"

"I want to see the rest."

Jackie blinked. "The rest?"

"The case." Nicky's hand was still at her throat, her fingers resting on the tiny scissors. "I've never really looked at it. Not properly. The first time, I was too nervous. The second time, there were three of us. I want to see what you carry. All of it."

Jackie felt something shift in her chest—a door opening, or maybe a lock clicking free. She turned the case toward Nicky, the lid wide open, the contents laid out like a confession.

Nicky leaned in. Her fingers hovered over the rows of silk and lace, not touching, just looking. She traced the edge of a black lace bodysuit, the fabric sheer, the cut daring. She touched the velvet pouch that held the glass wand. She picked up a bullet vibrator, small and discreet, and turned it over in her palm before setting it back.

"You have so much," she said. "All of it beautiful."

"I've had years to collect."

"And you've shared it with so many women." It wasn't an accusation. Just a fact, stated quietly.

"I have."

Nicky's fingers stopped on a piece of deep burgundy lace—a bra, underwired, with delicate embroidery along the cups. She lifted it out, the fabric spilling over her hand. "This is gorgeous."

"It would look beautiful on you."

Nicky looked at her. The bra hung from her fingers, the satin catching the light. "Is that a sales pitch?"

"No." Jackie's voice was low. "It's just the truth."

Nicky held her gaze for a long moment. Then she looked down at the bra in her hands, at the case full of silk and lace, at the tiny scissors resting against her collarbone.

"I want to try it on."

The words hung in the air between them, simple and loaded. Jackie felt her pulse quicken, felt the familiar heat begin to build at the base of her spine.

"Here?"

"There's a path." Nicky nodded toward the copse of trees. "I saw it when we pulled in. We could walk a little. Find some shade." She paused. "I want to try it on somewhere you can see me properly."

Jackie closed the case. The latches clicked into place, final and certain. "Then let's go."

They got out of the car. The air was warm, the grass dry and brittle under their feet. Jackie carried the case, the handle familiar in her grip, and followed Nicky toward the path.

The trees closed around them, the light dappled and green. The path was narrow, barely wide enough for two, so Nicky went first, her white blouse bright against the shadows. Jackie watched the way she moved—the sway of her hips, the confidence in her stride that hadn't been there the first day they'd met.

The path opened into a small clearing. Mossy stone walls bordered two sides, and a fallen log provided a natural bench. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, warm and golden, illuminating a patch of grass.

"This is perfect," Jackie said.

Nicky turned. She stood in the center of the clearing, the light catching her hair, her face half in shadow. Her hand went to the chain at her throat, her fingers finding the tiny scissors.

"Show me," she said. "Show me what you brought."

Jackie set the case on the fallen log and opened it. The silk and lace caught the light, gleaming. She lifted out the burgundy bra and held it up, the cups cupped in her palms.

"This is a French lace demi-cup. The underwire is reinforced, so it lifts without digging. The embroidery is hand-stitched—each piece is unique."

Nicky stepped closer. Her fingers touched the lace, tracing the pattern. "It's soft."

"It's meant to be. Against the skin, it feels like nothing. But it looks like everything."

Nicky's eyes met hers. "Help me put it on."

Jackie's breath caught. "Here?"

"There's no one around for miles." Nicky's voice was steady. "And I want you to be the one who sees me first."

Jackie set the bra aside and reached for the matching knickers—high-waisted, burgundy lace, cut to sit just below the hips. She held them out. "These go with it."

Nicky took them. Her fingers closed around the lace, and she smiled—a slow, knowing smile that Jackie hadn't seen before.

She unbuttoned her blouse.

The white fabric fell open, revealing the pale skin of her chest, the curve of her breasts in a simple nude bra. She shrugged the blouse off, letting it fall to the grass, and reached behind her to unhook her bra. The straps slid down her arms.

Jackie watched. The afternoon light traced the lines of Nicky's body—the slope of her shoulders, the soft weight of her breasts, the dark tips of her nipples. She was beautiful in that particular way that had nothing to do with perfection and everything to do with presence—the way she stood, the way she didn't rush, the way she let Jackie look.

Nicky stepped out of her sandals and unbuttoned her jeans, pushing them down over her hips. She wore simple black knickers beneath, practical and unremarkable. She peeled them off, standing naked in the dappled light, the air warm against her skin.

"Now," she said. "Show me how it goes."

Jackie stepped forward. The burgundy lace was cool in her hands, the embroidery rough against her fingertips. She knelt slightly, bringing the bra up, and Nicky lifted her arms.

The lace settled over her breasts. Jackie reached around to fasten the hooks—three of them, small and precise. She took her time, her fingers brushing against Nicky's warm skin, feeling the slight give of flesh against bone.

When the hooks were fastened, Jackie stepped back. The bra fit perfectly—the cups lifting Nicky's breasts, the lace hugging her curves, the deep burgundy a stark contrast against her pale skin.

"How does it feel?" Jackie asked.

"Like it was made for me." Nicky's hands came up, her fingers tracing the edge of the lace. "It's soft. Like you said."

Jackie picked up the knickers. "These too."

Nicky took them and stepped into them, pulling them up over her hips. The lace sat high on her waist, the cut framing the curve of her ass, the front dipping low enough to show the neat strip of blonde hair between her thighs.

She turned, letting Jackie see her from every angle. The light caught the lace, the shadows pooling in the hollows of her body.

"What do you think?" Nicky asked.

Jackie's voice was low. "I think you're the most beautiful thing I've seen in a long time."

Nicky stepped closer. Her hand came up, her fingers brushing the collar of Jackie's blouse. "Take yours off."

"Nicky—"

"I want to see you too." Her fingers found the top button of Jackie's blouse. "Equal. Both of us. Not seller and buyer. Not teacher and student. Just two women in a clearing."

Jackie's hands moved to her own buttons. She undid them one by one, the fabric falling open, revealing the black lace she'd put on at Helena's. The matching bra, the suspenders, the stockings. She shrugged the blouse off and let it fall.

Nicky's eyes traced the lines of her—the way the black lace held her breasts, the way the suspenders cut across her hips, the tops of the stockings sitting high on her thighs.

"You're always so put together," Nicky said. "Even underneath."

"It's part of the job."

"Is it part of you?"

Jackie hesitated. The question landed somewhere deep, somewhere she hadn't let anyone touch. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe it is. Maybe it's all I know how to be."

Nicky's hand found hers—warm, steady. "Then let me learn you. The parts you know and the parts you don't."

She pulled Jackie closer, and Jackie went. Their bodies met, lace against lace, burgundy against black, the afternoon light falling over them both.

Nicky kissed her.

It was different from the first time—hungrier, more certain. Nicky's mouth opened against hers, her tongue finding Jackie's, her hand sliding to the back of Jackie's neck. The tiny scissors pressed cool against Jackie's collarbone.

Jackie kissed her back. Her hands found Nicky's waist, the lace warm and damp against her palms, and pulled her closer until there was no space left between them. She could feel the beat of Nicky's heart through the layers of silk and skin.

Nicky broke the kiss, her breath warm against Jackie's lips. "I want you to show me everything," she said. "Not just the case. Everything you know. Everything you've learned."

"That's a lot."

"I have time."

Jackie looked at her—at the lace against her skin, at the gold chain at her throat, at the light in her eyes that was part hunger, part trust.

"Okay," she said. "But not here. I want to take you somewhere proper. Somewhere with a bed."

Nicky's smile was slow, like honey spreading on warm bread. "I know a place."

"Where?"

"There's a bed and breakfast about twenty minutes from here. I passed it on the way to Helena's. Small place, looks quiet." She paused. "I could make a reservation."

Jackie felt the weight of the offer. A room. A bed. The night ahead. Not a quick encounter in a customer's living room, not a threesome that ended with her leaving. A room she'd share with Nicky, with no clock ticking toward the next appointment.

"Make the reservation," she said.

Nicky's smile widened. She stepped back, her hand still holding Jackie's, and looked down at the burgundy lace against her skin. "I'm keeping this on."

"It's yours."

"And I'm keeping the necklace."

"That too."

Nicky picked up her blouse from the grass, shook it out, and pulled it on without buttoning it. She gathered her jeans and sandals and held them in a bundle against her hip. "Let's go."

Jackie closed the case. The latches clicked into place, and she lifted it, the familiar weight settling against her side. She followed Nicky back through the trees, the path narrow, the light shifting and green.

At the edge of the clearing, she stopped. Looked back at the patch of grass where Nicky had stood, naked and unafraid, the afternoon light painting her body gold.

Something had changed. She could feel it—a shift in the air, in the weight of her own skin. She had been giving for so long. But Nicky wasn't asking her to give. She was asking her to stay.

Jackie turned and followed the path back to the car, the case swinging at her side, the afternoon sun warm on her shoulders. Ahead, Nicky was already at the car, her blouse open, the burgundy lace visible beneath, the tiny scissors glinting at her throat.

She looked back over her shoulder and smiled.

Jackie smiled back—and for the first time in longer than she could remember, she didn't know what came next. And she was glad.

Jackie's phone buzzed against her hip, the vibration sharp through the fabric of her skirt. She reached into her purse without breaking stride, the case swinging at her side, and pulled it out.

The screen glowed. Helena's name.

She stopped walking. The gravel crunched under her heels. Nicky was a few steps ahead, her open blouse fluttering in the breeze, the burgundy lace visible beneath. She turned, a question on her face.

Jackie read the text.

Three words. ‘Did you mean it?’

The screen went dark. She stood there, the phone a cold weight in her hand, the afternoon sun warm on her neck. Across the field, a tractor grumbled to life, the sound distant and mechanical.

Nicky walked back to her. “Everything okay?”

“Helena.” Jackie held up the phone, then tucked it back into her purse without replying. “Just checking in.”

“She’s worried you won’t come back.”

“She’s not wrong.”

Nicky’s hand found hers again. Her grip was firm, her skin warm. The tiny scissors on the chain brushed Jackie’s wrist. “You don’t have to answer now.”

“I know.”

“But you’re going to.”

Jackie looked at her. The trust in Nicky’s eyes was a physical thing, a weight she felt in her chest. “Yes.”

They walked the rest of the way to the car in silence. Jackie opened the passenger door, slid the case onto the floor, and got in. The leather seat was hot from the sun. Nicky started the engine, the air conditioning pushing cool air across their skin.

“Which way?” Nicky asked.

“You said you knew a place.”

“I do.” Nicky put the car in gear, pulled onto the road, and drove. Fields gave way to hedgerows, then to a narrow lane lined with oak trees. A small wooden sign, painted white with green lettering, appeared on the right: *The Orchard House – Bed & Breakfast.*

Nicky turned into a gravel drive. The house was old, stone-built, with ivy crawling up one wall. Flower boxes hung beneath the windows, spilling over with red geraniums. It looked quiet. Peaceful.

She parked beside a low stone wall. The engine ticked as it cooled. For a moment, neither of them moved.

“I’ll get us a room,” Nicky said, her hand on the door handle.

“I’ll come with you.”

“No.” Nicky’s voice was soft. “Stay here. Let me do this.”

Jackie watched her walk up the path to the front door, her blouse still open, the lace a dark secret against her skin. She moved with a new kind of certainty, a ownership of her own body that hadn’t been there before. The screen door opened, swallowed her, and clicked shut.

Alone in the car, Jackie took out her phone again. The text from Helena glowed up at her. *Did you mean it?*

She typed a reply. One word. *Yes.*

She sent it. The whoosh sound was final.

The screen went dark. She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. The sun through the windshield was warm on her face. Somewhere inside the house, Nicky was handing over a credit card, signing a register, taking a key. A room. A bed. The night.

The passenger door opened. Nicky slid in, a brass key in her hand. “Room seven. Upstairs, at the back. Private.”

“How private?”

Nicky’s smile was a slow curve. “No one will hear us.”

They got out. Jackie carried the case. The front door of the B&B was unlocked; a small bell tinkled as they stepped into a hallway. It smelled of lemon polish and old wood. Stairs led up, the carpet worn in the center.

Room seven was at the end of a narrow corridor. Nicky unlocked the door, pushed it open.

The room was simple. A double bed with a white duvet. A window overlooking an orchard. A small en-suite bathroom with a walk-in shower. Quiet. Sunlight pooled on the floorboards.

Nicky closed the door behind them. The lock clicked.

She turned. Her blouse was still open. The burgundy lace gleamed in the afternoon light filtering through the window. The tiny scissors lay against her skin, rising and falling with her breath.

“Now,” she said. Her voice was low. “Show me.”

Jackie set the case on the floor by the bed. She knelt, worked the latches, lifted the lid. The silk and lace lay in their rows, a landscape of want.

Nicky came to stand beside her. She looked down at the contents, her shadow falling across the velvet. “Where do we start?”

“Where do you want to start?”

Nicky’s hand went to the clasp of her own bra. She unfastened it, let the burgundy lace fall away. Her breasts were bare, the nipples dark and already tight. She stepped out of the matching knickers, kicking them aside. She stood naked except for the open blouse and the gold chain.

“With you,” she said.

Jackie stood. Her fingers went to the buttons of her own blouse, but Nicky’s hands were there first, brushing hers aside. Nicky undid the buttons one by one, her movements deliberate, her eyes on Jackie’s face. She pushed the fabric off Jackie’s shoulders, let it fall to the floor.

The black lace bra came next. Nicky’s fingers found the hooks at the back, worked them free. The bra loosened, and Jackie shrugged it off. The suspenders followed, the clips snapping open, the stockings peeling down her thighs. Nicky knelt to help her, her hands warm on Jackie’s skin as she rolled each stocking down, over calf, over ankle, off.

When Jackie stood naked before her, Nicky sat back on her heels and looked up. Her gaze traveled the length of Jackie’s body—the curve of her stomach, the silver stretch marks on her hips, the soft thatch of blonde hair between her thighs, the heavy weight of her breasts.

“You’re beautiful,” Nicky said, the words quiet, reverent.

Jackie felt a flush rise on her skin. She was used to being looked at, but not like this. Not with this kind of seeing.

Nicky stood. She kissed her. It was slow, deep, her mouth open against Jackie’s, her hands coming up to cradle Jackie’s face. Jackie kissed her back, her hands finding Nicky’s waist, pulling her close until their bodies pressed together, skin to skin, heat to heat.

Nicky’s mouth moved to Jackie’s neck, her teeth grazing the tendon there, her tongue tasting the salt of her skin. Her hands slid down Jackie’s back, over the swell of her ass, pulling her closer. Jackie gasped, her fingers tangling in Nicky’s hair.

“Lie down,” Nicky whispered against her throat.

Jackie let herself be guided backward onto the bed. The duvet was cool against her back. Nicky followed her down, straddling her hips, her knees on either side of Jackie’s thighs. The open blouse brushed Jackie’s stomach, the lace tickling her skin.

Nicky looked down at her, her eyes dark. “I want to taste you.”

Jackie’s breath hitched. She nodded, unable to speak.

Nicky bent. Her mouth found Jackie’s breast, her tongue circling a nipple, her teeth grazing the peak. Jackie arched off the bed, a moan escaping her lips. Nicky’s hand cupped her other breast, her thumb rubbing slow circles.

She worked her way down—kisses along Jackie’s ribs, her tongue dipping into her navel, her teeth nipping at the soft skin of her hip. Jackie’s hands fisted in the duvet, the fabric bunching under her fingers.

When Nicky reached the thatch of blonde hair between her thighs, she paused. Her breath was warm against Jackie’s skin. She looked up, her eyes meeting Jackie’s.

“Tell me what you like,” Nicky said.

Jackie swallowed. Her voice was rough. “Slow. At first.”

Nicky nodded. She bent her head.

Her tongue touched Jackie’s clit—soft, just a flicker. Jackie jerked, a gasp tearing from her throat. Nicky did it again, a little firmer this time, her tongue flat and wet. She traced the shape of Jackie’s clit through the hood, learning the feel of her, the give of her.

Jackie’s hips lifted off the bed, seeking more. Nicky’s hands came down on her hips, holding her still. “Slow,” Nicky murmured against her, the word vibrating through Jackie’s skin.

She obeyed. She forced herself still, her muscles trembling with the effort. Nicky’s tongue moved lower, parting her, finding her opening. She licked there, slow and thorough, tasting her. The sound was wet, obscene in the quiet room.

“You’re so wet,” Nicky said, her voice muffled against Jackie’s skin.

Jackie could only nod, her head thrashing against the pillow. Nicky’s tongue returned to her clit, circling it now, firm and deliberate. She built a rhythm, her mouth hot and hungry, her hands keeping Jackie’s hips pinned to the bed.

Jackie’s climax built slowly, a coil tightening low in her belly. Her breaths came in short, sharp gasps. She could feel it gathering, a wave rising, cresting—

Nicky pulled back.

Jackie cried out, a wordless sound of protest. Her body was trembling, aching, desperate.

Nicky looked up, her chin glistening. “Not yet,” she said, her voice rough. “I want to see you beg.”

Jackie’s eyes flew open. She stared at Nicky, at the hunger in her face, the possessiveness. “Nicky—”

“Beg.”

The word hung between them. Jackie’s mouth went dry. She had been the one in control for so long—the one who guided, the one who gave, the one who knew. Now, she was naked, spread out, her body throbbing with need, and this woman—this beautiful, hungry woman—was asking her to beg.

She swallowed. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please don’t stop.”

Nicky’s smile was a sharp, beautiful thing. “Good.”

She bent her head again. This time, she didn’t go slow. Her mouth was relentless, her tongue circling Jackie’s clit, her lips sucking, her teeth grazing. One hand stayed on Jackie’s hip, holding her down. The other hand slid between Jackie’s thighs, two fingers pushing inside her.

Jackie cried out, her back arching. Nicky’s fingers were deep, curling, finding a spot inside her that made her see stars. The combination was too much—the mouth on her clit, the fingers inside her, the ache that had been denied and now was being fed.

Her orgasm hit her like a train. It tore through her, violent and complete, wracking her body with waves of pleasure so intense they bordered on pain. She screamed, her hands clawing at the duvet, her hips bucking against Nicky’s mouth. Nicky didn’t let up. She kept licking, sucking, her fingers pumping, until Jackie was sobbing, until the pleasure turned to oversensitivity, until she was pushing at Nicky’s head, begging her to stop.

Nicky pulled back. She looked up, her face wet, her eyes blazing. “Again.”

“I can’t—”

“You can.” Nicky’s fingers were still inside her, moving slowly now, keeping her on the edge. “I’m not done with you.”

Jackie’s body was still trembling, but the ache was returning, a new hunger building on the ashes of the last. Nicky bent again, her mouth finding Jackie’s clit, and this time she was gentler, softer, her tongue lapping at her like a cat. She took her time, building the fire again, stoking it with her mouth and her fingers.

The second orgasm was slower, deeper. It rolled through Jackie like a tide, pulling her under, drowning her in warmth. She came with a long, low moan, her body shaking, her thighs clamping around Nicky’s head.

Nicky stayed with her through it, her mouth gentle, her fingers still. When Jackie finally went limp, spent and gasping, Nicky crawled up her body and kissed her. Jackie could taste herself on Nicky’s tongue—salty, musky, intimate.

“Your turn,” Jackie whispered against her mouth.

Nicky shook her head. “Not yet.” She shifted, moving to lie beside Jackie, her head on Jackie’s shoulder, her hand splayed over Jackie’s stomach. “I just want to lie here with you.”

The afternoon light slanted across the bed, painting their skin gold. Outside, a bird called. Somewhere in the house, a door closed.

Jackie’s phone buzzed from the floor, where her purse had fallen.

They both went still.

Nicky lifted her head. “Are you going to get that?”

Jackie looked at the ceiling. The plaster had a hairline crack running across it, thin and white. “No.”

“It might be important.”

“Nothing is more important than this.”

Nicky’s hand tightened on her stomach. She laid her head back down. The phone buzzed again, then fell silent.

They lay there, skin to skin, breath to breath, as the light in the room shifted from gold to amber. Jackie traced the line of Nicky’s spine with her fingertips, feeling the bumps of her vertebrae, the soft dip at the small of her back.

“What are you thinking?” Nicky asked, her voice drowsy.

“I’m thinking I don’t want to leave this room.”

“Then don’t.”

“I have appointments tomorrow.”

“Cancel them.”

Jackie smiled. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I promised.”

Nicky was silent for a moment. Her fingers traced idle circles on Jackie’s skin. “You promise a lot of women a lot of things.”

“I know.”

“Do you ever think about stopping?”

The question landed in the quiet room. Jackie watched the dust motes dancing in the beam of light from the window. “All the time.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t know who I’d be without it.”

Nicky propped herself up on an elbow. She looked down at Jackie, her hair falling over her shoulder. The tiny scissors glinted at her throat. “You’d be you. Just without the case.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

Jackie looked at her. At the earnestness in her eyes, the trust. “Because the case is who I am. It’s how I find women. It’s how I get close to them. Without it, I’m just a fifty-eight-year-old woman with a lot of regrets and nowhere to go.”

Nicky leaned down and kissed her. It was a soft kiss, tender. “You’d still be you. And I’d still be here.”

Jackie’s throat tightened. She pulled Nicky down into another kiss, deeper this time, trying to pour everything she couldn’t say into her mouth. Nicky responded, her body pressing against Jackie’s, her hand sliding between Jackie’s thighs again.

This time, when Nicky’s fingers found her, Jackie was ready. She opened for her, her legs falling apart, her body arching into the touch. Nicky’s fingers were slick with Jackie’s own wetness, and they slid inside her easily, deep, curling.

“Tell me what you want,” Nicky whispered against her ear.

“You.”

“How?”

“Harder.”

Nicky’s fingers drove deeper, harder, her thumb finding Jackie’s clit. Jackie cried out, her hips meeting Nicky’s thrusts, her nails digging into Nicky’s back. It was rough, desperate, hungry—a claiming. Nicky’s mouth was on her neck, her teeth biting down, leaving a mark.

Jackie came again, a sharp, sudden climax that ripped through her, leaving her gasping, her body shaking. Nicky held her through it, her fingers still moving inside her, milking the last waves of pleasure from her body.

When it was over, Nicky pulled her fingers out and brought them to her mouth. She sucked them clean, her eyes locked on Jackie’s. The gesture was obscene, intimate, possessive.

Jackie reached up. Her fingers found Nicky's wrist, the skin warm and damp, and she pulled the hand down slowly, bringing those wet fingers to her own mouth. She held Nicky's gaze as she parted her lips, as she took the same two fingers between them, tasting herself on Nicky's skin. Salt and musk and the faint chemical tang of latex from earlier. Nicky's breath caught, her eyes going dark.

Jackie sucked gently, cleaning her own taste from Nicky's fingers, her tongue tracing the lines of them. Then she released them with a soft pop and smiled.

"Fair's fair," she said.

Nicky laughed — a low, surprised sound. "You're something else."

"I've been told."

Nicky shifted, moving to lie fully on top of Jackie, her body pressing down, the open blouse falling forward to curtain them both. The tiny scissors swung between her breasts, cool against Jackie's sternum. She looked down at Jackie with an expression that was part wonder, part hunger.

"I want to make you feel good," Nicky said. "Not just come. Feel good."

Jackie's hands found Nicky's waist, the skin warm and slick with a thin sheen of sweat. "You already have."

"I know. But I mean—" Nicky paused, her brow furrowing. "I want to learn what your body does. How it moves. What makes you gasp versus what makes you moan." Her fingers traced down Jackie's sternum, between her breasts, over the soft swell of her stomach. "I want to know you so well I could find you in the dark."

Jackie's throat tightened. "That's a lot to ask."

"I know." Nicky's fingers reached the thatch of blonde curls between Jackie's thighs, not touching, just hovering. "But I'm asking."

Jackie looked up at her — at the earnest set of her jaw, the way her hair fell forward, the gold chain glinting in the fading light. "Then start."

Nicky's smile was slow. She bent her head, her lips brushing Jackie's stomach, her tongue tracing a line south. She took her time, her mouth moving over Jackie's skin like she was reading a map written in nerve endings. Every dip and curve, every stretch mark and soft fold. She kissed the inside of Jackie's thighs, the hollow behind her knees, the arch of her foot.

Jackie lay still, letting herself be studied. The late light slanted across the bed, painting Nicky's back in gold and shadow. Somewhere outside, a bird called once, then went quiet.

Nicky's mouth moved back up, over Jackie's hip, her ribs, the underside of her breast. She took Jackie's nipple into her mouth, sucking gently, her tongue circling the peak. Jackie's hand came up to cradle the back of Nicky's head, her fingers threading through the blonde hair.

"Like that," Jackie murmured. "Just like that."

Nicky switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention. Her hand slid down between Jackie's thighs, finding her wet, finding her ready. She pressed two fingers inside, slow and deep, her palm against Jackie's clit.

Jackie gasped, her hips lifting. "Yes."

Nicky's fingers moved in a slow, rolling rhythm, her mouth still working Jackie's nipple. She was reading Jackie's body, adjusting her pace, her pressure, the angle of her wrist. When Jackie's breath quickened, she pushed deeper. When Jackie's legs began to tremble, she slowed.

"Tell me," Nicky said against Jackie's breast. "Tell me what you feel."

"Full." Jackie's voice was rough. "I feel full."

Nicky's fingers curled, finding that spot inside her that made stars burst behind her eyelids. "And now?"

"Close."

"Not yet." Nicky pulled her fingers out, leaving Jackie aching and empty. She brought her wet hand to Jackie's mouth, and Jackie opened for her, tasting herself again, the salt and the musk. "I want to try something."

Jackie's eyes questioned her.

Nicky sat up, straddling Jackie's hips. The open blouse hung from her shoulders, framing her breasts, the gold chain catching the light. She reached behind herself, her hand finding Jackie's, and guided Jackie's fingers to her own cunt.

"Touch me," Nicky said. "But don't make me come. Not yet."

Jackie's fingers found her slick and warm. She pressed inside, two fingers, slow and deliberate. Nicky's head fell back, her breath escaping in a shudder.

"Like that," Nicky whispered. "Stay right there."

Jackie moved her fingers in a slow, steady rhythm, her thumb finding Nicky's clit. She watched Nicky's face — the way her lips parted, the way her eyelids fluttered, the way her hips began to roll, seeking more friction.

"You're beautiful like this," Jackie said.

Nicky's eyes opened. "Like what?"

"Open. Hungry. Not holding anything back."

Nicky's hand covered Jackie's, pressing her fingers deeper. "I've never been like this with anyone. Not even my husband." Her voice was raw. "I didn't know I could be."

"Being seen is hard." Jackie's fingers moved inside her, steady and sure. "Letting someone see you when you're not performing, not giving them what you think they want — that's the hardest thing there is."

"You do it."

"I've had years of practice. And I still hide." Jackie's thumb circled Nicky's clit, feeling her begin to tremble. "I still hide the most important parts."

"What parts?"

Jackie was quiet for a moment. Her fingers kept moving, slow and patient. "The parts that want to stay. The parts that want to be chosen. The parts that are terrified of being left."

Nicky's eyes were bright, wet. She didn't look away. "I won't leave you."

"You don't know that."

"I do."

Jackie's fingers curled, and Nicky's breath caught, her hips bucking. "You're close," Jackie said. "I can feel it."

"Don't stop."

Jackie didn't stop. She kept the rhythm steady, her thumb pressing circles onto Nicky's clit, her fingers deep and sure. She watched Nicky's face as the pleasure built — the way her mouth fell open, the way her hands gripped Jackie's shoulders, the way her body began to shake.

"Jackie—"

"Come for me."

Nicky's orgasm was a beautiful thing. It took her in waves, her cunt clenching around Jackie's fingers, her hips grinding down, her voice breaking into a cry that was half sob. Jackie held her through it, her fingers still, her other hand splayed on Nicky's lower back, steadying her.

When it passed, Nicky collapsed forward, her forehead resting on Jackie's shoulder. Her breath was hot and ragged against Jackie's neck.

"That was—" Nicky's voice was muffled. "That was different."

"Different how?"

"I wasn't trying to please you. Or prove anything. I was just—" She lifted her head, her eyes meeting Jackie's. "I was just there. With you."

Jackie's hand came up to cup Nicky's cheek. "That's the best kind of sex."

"Is that what we're having?" Nicky's smile was crooked. "Sex? Or is this something else?"

Jackie considered the question. The room was growing dim, the light outside shifting from amber to grey. The case sat on the floor, its latches closed, its contents hidden. Her phone was somewhere in her purse, silent now, the screen dark.

"I don't know," she said. "But I want to find out."

Nicky kissed her. It was soft and slow, a kiss that tasted like promise. When she pulled back, her eyes were steady. "Then let's find out together."

She slid off Jackie and lay beside her, their bodies fitting together like they'd been doing it for years. Nicky's head found the hollow of Jackie's shoulder, her hand resting on Jackie's stomach. The tiny scissors pressed cool against Jackie's ribs.

"Can I ask you something?" Nicky said.

"Anything."

"What are you going to tell the others?"

The question landed in the quiet room. Jackie stared at the ceiling, at the hairline crack she'd noticed earlier. "I don't know."

"You have appointments. Promises." Nicky's voice was careful. "Sally. Alison. Tessa. Michelle. Helena and Mira. Paula." She listed them like she'd been keeping count. "They're all waiting for you to come back."

"I know."

"And I'm here, asking you to stay."

Jackie's arm tightened around her. "I know that too."

"I'm not trying to make you choose." Nicky's hand traced idle patterns on Jackie's stomach. "I just want to know if there's room in your life for something that isn't a sale. Something that isn't a appointment."

Jackie turned her head, looking at Nicky's profile in the dim light. The gold chain was a thin line against her skin, the tiny scissors rising and falling with each breath. She remembered buying it in Brighton, in a small shop that smelled of incense and old wood. She'd told herself it was inventory. A gift for a client. But she'd never put it in the case. She'd kept it in her purse, wrapped in tissue, waiting for a moment she hadn't been able to name.

This was the moment.

"There's room," Jackie said. "I don't know how much. I don't know what it looks like. But there's room."

Nicky lifted her head, her eyes finding Jackie's in the dim light. "That's enough."

They lay in silence as the room darkened. The last of the light bled from the window, leaving them in shadow. Jackie's phone wasn't buzzing. The car wasn't waiting. The case sat on the floor, a closed book, its stories unread for now.

Nicky's hand found Jackie's, their fingers lacing together.

"What happens in the morning?" Nicky asked.

"I don't know."

"Are you going to leave?"

"Eventually."

"Will you come back?"

Jackie turned her head on the pillow. Nicky's face was close, her eyes dark, her hair spilling across the white pillowcase. She looked younger in the dim light, softer, her guard down in a way it hadn't been even when she'd been naked and asking to be touched.

"Yes," Jackie said. And she meant it. "I'll come back."

Nicky's smile was a small, quiet thing. She leaned in and kissed Jackie once more — a kiss that was more seal than passion, more signature than seduction.

"Good," she said. "Then I'll be here."

She settled back against Jackie's shoulder, her body relaxing, her breathing evening out. Outside, the first stars were appearing, faint pinpricks of light in the darkening sky. Somewhere in the house, a floorboard creaked. A door closed softly. Then nothing.

Jackie lay awake, her hand resting on Nicky's back, feeling the slow rhythm of her breathing. The case was still on the floor. Her phone was still silent. The women she'd promised to return to were still out there, waiting.

But for now, in this room, with this woman, she was still.

And that, she realized, was a start.

Jackie’s thumb found the tiny scissors on Nicky’s chain, tracing the shape through the dark. The metal was cool, the edges sharp against her skin. Nicky stirred, a soft sigh escaping her lips, her breath warm against Jackie’s shoulder.

“Can’t sleep?” Nicky’s voice was thick with drowsiness.

“Thinking.”

“About them?”

Jackie didn’t answer. The silence stretched, a third presence in the room.

Nicky shifted, propping her head up on her elbow. The sheet slipped down to her waist. “You don’t have to decide tonight.”

“Don’t I?”

“No.” Nicky’s hand found hers, their fingers linking. “You have a right to be here. With me. Without a case in your hand.”

Jackie turned her head on the pillow. In the near-dark, Nicky’s face was a study in greys and soft shadows. “What if being without the case is like being without a skin?”

“Then I’ll keep you warm.”

It was so simple. So impossible. Jackie felt the truth of it land somewhere deep, a stone dropped into a still pool.

She leaned in and kissed her. Not a kiss of passion, but of punctuation. A full stop in the dark. When she pulled back, Nicky’s eyes were open, watching her.

“Sleep,” Jackie whispered.

“Only if you do.”

“I’ll try.”

Nicky settled back, her head finding the hollow of Jackie’s shoulder again. Her breathing evened out slowly, her body going heavy against Jackie’s side.

Jackie stared at the ceiling. The crack was invisible now, swallowed by the dark. She counted Nicky’s breaths. She counted her own. She counted the women whose names were a litany in her mind, each one a promise she’d made with her hands and her mouth and her body.

Alison, waiting for next Tuesday. Sally, with the gold scissors around her own neck now. Tessa, in her living room with the cat, her body still singing from the things Jackie had shown her. Michelle, in her bed with the memory of a strap-on and a question left unanswered. Paula, in her bungalow with a man’s coat on the hook. Helena and Mira, damp from the shower, a text sent but not replied to.

And Nicky. Nicky who was here, whose breath was fogging the skin on her shoulder, whose trust was a weight she wasn’t sure she could carry.

Her phone buzzed.

A single, sharp vibration from the purse on the floor.

Nicky didn’t stir.

Jackie held her breath, waiting for another. It didn’t come. Just the one. A notification. A reminder. A pull from the world outside this room.

She closed her eyes. She focused on the feel of Nicky’s skin against hers, the rise and fall of her ribs, the tiny scissors pressed between them. She willed herself to be here, in this bed, in this silence.

It almost worked.

Then the phone buzzed again. Twice in quick succession.

Nicky mumbled something unintelligible, her hand tightening on Jackie’s stomach.

Jackie slipped her arm out from under Nicky’s head, moving slowly, carefully. Nicky sighed, turning into the pillow, her hand searching for Jackie’s warmth and finding empty sheet.

Jackie slid out of bed. The floorboards were cool under her bare feet. She found her purse by touch, her fingers closing around the familiar leather. She pulled out the phone.

The screen lit her face in the dark.

Two new texts. Both from unknown numbers.

The first: *This is Sally. I know it’s late. I just wanted to say thank you. For today. For everything.*

The second, sent three minutes later: *The scissors are beautiful. I haven’t taken them off.*

Jackie’s thumb hovered over the screen. The light was a cold blue rectangle in the warm dark of the room. She could see Nicky’s shape in the bed, the curve of her shoulder, the fall of her hair.

She didn’t reply. She set the phone on the nightstand, screen-down, and stood there for a moment, naked in the dark, her body cooling.

From the bed, Nicky’s voice was quiet. “You don’t have to hide it.”

Jackie turned. Nicky was watching her, her eyes reflecting the faint light from the window.

“I’m not hiding.”

“Aren’t you?” Nicky pushed herself up on her elbows. The sheet pooled around her waist. “You’re standing in the dark, looking at your phone like it’s a bomb.”

“It’s Sally.”

“And?”

“And she’s thanking me.” Jackie’s voice was flat. “For today. For the scissors.”

Nicky was silent for a moment. “You feel guilty.”

“I feel something.”

“Come back to bed.”

Jackie didn’t move. “What if I can’t do this? What if I’m not built for one person? What if all I know how to be is the woman who leaves?”

Nicky swung her legs over the side of the bed. She stood, the sheet falling away completely. She walked to Jackie, her steps silent on the boards, and took the phone from the nightstand. She held it out, screen still dark.

“Tell her you’re glad she likes them. Tell her you’re thinking of her. Then turn it off.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is.” Nicky’s eyes were steady. “You’re making it complicated because complication is what you know. A simple choice terrifies you.”

Jackie took the phone. Her fingers were cold. She typed a reply to Sally: *They suit you. I’m glad.* She sent it. Then she held down the power button until the screen went black.

The room was truly dark now.

Nicky took the phone from her hand and set it back on the nightstand. Then she took Jackie’s face in her hands. Her palms were warm. “Now you’re here. With me.”

“For how long?”

“For as long as tonight lasts.” Nicky kissed her, a slow, deep kiss that tasted of sleep and salt and something like forgiveness. “That’s all any of us get, Jackie. One night at a time.”

She led Jackie back to bed. They lay down facing each other, their knees touching, their hands finding each other in the dark.

“Tell me something,” Nicky whispered. “Something you’ve never told anyone else.”

Jackie thought. The dark made it easier. “I hate hotels.”

Nicky’s smile was a shadow against the pillow. “Why?”

“They smell like loneliness. Like a hundred people have slept there and none of them stayed.”

“What do you like instead?”

“This.” Jackie’s hand swept the space between them. “A room that smells like one other person. A bed that holds the shape of us.”

Nicky shifted closer, her forehead touching Jackie’s. “Then stay in this one.”

Outside, an owl called. A car passed on the distant road, its headlights painting a brief stripe of light across the ceiling. Then the dark returned, deeper than before.

Jackie slept.

She dreamed of her case. It was open on a table in a field, the wind whipping through the silk and lace, scattering it across the grass. She was running, trying to gather it all up, but the pieces kept slipping through her fingers. Nicky stood at the edge of the field, watching, the gold chain at her throat catching the sun.

She woke with a start, her heart pounding. The room was grey with pre-dawn light. Nicky was still asleep beside her, her breathing deep and even.

Jackie lay still, waiting for her pulse to settle. The dream clung to her, the panic of loss still sharp in her chest.

She slipped out of bed again, moving quietly. She picked up her panties from the floor, the black lace cool against her skin. She stepped into them, pulled them up. She found her bra, her suspenders, her stockings. She dressed in the half-light, each piece a familiar ritual. The lace hugged her skin. The stockings whispered as she smoothed them up her thighs. The clips of the suspenders snapped into place with soft, final clicks.

She was putting on her blouse when Nicky’s voice came from the bed.

“You’re leaving.”

Jackie turned. Nicky was sitting up, the sheet pooled in her lap, her hair tousled from sleep. The gold chain lay against her skin, the tiny scissors resting just above the swell of her breast.

“I have an appointment at ten.”

“Who with?”

“A new client. A referral.” Jackie buttoned her blouse, her fingers steady. “Her name is Clara.”

Nicky watched her. “You could cancel.”

“I could.”

“But you won’t.”

Jackie didn’t answer. She walked to the bed and sat on the edge. The mattress dipped under her weight. She reached out and touched the tiny scissors on Nicky’s chain. “This doesn’t mean I’m not coming back.”

“I know.” Nicky’s hand covered hers. “But it doesn’t mean you are, either.”

The truth of it sat between them, acknowledged and unchallenged.

Jackie leaned in and kissed her. A good morning kiss. A goodbye kiss. A kiss that held all the things she couldn’t say. “I’ll call you.”

“Will you?”

“Yes.”

Nicky searched her face. Then she nodded, once. “Okay.”

Jackie stood. She picked up her case from the floor, the leather handle familiar in her grip. She didn’t look back as she walked to the door. She couldn’t.

Out in the hallway, the world was quiet. The floorboards creaked under her heels. The smell of lemon polish and old wood was stronger out here, mingling with the scent of her own perfume and Nicky’s skin on hers.

She walked down the stairs, her case swinging at her side. The front door was unlocked. She stepped out into the cool morning air.

The gravel drive crunched under her feet. Her car was where she’d left it, dew sparkling on the windshield. She unlocked it, slid the case onto the passenger seat, and got in.

The engine turned over with a soft rumble. She glanced up at the window of room seven. The curtain was still drawn.

She pulled out of the drive, the tires spitting gravel. The road was empty, the fields shrouded in mist. She drove without thinking, the route to Clara’s house already mapped in her mind.

Her phone, powered on and sitting in the cup holder, remained silent.

She drove.