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“Dang.” Zena frowned. “I guess that’s the real downside of having surprised you. No time to plan.”

Her friend’s crestfallen response sent a surge of guilt-laden nausea churning in her belly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she replied, straightening as she picked up her refilled wine glass. “You’re just gonna have to fill me in on all the lurid details, and don’t you dare skimp. I need to know how you jumped headfirst into the lady pond!

Don’t get me wrong. I see the appeal. If Kerry Washington so much as looked at me twice it would be on.”

Trading nausea for nerves, Libby gulped the Chardonnay like it might rescue her from the fate she’d created. Plunging into herself like a treasure hunter, she scavenged for nodes of truth to mine. “I mean people are just really energy, right?

We both carry masculine and feminine. The more I think about it, the more I feel like gender is an artificial construct in some ways. I’m attracted to her energy, you know?” As Libby listened to herself, she realized she wasn’t lying.

“Maybe because your girl has some serious swag if those pictures you posted are to be trusted.” Zena looked away before leaning closer. “And I may have stalked her on social media. Those videos of her all dirty and dominating that clay with those strong arms.” She leaned back and pretended to fan herself. “Shit, show me one person that wouldn’t switch teams for that, and I’ll show you a liar.”

Abruptly exhilarated, Libby cackled. “Wait until you meet her in person. She has this way of looking at people.” The memory of Reagan’s piercing eyes triggered her racing pulse. “It’s like you’re the only person on earth.”

Zena squeezed Libby’s forearm. “Damn, Eli. You have it bad! I’ve never seen you get all doe-eyed like that before.”

Heat rushed over Libby’s cheeks. “I can honestly say I’ve never been in this position before.”

“Oh, I hope she’s putting you in all sorts of positions,”

she joked before emptying the rest of the bottle into their glasses.

After another bottle of wine and a lot of catching up, they called a ride-share service and made plans for breakfast the following day so she could meet Ari. Libby didn’t miss the chance to tease her about it, since she’d never found any other guy worthy of introduction.

As soon as they parted, Libby regretted having lied about Reagan being out of town. Zena wouldn’t be back in Miami for a while, and after talking all night, she realized she wanted her to meet Reagan.

Once home, Libby went straight for the shower. By the time she crawled into bed in nothing but a T-shirt, she’d replayed the conversation with Zena half a dozen times. She couldn’t tell how long she’d had such fluid opinions on gender and sexuality. It wasn’t something she’d ever given too much thought to before, but as she talked, she realized she didn’t really see Reagan as anything other than Reagan.

The idea was at once freeing and terrifying.

Deciding that existential questions about identity were a bit heavy for her tipsy, sleepy brain, she tried to meditate to clear her mind. She failed.

Frustrated, Libby rolled around under her Egyptian cotton sheets trying to get comfortable. With all the classes, retreats, and self-study, she should at least be able to stop the barrage of thoughts making her restless.

Admitting defeat, Libby gave into the greatest enemy of sleep and reached for her phone. First she tried to work a little, brainstorming topics for her advice column. Somehow, she ended up researching a new espresso maker she didn’t need.

By the time she ended up on Reagan’s social media profile, she admitted to herself that she’d been circling it all along. Zena’s deep dive had rendered her too curious for self-control.

Libby’s thumb hovered over the icon tagged videos on her page. Her stomach hitched as if she was standing at the edge of a platform about to dive into the air at ten thousand feet.

She couldn’t decide whether it was pathetic that her life was so devoid of excitement that clicking a button felt like skydiving. She opened her eyes and leapt.

The first few videos were ones Reagan had made. They didn’t showcase her and instead focused on her students. It was an art exhibition much like the one she’d been to, but judging by Reagan’s long hair and Peggy not needing a cane, it was some time ago.

A smile blossomed on Libby’s face as she watched Reagan help a kid struggling with a mini pottery wheel. When the next video played, the smile disappeared, and her eyes widened.

This is the video Zena must have been talking about.

In an instructional clip, Reagan was explaining how to make an enormous vase in two parts. Her hair was shaved on one side and dyed blonde. Not a terrible look, but she preferred the sideswept style she currently used.

Libby listened dutifully as Reagan explained all the preparation required even though she didn’t understand anything she said and had no intention of replicating her work

. She didn’t consider skipping forward as she drowned in the sound of her voice.

Once Reagan sat at the wheel, Libby rolled onto her stomach and propped her head on one arm and the phone on the pillow.

Jesus.