Page 72 of Glass Spinner

Finally, Veronica said softly, “I guess we’d better get some sleep. It’s been a long day.”

“There’s only one bed,” whispered Kathleen.

Veronica scanned her face. “Does that worry you?”

Kathleen slid her eyes away. “No.”

“Good,” said Veronica with finality. “Let’s go to bed ‘cause I’m exhausted.”

The bedroom was small, barely big enough for the double bed and the side table with a crooked lampshade. It was warm now, the fire's glow stretching its fingers through the open door. Kathleen hesitated in the doorway, watching as Veronica dropped her bag beside the wall and pulled off her hoodie in one smooth motion. She moved without ceremony, not performative or self-conscious, just… calm.

Kathleen found herself studying her in the half-light, the curve of her shoulder, the way the soft cotton of her t-shirt clung slightly as she moved. It felt intrusive and necessary all at once.

“I’ll take the far side,” Veronica said, her voice gentle. She peeled back the worn covers and sat on the edge of the bed, stretching out her legs.

Kathleen stripped to her undies, crossed the room and slid in beside her without a word.

They lay for a moment without touching, the silence filled with the soft creak of the mattress, the distant wind brushing over the eaves. Kathleen stared at the timber ceiling, heart fluttering in her chest like a bird unsure if it was safe to land.

She turned her head. Veronica was watching her.

In the fire-washed dark, her face looked softer, more open than it had any right to be. Not the poised escort, not the fighter who'd taken out two armed men, but something in between. Orperhaps something else entirely. Someone Kathleen still didn’t fully understand and maybe never would.

“I keep trying to be angry,” Kathleen whispered.

Veronica didn’t answer.

“But I’m not. I want to be,” Kathleen went on. “I know I should be.”

Veronica reached out, slow enough for Kathleen to stop her if she wanted, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her knuckles grazed Kathleen’s cheek.

“I lied to you,” she said. “That doesn’t go away.”

Kathleen closed her eyes. “I know.”

Veronica’s hand lingered for a moment, then dropped.

“But I also know you didn’t have to come back,” Kathleen said. “You could’ve walked away and no one would’ve known.”

“I would have,” said Veronica quietly.

Kathleen opened her eyes and looked at her. For a beat, nothing moved. Then she reached out and took Veronica’s hand, brought it to her lips, and kissed the edge of her fingers—barely there, but enough. “I’m scared,” she said.

“So am I.”

“I still want you,” Kathleen murmured.

A silence followed, not empty, but filled with something heavy and bright.

Veronica shifted closer, her fingers tracing the line of Kathleen’s wrist, up her arm. When their lips met, it wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t frantic. It was steady, searching, something reclaimed rather than taken for the first time.

Kathleen rolled toward her, letting the kiss deepen, her hand curling into the fabric of Veronica’s shirt. She felt the heat of her body through it, the quiet strength, the careful restraint.

Then Veronica broke the kiss. “We should get some sleep.”

Kathleen cuddled into her, head on her shoulder. “You don’t have to promise anything,” she whispered.

“I’m staying,” Veronica said. “That’s the only promise that matters.”