Hannah's thumb hovered over the send button for three full seconds before she pressed it. The words stared back at her from the screen — The team has a board game night tonight. It's a tradition. Would you want to come with me? Meet them? — and she watched the bubble turn from gray to blue, watched the delivered stamp appear, and then immediately locked her phone and shoved it into her pocket like it had burned her.
She stood in the middle of her bedroom, half-dressed in jeans and a soft black sweater, her wet hair still dripping onto her shoulders. The afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, casting long bars of gold across the floor, and she could hear her own heartbeat in the silence.
What if Emily said no. What if she said yes. What if she said yes and then walked into that living room and saw Aitana arguing with Mapi over the rulebook and decided this was too much, too fast, too strange.
Her phone buzzed.
Hannah pulled it out so fast she nearly dropped it.
Emily's reply: I'd love to. But only if you promise not to let Aitana pick the game.
Hannah let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her chest went warm, then hot, then unbearable with something that felt dangerously close to joy. She typed back: No promises. She's ruthless at Catan.
Three dots appeared immediately. Then: Good. I like a challenge. Send me the address. I'll be there.
Hannah stood there, phone in hand, grinning like an idiot at nothing.
She sent the address — Aitana's apartment, because Aitana's apartment had the biggest table and the most aggressive collection of board games — and then tossed her phone onto the bed and ran her hands through her wet hair. Two hours. She had two hours to finish getting ready, to get to Aitana's, to explain to her teammates that the woman they were about to meet was not just a date but something that already felt terrifyingly important.
She pulled on a leather bracelet she never took off, ran a towel over her hair one more time, and grabbed her keys.
The drive to Aitana's apartment was short — ten minutes through Barcelona's early evening traffic, the sun dipping lower, painting the buildings in shades of amber and rose — but Hannah's mind was anywhere but the road. She ran through scenarios like a pre-match visualization, except instead of imagining herself slotting a ball past a keeper, she was imagining Emily walking through Aitana's door. Emily meeting Aitana's sharp grin. Emily sitting cross-legged on the floor while Mapi explained the rules for the third time. Emily catching her eye across the table with that soft, knowing smile.
She parked outside Aitana's building, a modern apartment block in Eixample with a wrought-iron balcony and a buzzer that actually worked, and sat in the car for a long moment, her hands resting on the steering wheel. Her phone was in her pocket, warm and silent. Emily hadn't texted again. That was fine. Emily was probably getting ready too, probably picking out which cardigan to wear, probably laughing at the thought of meeting a room full of professional footballers who were about to destroy her at Catan.
Hannah got out of the car, locked it, and walked up to the building. She let herself in with the code Aitana had given her years ago — the same code that let her crash on Aitana's couch after late matches, the same code that meant she had a key to this place in her heart if not on her keychain — and took the stairs to the third floor.
The door was already open when she reached it. Aitana stood in the doorway, arms crossed, wearing an oversized hoodie and a grin that meant trouble.
"You're early," Aitana said. "That means you're nervous."
"I'm not nervous."
"You're early and you're wearing your good sweater. You're nervous."
Hannah pushed past her into the apartment, the familiar warmth of Aitana's living room washing over her. The table was already set up in the center of the room — a large wooden surface covered in board game boxes, stacks of cards, and a bowl of chips that Mapi was already attacking. Patri sat on the couch, legs tucked under her, a beer in hand. Ingrid was in the kitchen, pulling something out of the oven that smelled like garlic and herbs.
"Hannah!" Mapi looked up, a chip halfway to her mouth. "You brought the girl?"
"She's coming." Hannah dropped her keys on the entry table. "She'll be here in about an hour."
"An hour." Aitana closed the door behind her. "Plenty of time for you to tell us everything."
"There's nothing to tell."
Patri snorted. "You disappeared last night, showed up this morning in yesterday's clothes, and now you're bringing a woman to board game night. There's everything to tell."
Hannah dropped onto the couch beside Patri, letting her head fall back against the cushion. The ceiling was familiar — the same crack in the plaster near the light fixture, the same warm glow from Aitana's floor lamp — and for a moment she let herself just breathe. "She's… different."
"Different how?" Ingrid appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel, her accent softening the edges of her words. She settled into the armchair across from Hannah, her eyes warm and curious.
Hannah sat up, ran a hand through her still-damp hair. "She didn't know who I was. When we met. She spilled coffee on me and she had no idea I was the captain of Barcelona. She just thought I was some girl in a café."
"And that's different because…?" Aitana dropped onto the floor, cross-legged, reaching for a chip.
"Because she saw me. Not the billboards, not the trophies. Me. And she still wanted to have dinner with me. She still wanted—" Hannah stopped, the words catching in her throat. "She still wanted to stay."
The room went quiet. Mapi stopped chewing. Patri set her beer down. Even Aitana, for once, had nothing to say.
Ingrid leaned forward, her voice soft. "That's rare."
"I know." Hannah looked down at her hands. The leather bracelet on her wrist. The faint scars on her knuckles from years of heading balls and falling on artificial turf. "I know it's rare. And I don't want to fuck it up."
"You won't," Patri said. "You're Hannah Voss. You don't fuck up the things that matter."
"I fucked up that pass in training today."
"You were distracted. By a woman. That's not fucking up, that's being human." Aitana tossed a chip at her. It bounced off Hannah's knee. "Besides, Alexia already gave you her blessing. If the captain of the captains says you're good, you're good."
Hannah caught the chip and ate it, letting the salt settle on her tongue. "She said I should bring Emily to meet the team."
"And you are. Tonight. At board game night." Mapi grinned. "This is the soft launch. The board game night soft launch. It's perfect."
"What's the hard launch?" Hannah asked, though she already knew.
"Camp Nou. Home game. She sits in the family section and the cameras catch her cheering for you." Aitana's grin widened. "But we're not there yet. Tonight, we just play games and see if she can handle the chaos."
"She said she likes a challenge."
Ingrid laughed, a low, warm sound. "Then she'll fit in fine."
An hour passed in a blur of snack bowls, rulebook debates, and Aitana trying to convince everyone that Settlers of Catan was the only acceptable choice for the first game. Mapi argued for Ticket to Ride. Patri suggested something called Wingspan that no one else had heard of. Ingrid quietly pulled Codenames from the stack and set it on the table, and everyone agreed without saying a word.
Hannah's phone buzzed at 7:02. She pulled it out, her heart already beating faster.
Emily: I'm outside. Should I buzz up or do I need a secret password?
Hannah stood so fast she nearly knocked over the chip bowl. "She's here."
Aitana was on her feet instantly, heading for the door. "I'll get it."
"Aitana—"
"Relax. I'll be nice." Aitana paused at the door, looking back over her shoulder. "Mostly."
Hannah watched her disappear into the hallway, heard the buzz of the intercom, heard Aitana's voice call down the line — "Third floor, blue door, and I swear to God if you're a journalist I will personally end you" — and then the click of the door releasing.
Mapi stood up, brushing crumbs off her lap. "Should we pretend we're normal?"
"Too late for that," Patri said, but she was smiling.
Ingrid rose from the armchair, smoothing her shirt, and crossed to stand beside Hannah. Her hand found Hannah's shoulder, squeezed once. "It's going to be fine. She already likes you. The rest is just noise."
Hannah nodded, swallowed, and stared at the door.
Footsteps in the hallway. Light, quick, a rhythm that didn't hesitate. And then the door swung open, and Aitana stepped aside with a flourish, and Emily Shaw walked into the living room.
She was wearing a yellow cardigan — soft, worn, the color of late afternoon sunlight — over a simple white shirt and jeans that had a small paint stain on one knee. Her ginger curls were wild around her face, escaping whatever attempt she'd made to tame them, and her sea-green eyes found Hannah's immediately, like she'd known exactly where to look.
She grinned. "I came. And I didn't even bring a coffee stain as a gift. I'm already failing at the theme."
Hannah laughed, the sound escaping before she could stop it, warm and unguarded. "You're early. That counts."
"I'm Irish. Early is polite." Emily stepped fully into the room, her gaze sweeping over the couch, the table stacked with games, the three women watching her with varying degrees of curiosity. She didn't flinch. She didn't shrink. She just dropped onto the floor cross-legged, right in the middle of the circle, like she'd been coming here for years. "So. What are we playing?"
Aitana slid a stack of cards toward her. "You're on my team. Hannah's too nice, she'll let you win."
Emily caught Hannah's eye across the table, her smile soft and knowing. And Hannah felt the last knot of tension in her chest loosen, felt something warm and steady settle into the space it left behind.
"I'm Irish. Early is polite." Emily Shaw dropped onto the floor cross-legged, right in the middle of the circle, her yellow cardigan pooling around her hips, her sea-green eyes scanning the board game boxes with genuine curiosity. She didn't flinch when Mapi stared. She didn't shrink when Aitana slid the Codenames cards toward her like a challenge. She just settled, her small frame finding its place on the rug, her fingers already reaching for a red token.
Hannah watched her, still standing by the couch, her heart doing something complicated in her chest. Emily looked up, caught her staring, and raised an eyebrow. "You coming down here or are you going to hover all night?"
"I'm coming." Hannah dropped to the floor beside her, close enough that her knee brushed Emily's shoulder. Emily didn't move away. She leaned into the touch, just slightly, just enough, and Hannah felt it like a current.
"Okay, rules." Aitana grabbed the Codenames box and flipped it open with the authority of someone who had done this a hundred times. "Two teams. Spymasters give one-word clues. Your team picks the right cards. If you pick the assassin, you lose instantly. Simple."
"And Hannah's too soft to be a spymaster," Mapi added, settling onto the couch behind them. "She always gives clues that are too obvious."
"I give fair clues," Hannah said, but she was smiling.
"You gave 'beach' for a card that had a picture of a sandal." Aitana shook her head. "That's not fair. That's pity."
Emily laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. "She sounds like she'd be a good teacher. Clear instructions. No surprises."
"She's a terrible teacher," Patri said from the armchair, beer in hand. "She can't explain a drill to save her life. She just does it and expects everyone to figure it out."
"That's not true—"
"It's absolutely true," Ingrid said, emerging from the kitchen with a fresh bowl of olives. "I watched her try to explain a set piece to the new midfielder for twenty minutes. The girl ended up crying."
"She was crying because she was frustrated, not because of me."
"She was crying because you kept saying 'just feel it' instead of telling her where to stand." Aitana slid a card toward Emily. "You're with me. Hannah's with Mapi. Let's see if the new blood has any instincts."
Emily picked up the card, studied it, then looked at Aitana with a grin that was all mischief. "One-word clue?"
"One word. No gestures. No sounds."
"Easy." Emily leaned forward, her eyes scanning the grid of words on the table. Her tongue touched her upper lip, a small concentrated habit, and Hannah felt her stomach tighten. "Okay. My clue is… 'Ireland.'"
Aitana blinked. "That's four words."
"No, it's one word. Ireland. The country. The clue is Ireland." Emily pointed at two cards on the grid. "Those. Both of them. One's a shamrock and one's a pint of Guinness."
The room went quiet. Then Mapi burst out laughing. "She's a natural."
"That's actually good," Patri admitted, leaning forward to look at the grid. "That's really good."
Emily shrugged, her grin widening. "I teach seven-year-olds. You learn to be creative with limited vocabulary."
Hannah watched her, something warm and fierce blooming in her chest. Emily was sitting on Aitana's floor, surrounded by strangers, playing a game she'd never played before, and she was already winning. Not the game — the room. She'd walked in and made herself belong, made herself impossible to ignore, made herself someone the team would remember.
The game unfolded in a blur of bad guesses, Aitana's theatrical groans, and Mapi accidentally picking the assassin card on her first turn, which eliminated her team instantly and sent Ingrid into a fit of laughter so hard she had to set down her wine glass. Emily won her round handily, then lost the next one when Aitana gave a clue that was too vague and Emily picked a card that turned out to be the assassin.
"I said 'ocean,'" Aitana protested. "How was that vague?"
"There were three ocean-related cards on the grid. You gave me nothing to narrow it down." Emily was laughing, her cheeks flushed, her curls bouncing as she shook her head. "You're a terrible spymaster."
"I'm a brilliant spymaster. You're a bad listener."
"I'm an excellent listener. You're a bad communicator."
Hannah watched the exchange, her chest warm, her hands resting on her knees. She felt Mapi lean over, felt a hand on her shoulder.
"She's good," Mapi said quietly, her voice low enough that only Hannah could hear. "I like her."
Hannah nodded, not trusting her voice.
"Like, actually good. Not just 'Hannah's new thing' good. She's got spine."
"She does." Hannah's voice came out rougher than she expected. "She's got a lot of it."
Mapi squeezed her shoulder once, then pulled back. "Don't let this one go."
Hannah didn't answer. She didn't need to.
The evening stretched on, games shifting from Codenames to a round of Ticket to Ride that devolved into Aitana and Mapi accusing each other of cheating, to a quieter game of Wingspan that Emily picked up faster than anyone expected. She asked questions — real questions, not polite ones — about the rules, about the strategy, about why Hannah kept drawing cards instead of playing birds. And Hannah answered, her voice soft, her hand brushing Emily's knee under the table when she reached for a token.
At some point, Ingrid brought out dessert — a tray of pastries from the bakery down the street, still warm, dusted with powdered sugar — and the conversation shifted from games to stories. Aitana told the story of Hannah's first training session with the first team, how she'd been so nervous she'd tripped over her own feet and landed face-first in the mud. Mapi told the story of the time Hannah scored a hat trick in the Champions League final and then cried in the locker room for twenty minutes. Patri told the story of the team's annual karaoke night, where Hannah had sung a Norwegian folk song that no one understood but everyone cried to.
Emily listened, her chin resting on her hand, her eyes soft. She didn't interrupt. She didn't fill the silence with her own stories. She just listened, like she was memorizing every word, like she was building a picture of Hannah from the pieces her friends offered.
And when the stories ran out, when the pastries were reduced to crumbs and the wine glasses were empty, Emily turned to Hannah and said, quietly, "Can we go outside for a minute?"
Hannah nodded, her heart quickening.
They stepped onto Aitana's balcony, the Barcelona night cool and clear, the city lights spilling across the skyline like scattered gold. Emily leaned against the railing, her yellow cardigan pulled tight around her, her breath misting in the cool air. Hannah stood beside her, close but not touching, waiting.
"They're lovely," Emily said, her voice soft. "Your team. Your family. They're lovely."
"They are."
Emily turned to look at her, her sea-green eyes catching the light. "Thank you. For bringing me here. For letting me see this."
Hannah's throat tightened. "Thank you for coming."
Emily smiled, that crooked, knowing smile that undid something in Hannah's chest every time. "I told you. I'd rather have the hard thing with you than the easy thing with someone else." She reached out, her fingers brushing Hannah's hand, light and warm. "This doesn't feel hard, though. This feels…" She paused, searching for the word. "Right."
Hannah's breath caught. She turned her hand over, lacing her fingers through Emily's. The contact was simple, grounding, the press of palm against palm, the warmth of skin. "It feels right to me too."
They stood there, on the balcony, under the Barcelona sky, their hands intertwined, the city humming below them. And Hannah felt something settle in her bones — something quiet, something steady, something that felt like the beginning of a home she'd been looking for her whole life.