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The road to the community center shimmered under the summer sun, its heat rising in waves that blurred the painted lines. A soft buzz of cicadas stitched the stillness together, interrupted only by the low hum of Agatha Harkness' aging sedan and the occasional, rhythmic flick of the turn signal.
Agatha drove with one hand resting on the wheel, the other draped casually near the open window. Warm air curled across her skin, sticky and familiar. Her blouse clung at the back, and her sunglasses kept sliding down her nose. But she didn’t mind. The mundane discomforts of summer felt almost grounding.
In the back seat, her four-year-old son, Nicky, was deep in conference with his plush frog.
“Froggy says it’s almost time,” he whispered. “We gotta do our big stretches so we can float really good.”
Agatha glanced at him through the rearview mirror, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Float better, sweetheart. Why do you need to float better, hmm?”
“For jellyfish mode,” he said like it was obvious. “Froggy says I need to be wiggly but not too wiggly. Like a calm jelly.”
Agatha smiled, her gaze softening. “Well, remind Froggy to listen to the teacher.”
“He knows already! He said Coach Cool got real superpowers!”
Agatha raised an eyebrow. “Coach… Cool?”
“That’s her secret name!” Nicky said, bouncing. “Her real name is Coach Rio! You forgot, Mommy!”
Agatha made a show of thumping her forehead with her palm. “Of course. How could I forget someone with superpowers?”
Nicky giggled and went back to flipping through his frog-themed sticker book, worn and crinkled from too many car rides.
They turned down a narrow road lined with old oak trees, their branches heavy with green. The scent of sunbaked mulch and chlorine drifted in through the window, unmistakable and sharply nostalgic.
For a moment, Agatha let the quiet settle in. No meetings. No looming deadlines. No hurried errands she didn’t care about. Just her son, his frog, and the slowly dawning truth that she was finally, finally out of excuses to avoid her own life.
She hadn’t dated since Ralph.
Not because of grief. Not exactly.
Ralph had been a partner in the logistical sense: financially steady, reliable, good with diaper changes and Saturday grocery runs. Safe. Predictable. Kind.
But they hadn’t shared a bed after the first year.
Agatha had tried. She’d told herself discomfort was just part of marriage, that maybe intimacy got easier with time. That love was supposed to feel practical.
He knew. Of course he did. She never said the words, but he saw it. In the way she pulled away from touch. The way she overworked. The way she couldn’t meet her own eyes in the mirror.
That she didn’t love him that way. That she was surviving a life she thought she had to want.
And then he died. Suddenly. No warning, no long goodbye.
And the script she’d been clinging to disappeared with him.
And after that—
No more pretending. No more excuses.
She was now 43. Her marketing business ran itself. She paid the bills. She parented well. She laughed when Nicky said ridiculous things like "jellyfish mode."
So what now?
Agatha pulled into the community center parking lot, the building squat and welcoming, its windows steamed from indoor humidity. She killed the engine and turned to Nicky.
“You ready, baby?”
He stuck out his chest. “I’m brave! But Froggy said he’s scared... just a tiny bit.”
“Want me to hold him during class?”
“No! He hasta watch me float really good—uh, I mean bett'r!”
Agatha bit back a grin. “Naturally.”
Inside, the pool area hit them like a wet slap—chlorine-heavy air thick with steam and echoes. Flip-flops slapped on tile, kids shrieked and splashed, and the chaotic energy of childhood swirled through the humid space.
Nicky bolted toward the shallow end, Froggy under one arm like a noble talisman.
Agatha turned to follow and then stopped.
Coach Rio stood poolside, crouched beside a toddler, adjusting goggles with a tenderness that made the moment feel slower somehow. Her dark hair was pulled back into a loose braid, a few damp strands clinging to her temple. Black shorts hugged her strong, sun-bronzed legs, and a red tank top clung to her like a second skin—damp, warm, utterly unbothered.
She looked like summer come to life. Solid. Gorgeous. Effortlessly herself.
When Rio looked up, Agatha forgot how to breathe.
It was the kind of moment people laugh off later, blame on heatstroke... or hormones. But it landed in her chest and felt impossible to ignore.
She was... radiant. Not in the magazine sense. In the way she moved. Grounded. Easy. Like she belonged.
And then she smiled at a child.
Not at Agatha. Not yet. But the way she did it—open, delighted, patient—made something strange and electric bloom behind Agatha’s ribs.
She shook herself and kept walking, head down, too aware of the sweat at her collarbone.
From the bleachers, Agatha watched the class. Watched Rio guide the kids with a steady hand and an easy confidence. She didn’t shout. She didn’t coddle. She crouched when she talked to them. She remembered names.
Nicky floated for three seconds and came up grinning.
“Jellyfish mooooooode!” he shouted.
Rio laughed, rich and full. “That was Olympic-level floating, buddy.”
Agatha folded her arms tighter.
This woman—this stranger—was the cherry on top of an already cracked-open day. And now Agatha was trying not to stare. She wasn’t doing very well.
After class, Nicky ran toward her, soaked and beaming.
“I floated like a real jellyfish! Froggy counted all the way to five!”
Agatha crouched to towel him off. “And Froggy is a very generous judge.”
A shadow passed over them.
“Hey, superstar,” Rio said. “You totally ruled the pool.”
Nicky squeaked and buried his face in Agatha’s side.
Rio offered her hand. “Hi, I’m Rio.”
“Agatha.”
The handshake was warm. Firm. It lingered a second longer than expected.
Rio smiled. “You two new here, or just new to my class?”
“Moved last year. Wanted space.”
“Smart move,” Rio said. Her gaze held steady. “This place is good for that.”
She seemed interested. Present. Like she was choosing this conversation on purpose. And Agatha didn’t know what to do with that.
“You should swing by my other gig sometime. Vidal Swirl. It’s my shop—ice cream, coffee, all that. Nicky would love it.”
Agatha blinked. “Wait. That's a real place, or are you messing with me?”
Rio grinned. “Depends.”
Nicky pulled on her sleeve. “Mommy! Froggy said he need'a popsicle right now!”
“Of course he does.” Agatha looked back at Rio. “We might just take you up on that.”
“Good,” Rio said, a glint in her eye. “I make a scandalous cherry-chocolate crunch. One bite and you’re either in love… or in trouble. Sometimes both.”
Agatha’s mouth curved before she could stop it. “I’ll take my chances.”
She gathered their things, nudged Nicky toward the door, and didn’t look back.
But she felt it—heat lingering at the base of her neck, eyes she didn’t need to see to know.
Rio was still watching.
The next week, the sky broke open. Not a drizzle. A full-throated summer downpour, with sheets of rain hammering the windshield and thunder rumbling like a warning. The kind of storm that made the whole world feel heavier.
Agatha parked with a splash and cursed under her breath as she reached for Nicky's bag, already soaked through from the short dash across the lot.
Inside, the pool area was quieter than usual. Steam curled up from the surface, and the glass ceiling vibrated softly with the sound of raindrops.
Agatha stood near the pool deck this time, arms crossed over her damp linen blouse, her hair frizzing in defiance. Her mood matched the weather. She was watching Rio so intently again.
Rio was in the water, her ponytail soaked, her tank clinging to her back. She floated beside Nicky, gently nudging his noodle into place. Her tone was low and encouraging.
Agatha’s chest ached. That familiar tightness again.
Rio caught her looking. And this time, Agatha didn’t look away.
After class, Nicky skipped from the locker room in mismatched socks and a towel cape.
Agatha reached out, ruffling his damp locks. “You did great today, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, I knows,” Nicky said solemnly.
Rio approached, wringing out her ponytail with one hand, a hoodie in the other, and a canvas bag slung over her opposite shoulder—faded denim with a rainbow patch stitched onto the side, fraying slightly at the corners.
“You’ll catch a chill,” she said simply, offering the dry piece of clothing. It smelled like clean cotton and a hint of lavender.
Agatha hesitated. She slipped it on without a word. It was warm. It swallowed her shoulders. It was too much and not enough.
“Much better,” Rio murmured, her eyes skimming Agatha’s face. “You clean up nice—even soaked.”
Agatha didn’t answer. But she smiled.
As Nicky tugged on his sneakers, Rio unzipped her canvas bag—the one with the little rainbow patch Agatha had noticed earlier—and fished around before pulling out a battered paperback. She hesitated, shifted her weight. “Okay, this is probably ridiculous... and maybe I should’ve just stuck with the hoodie, but I brought you something else.”
Agatha blinked, surprised, as Rio offered the book again with a sheepish, almost teasing smile. “You seem like someone who reads at night. Like when your brain won't let you be.”
She scratched the back of her neck. “This one’s about complicated women who make... like bold, occasionally catastrophic choices. I figured… maybe that vibe resonates?” Then, with a glance that didn’t quite meet Agatha’s eyes, “Anyway, if it’s not your thing, no big deal. I just—thought of you.”
Agatha took it carefully and looked down at the cover. 'The Price of Salt.' Her brows lifted.
“Messy and beautiful,” Rio murmured, almost like she was thinking aloud. Then, after a beat, “It meant something to me. Thought you might get something out of it too.”
Agatha stood for a moment longer, hoodie too warm, book in hand, rain still echoing overhead.
And something inside her stirred.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. She didn’t really know what else to say.
Rio nodded, already turning to help another kid zip a too-small backpack. “See you next week, Jellyfish.”
That night, Nicky fell asleep curled against her ribs, one hand still gripping Froggy’s leg. She lay there a long time before slipping out from under him and settling into bed. The hoodie was still on the back of her chair. She pulled it on again.
Next to it, the paperback. She flipped it open and her hand stilled on the page.
She didn’t know what she wanted yet.
Only that something in her life had been paused too long.
And now, perhaps, it was beginning again.
Tuesday afternoon, Agatha lingered in the lobby of the community center, arms crossed, pretending to read the flyers about summer movie nights and free CPR training. But her eyes kept flicking to the glass doors, listening for the sharp squeak of sneakers on polished floors—the sound she’d started waiting for without meaning to.
Nicky came bounding out of the changing room, a puff of chlorine-scented air trailing after him.
“Mommy, I has'a secret. But you can't hear it.” He clutched his stuffed frog dramatically and leaned down to whisper something into its fuzzy ear with a loud, stage-whisper hush.
Agatha crouched and gently tapped his nose. “Is Froggy conspiring again?”
Nicky nodded and skipped off to check out the vending machine selection, narrating a dramatic standoff between chocolate chip cookies and seaweed chips.
Behind him, Rio emerged, her hair damp from the pool. Her white shirt clung in the humidity, and a faint flush had risen to her cheeks. She wore the same ease as always—like her body was something she never second-guessed.
Agatha held out a folded sweatshirt, freshly laundered and faintly scented with morning coffee.
“For you,” she said. “Washed it too.”
Rio grinned, taking it with both hands. “I was hoping you’d keep it.”
Agatha let herself smile back. “I started the book.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m halfway through.”
Rio looked genuinely delighted. “It only gets gayer from here.”
Agatha laughed before she could stop herself. “Good.”
There was a pause. Long enough to feel like it could mean something.
“You’re a quick reader,” Rio said. “That, or it hit a nerve.”
Agatha glanced down. “Maybe both.”
Another pause.
Rio reached for her hoodie slowly, brushing Agatha’s fingers as she folded it over one arm. “Let me know if you want the sequel. It’s sadder. Also gayer.”
“I’ll consider it,” Agatha said, trying to sound light. But her throat was too tight.
Swim lessons became a quiet ritual. Not dramatic, not even intentional, but consistent. Nicky adapted fast, and his joy carried Agatha into a rhythm she hadn’t realized she missed.
Rio gave every kid a nickname—not just Nicky. A tiny redhead girl became “Cannonball Queen.” A shy boy named Henry was “Sea Otter Supreme.” She crouched to their level when she talked. She remembered which kid liked purple goggles and who hated getting their hair wet. She offered high-fives and let them splash her. And she never forced a child to do more than they were ready for.
Agatha watched from the bleachers. Every week, she noticed something new.
The way Rio guided a nervous child’s hand to rest on the water, murmuring, It’ll hold you, I promise.
The way she crouched at poolside—leaning on her elbows, voice low and encouraging, all calm steadiness.
The way she peeled off her shirt on the hotter days—casual, unthinking—revealed a red lifeguard one-piece that clung to her like a second skin. Her arms were strong, defined from weeks of sun and motion, and a soft line of muscle ran down her abdomen, catching the light like something sculpted. Agatha would forget how to breathe, her pulse stuttering like her body hadn’t gotten the memo that it was just swim class.
One afternoon, Agatha reached out absentmindedly to hand Nicky a towel. Rio turned, and her hand brushed Rio’s side. Bare, warm skin.
She froze.
Rio glanced at her, eyes curious.
Agatha stepped back. “Sorry. I wasn’t—sorry.”
Rio smiled, gentle. “You’re okay.”
But Agatha flushed hard, caught off guard.
She glanced away quickly, pretending to focus on Nicky, but her pulse betrayed her—fluttering. Was it embarrassment? Or want? Maybe both. She didn’t look at Rio again for the rest of the lesson, too aware of her own body, too afraid she’d give something away.
That night, Agatha lay awake long after Nicky had fallen asleep. He’d curled up tight with Froggy under one arm, mouth open in his usual toddler snore.
She stared at the ceiling, then reached for the nightstand. 'The Price of Salt' was still there—dog-eared, worn, and heavier now than when she first opened it. One line in particular stared back at her: “She looked at her and something settled.”
Agatha shut the book slowly and got up.
She padded barefoot to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror.
Seconds passed. Then minutes.
She didn’t recognize herself at first: bare shoulders, hair loose, face quiet.
She took a deep breath.
“I’m gay,” she said.
Her voice was low, even. She said it again. And then again, until it didn’t sound like a foreign language.
Later, when she passed Ralph’s photo in the hallway—one where he held baby Nicky, proud and beaming—she stopped. Her breath caught. The hallway was quiet, dim, but the weight of the picture hit her like a wave. She stepped closer, barely breathing, staring at a life she had performed more than lived.
“Ralph,” she whispered, the word crumpling in her mouth.
Her hand reached out, but she couldn’t bring herself to touch the frame. She didn’t feel like she had the right.
“I used you.” The words came out thin, breaking. “I didn’t mean to. God, I... I didn’t mean to. I told myself it was enough. That I was lucky. That I could make it work if I just stayed busy—if I just kept... pretending.”
Her throat tightened.
“You were good to me. You were good to Nicky. Fuck—you gave me Nicky. And I tried to deserve that. I tried to be what you needed. But I was lying the whole time. Not just to you. To me, too.”
Tears welled in her eyes, hot and helpless.
“I wasn’t straight. I never was. And I thought maybe if I married the right man, had the baby, made it all look right on paper… it would fix the part of me that didn’t fit.”
She pressed her knuckles to her mouth. “I didn’t love you the way you deserved. I didn’t know how.”
Silence filled the hallway, thick and aching.
“I hope you knew,” she whispered, her voice barely there. “I hope, somehow, you knew I was trying. Even if it was all wrong.”
She stood there a moment longer, her heart too full and too empty all at once. Then, gently, she flicked off the light and slipped back into bed.
The guilt didn’t vanish. But for the first time, it had a name. And it had been spoken out loud.
Thursday after class, Rio hung back. “Hey, so uh, there’s this cool bookstore downtown,” Rio said, kneeling beside Nicky to help with his backpack. “I do story hour there once a month. I’m reading Saturday.”
She hesitated, then looked up. “You should come. I mean—if you and Nicky are free. It’s pretty sweet, and he’d probably like it. Maybe you too.”
Nicky’s eyes got big. “Is there gonna be snacks?”
“Always,” Rio said with a grin. “And beanbags. And hey, if you guys come, I might just find a cool frog book with your name on it, Jellyman.”
Agatha looked at her for a moment. Really looked. Then nodded slowly. “We’ll be there.”
The bookstore was tucked between a bakery and a florist, its gold-lettered windows slightly fogged from the afternoon heat. Inside, it smelled like espresso, old paper, and something soft and sweet—maybe honey pastries, maybe just comfort. It didn’t feel like a store. It felt like a hug someone had turned into a room.
Agatha hesitated in the doorway, holding Nicky’s hand. Her heart beat a little too loud for something as mundane as story time. But there was Rio already, in her element, greeting the small crowd of kids like a favorite cousin who never outgrew their sense of magic.
The kids' area was tucked in the back corner, framed by rainbow beanbags, pastel rugs, and low shelves filled with picture books that wore their queerness proudly. Julian Is a Mermaid. Red: A Crayon's Story. My Maddy.
Nicky let go of her hand and made a beeline for a basket of books, promptly narrating an imaginary council meeting between amphibian royalty. Froggy, naturally, was presiding.
Agatha drifted to the perimeter, leaning near a shelf of worn-out YA paperbacks. She pretended to browse. In reality, she watched.
Rio sat in a rounded teal chair, one foot tucked beneath her, the other lightly tapping the rug as she turned pages. She wore a faded tank top, the strap slipping off one shoulder, her smile full and easy. Her voice shifted with each character, warm and playful but never cloying. She let the kids interrupt. Let them shout. Let them be who they were.
Nicky perched beside a plush alligator, his mouth open in pure, unfiltered awe.
Agatha felt something pinch behind her eyes. It was the way Rio made space. For everyone. For her.
She hadn't realized she'd started to let herself want that.
When the final page turned, the kids scattered in every direction—some to crayons, others to the snack table. Nicky marched straight to Rio, a picture clutched in both hands.
“Look! It’s me and you and Froggy!” he beamed. “Froggy’s in charge, and he said you hafta eat more sprinkles or else!”
Rio crouched beside him, inspecting the wild scribbles like they were sacred.
“I’ve never looked better,” she said solemnly. “And Froggy looks like he has a lot of opinions.”
“He said, ‘More sprinkles. No excuses.’”
Rio gasped. “The nerve. I’ll fix that immediately.”
From the poetry shelf, Agatha let out a quiet, unguarded laugh. She tried to cover it with a fake cough.
Rio looked over her shoulder, caught Agatha watching, and didn’t look away. She made her way over, unhurried, while Nicky returned to his masterpiece with serious scribbling energy.
She nodded at the book in Agatha’s hand. “That one makes you cry by page twelve.”
Agatha looked down at the cover. “I haven’t even opened it. Just needed something to hold.”
“Same,” Rio said softly.
They stood for a moment in the quiet hum of the store. Music played faintly in the background—something with strings and soft voices. Rio rocked back on her heels.
“I like this place,” Agatha said, because it felt safer than saying something like, I like the way you make this place feel.
Rio grinned. “Same. It’s actually where I figured it out. I was standing over by the graphic novels, flipping through some random teen anthology and boom, lesbian prom kiss. Totally wrecked me.”
Agatha blinked. “You just… knew?”
“Eventually. I kept coming back for that one book. Like if I stared at it long enough, it would tell me something.” She tilted her head. “What about you?”
Agatha hesitated. Her pulse skipped. Her throat tightened around the truth.
Rio’s gaze flicked to Agatha’s hands, then lingered on her mouth—just a second too long to be innocent—before finally meeting her eyes. Her smile was warm, a little teasing. “Take your time. It’s allowed.”
There was a beat of silence. Not awkward. Just charged. Waiting.
Rio reached out, slow and deliberate, and tapped the spine of the book in Agatha’s hands, her touch lingering on Agatha’s fingers. She didn’t pull away right away. Instead, she let the contact hum between them, a quiet question posed without a single word. Her gaze held steady as she let her thumb slide just slightly over Agatha’s knuckle, then finally released the book. It wasn’t just a line tossed—it was an invitation.
“If you ever want a reading buddy… I’m around. I’ve got strong opinions and zero shame.”
Agatha met her gaze, and for once, didn’t flinch.
“Noted,” she said. Her voice was quiet. But steady.
Across the room, Nicky shouted something about Froggy being elected as a reading time mayor.
The moment slipped. But not fully.
Agatha lingered near the poetry display, turning the same slim chapbook over in her hands without registering a single word. Her pulse still thrummed just beneath her skin, and she couldn’t stop replaying the unmistakable openness in Rio’s voice.
It had been a long time since someone looked at her like that. Like they weren’t trying to figure her out but simply inviting her to just... be.
She caught sight of Rio again across the store, crouched beside a small boy who was crying quietly over a snapped crayon. Rio’s voice was low, murmured. She didn’t try to distract him. She listened, then handed him a new crayon. One from her own stash, Agatha guessed. The boy nodded and sniffled and went back to coloring.
Agatha turned back to her shelf. Pretended again to browse. But her heart wouldn’t settle. She wasn’t sure what scared her more: how much she wanted Rio to be serious—or the quiet, terrifying thought that maybe she was.
A few minutes later, Rio drifted back toward her with Nicky’s drawing held carefully in one hand.
“I was told to hang this up in my shop,” she said lightly.
Agatha smiled. “He runs a tight ship.”
“I can tell,” Rio said. Then, softer: “Thanks for coming. You didn’t have to.”
Agatha looked at her. Really looked. Rio's voice wasn't flirtatious now. It was something else. Something steadier.
“I wanted to,” she said. “And I think maybe… I needed to.”
Rio held her gaze for a second longer, her expression open but undeniably charged. Her eyes flicked to Agatha’s mouth again, then lingered this time—an unspoken question, but not a demand. When she looked back up, there was something patient in her smile, something that said: I’ll wait until you’re ready.
Then she gave a small nod.
“Well,” she said, “you know where to find me.”
Agatha huffed a small laugh, the sound soft and surprised.
As Rio turned back to the kids, Agatha felt a shift. A tiny one. But real.
She wasn’t just circling the edge of something anymore. She’d taken a step in.
Vidal Swirl was brighter than Agatha expected. Not trendy, but lived-in—warm wood floors, string lights crisscrossing the ceiling, and a chalkboard menu behind the counter boasting flavors like Blueberry Basil, Cardamom Cream, and the infamous Fire Island Surprise. A tiny pride flag hung beside the tip jar, and one corner of the counter was covered in crayon drawings from local kids.
Nicky smushed his nose against the case. “That one. The white kind. No weirdy things!”
Rio appeared behind the counter wearing a coral tank and a smudge of chocolate on one wrist. She leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, “Not even frog-shaped gummies on top?”
Nicky squinted real hard. “I never eat frogs.”
“Respect,” Rio said, straight-faced. “One vanilla, frog-free, coming up, sir.”
Agatha chuckled, stepping up beside him. “What’s the Fire Island Surprise?”
Rio grinned. “It’s technically edible. That’s all I’ll say.”
She moved behind the counter, and that’s when Agatha noticed it—Nicky’s drawing from the bookstore, taped carefully to the wall near the register.
Agatha raised an eyebrow.
Rio followed her gaze, then blushed—actual color, rising across her cheeks and down her neck. She reached for the scoop, but her voice dropped just slightly. “You, though... I have a surprise for you. Non-fire kind.”
Agatha looked down, smiling helplessly. Her chest felt tight, like her heart was stretching into something bigger than it had ever been allowed to be.
Rio scooped slowly, still watching her.
They settled at a small corner table by the window. When their order was ready—vanilla for Nicky, an affogato for Agatha, and something lavender and gold for someone in line—Rio came around the counter and slid into the seat beside them, stealing a slow spoonful of Agatha’s before she could protest.
“That’s mine,” Agatha said, biting back a smile.
Rio licked the spoon with infuriating calm. “You looked like you might want me to taste.”
“Did I?”
Rio leaned in just slightly, grin crooked. “I was feeling optimistic.”
Agatha stared at her, flustered—but she didn’t pull away. Not this time.
She offered to pay more than once, but Rio waved her off each time. Finally, with a casual flick of her wrist, Rio said, “This one’s on the house. First-time visitor discount.”
Agatha arched a brow. “That a real thing?”
“Absolutely not,” Rio said, deadpan. “But I might need your number... just in case I accidentally overcharge you next time.”
Agatha didn’t look away. Slowly, she reached for a napkin and pulled a pen from her purse.
She handed it over, neat handwriting and something warmer curling at the edges. Her number, written in ink—and just the barest hint of yes.
It was just past eight when Agatha padded barefoot into the kitchen. Nicky was freshly bathed and already asleep, tangled in his sheets with Froggy tucked under one arm and his thumb in his mouth. A soft, steady snore drifted down the hallway.
She poured herself a glass of red wine and leaned against the counter. Her phone sat face down beside her, silent.
She didn’t know what she was waiting for—maybe nothing. Maybe just a quiet moment to breathe, to let her mind drift somewhere it hadn’t dared go in years.
Then the phone buzzed.
Rio: Sooo I might’ve made a mistake.
Agatha blinked. Tapped back.
Agatha: Oh?
A photo came in. Rio, grinning, holding up a pint of ice cream labeled in Sharpie. “Agatha (test batch)”
Below it, scrawled in smaller letters: fig, espresso, dark chocolate, wishful thinking
Rio: Made a new flavor. Was gonna call it something else. But it kept reminding me of you. Ate too much. Now I’m wide awake.
Rio: Any chance you want to come over and distract me? Since you’re already in my head.
Agatha’s brows rose, amused. She typed slowly.
Agatha: You’re offering me insomnia as a treat?
Rio: You wound me up. I’m offering you a private pool and some ice cream with your name on it... literally ;)
Rio: I’ll bring towels.
Agatha: Fine. But if I end up wide awake too, that’s on you.
Fifteen minutes later, Agatha knocked softly on the apartment next door. Lilia opened it wearing curlers and a kaftan.
“You’re either about to commit a crime,” she said, “or finally live a little.”
Agatha smiled, sheepish. “Could you come over and keep an ear out for a few hours? He’s already out cold.”
Lilia looked her up and down. “In a swimsuit and shorts at almost nine at night?”
Agatha glanced down at herself, suddenly unsure how to explain what she was doing.
Lilia just waved a hand. “Not my business, honey. Go. And don’t you dare come home early.”
Agatha blushed. “It’s not—”
“It is,” Lilia said firmly. “Let it be.”
She grabbed her keys, locked her door, and headed straight into Agatha’s apartment like she’d been on standby for weeks.
The pool was quiet, the air thick with summer warmth. Soft underwater lights shimmered beneath the surface, and a few delicate string lanterns glowed along the walls—casting golden halos on the water like a dream half-remembered.
Agatha stepped inside and paused.
Rio was floating in the shallow end, half-submerged, her body stretched out with slow, easy grace. The dark straps of her bikini clung to sun-warmed skin, modest by definition, not by effect. Her hair fanned behind her, damp and loose, and moonlight from the skylight kissed the curves of her shoulders, her collarbone, her stomach—soft and glowing with heat and chlorine.
Agatha swallowed. Quietly, deeply.
“Nice of you to dress down,” Agatha murmured.
Rio turned, smile lazy and pleased. “You came.”
“You named a flavor after me.”
Rio swam to the edge, arms resting along the tiles. “It was either that or ask if I could kiss you someday.” Her grin curved, light and teasing. “The pint felt... safer. But maybe not as fun.”
She tilted her head, eyes glinting. “Though next time... I might skip the ice cream.” She smirked. “Might be sweeter ways to spend the night. Fewer calories, too.”
Agatha stepped out of her sandals. Her suit was simple, black, with a low back and a neckline that made her feel more like herself than she had in years. She slipped into the pool slowly, the water cool but welcome. Rio didn’t look away.
“If I stare too long,” Rio murmured, “just remind me I’m still coming down from that pint. Lot of sugar. No self-control.”
Agatha met her gaze. “What if I like it?”
Rio blinked, then smiled. “Then I’ll take my time.”
They drifted in the quiet water, the occasional ripple brushing against their arms. Neither of them spoke at first, and that silence felt comfortable—an extension of the hum between them. Agatha watched the shimmer of moonlight play on Rio’s shoulder. Her eyes followed the line of her collarbone, the soft rise of her chest as she floated. She felt warm, too warm, and not from the water.
Rio tilted her head. “You always this quiet?”
Agatha smiled faintly. “Only when I’m trying to be brave.”
“I like brave,” Rio murmured. Her tone was light, but her gaze—steady and slow—wasn’t teasing anymore.
Agatha let herself drift a little closer. “What if I don’t know how to be brave?”
Rio’s voice was quiet. “Then I’ll wait. But I’ll still flirt. And sneak glances at your ass. Fair warning.”
That earned a surprised laugh from Agatha, breathy and small. She hadn’t felt this alive in years.
“I’m not used to this,” Agatha admitted.
“To what?”
“Someone like you.”
Rio’s brow lifted. “Someone like me?”
“Kind. Funny. Gorgeous. And… actually interested?” Agatha gave a soft huff, self-conscious.
Rio reached forward, fingertips barely brushing Agatha’s wrist beneath the water. “I'm very interested, Agatha. It’s not a trick.”
Agatha met her eyes. “No?”
Rio’s voice softened. “No pressure. I’m just here. In case you want company. Or someone to float with. Or talk to.” She paused, then added with a teasing smile, “Or, you know... maybe make out with. Eventually. If the mood strikes.”
Agatha let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Her lips curved—not quite a smile, but close. She looked at Rio, really looked at her, and the warmth in Rio’s eyes nearly undid her.
“Thank you,” Agatha said quietly.
Then, after a beat, her voice low: “But just so you know… the mood’s getting there.”
They floated together in silence, the moonlight shimmering on the surface like flecks of silver leaf. Agatha’s breathing slowed, her pulse thrumming like distant thunder. She was aware of everything—Rio’s nearness, the soft brush of their legs as they drifted, the way the night seemed to hold its breath around them.
Quietly, Agatha broke the silence with, “I think I’ve always known I was gay. But it felt easier to pretend I wasn’t. To focus on school, or work, or Nicky. To make my life small enough that nothing could shake it.”
Rio treaded water beside her, her expression soft. “You don’t have to explain.”
Agatha reached up, brushing her damp hair from her face. “It wasn’t Ralph. My ex-husband. He was a good man. Kind. But I never let myself want more. Never let myself even imagine this.” She paused. “You make me imagine it.”
Rio’s hand found hers under the water. Not gripping—just touching. Grounding.
“I just—” Agatha looked at her. “It took me longer than I wanted. But I’m here now. And you make me feel…”
Rio waited.
Agatha’s throat bobbed. “Happy.”
Then Agatha reached forward. Her fingers brushed along the edge of Rio’s jaw, slid into the damp silk of her hair, and lingered. She looked at her—really looked at her—and saw the quiet question waiting in her eyes.
So she kissed her.
It was slow at first, tentative. A brush of lips that trembled with withheld longing. But when Rio sighed softly into it, Agatha deepened the kiss, her hand tightening in Rio’s hair. It then became need.
Rio responded with a low hum, a sound that curled around Agatha’s ribs. One hand found her waist, the other rose to cup her cheek, and they pulled each other closer in the water, bodies aligning with the kind of grace that only comes from finally giving in.
When they finally pulled apart, they stayed close with noses brushing and breath mingling. Rio’s eyes were shining, her smile dazed like she couldn’t believe any of this was real.
Agatha whispered, voice catching, “I think I’ve wanted to do that since the first time you said Nicky could be a jellyfish.”
Rio laughed softly, a sound full of joy and disbelief, then kissed her again—gentler, slower—like she was memorizing it. When she pulled back, she rested their foreheads together, eyes fluttering shut.
“You want to split the pint?” she asked, voice thick with affection.
Agatha smiled, her heart too full. “I want to share everything with you.”
They waded to the steps and settled side by side, feet trailing in the warm water. The pint sat between them, melting slightly, passed back and forth as their fingers brushed in a quiet, perfect rhythm.
Each touch lingered. Every glance brimmed with something unspoken and blooming. And each messy spoonful came with a soft laugh, a gentle wipe of a thumb, a kiss that tasted like dark chocolate and something sweeter.
The last swim class of the summer started with Nicky shouting, “It’s my pool now!”
By the end, Coach Rio let him blow the whistle—twice—before she laughed and ran after him with a towel.
Agatha sat on the bleachers, one leg crossed over the other, iced coffee in hand and one of Rio’s hoodies draped over her sundress. It hung loose and lived-in, the sleeves pushed up, the faint scent of lavender and chlorine still clinging to the cuffs. She wasn’t pretending to read flyers today. She was watching them—her two favorite people in the world, wide open and full of light.
Nicky’s giggles echoed around the tiled room as Rio scooped him up like a sack of flour and dunked him gently one last time. He surfaced shrieking with laughter, goggles askew.
“Okay, Jellyfish,” Rio said. “Let’s towel off before you flood the lobby.”
Nicky burst through the double doors a few minutes later, soggy and radiant.
“Mommy, Mommy! I did the big float all by myself!” Nicky shouted, slipping a little on the tile and catching himself like a superhero. “AND Froggy says I get a popsicle and root beer. Both!”
“Did he now?” Agatha said, standing to brush imaginary lint from her lap. “We’ll see.”
Behind him, Rio appeared with a towel slung over one shoulder, damp hair clinging to her cheeks. Her shirt stuck in places Agatha now knew by heart. She lit up when she spotted Agatha in the hoodie.
“You wear it better than I do,” Rio said, voice soft and playful as she stepped closer.
Agatha smiled, slow and sure. “I know.”
Rio laughed under her breath, like she couldn’t help it—and maybe didn’t want to.
They hadn’t made a big deal out of it. But sometime between the first kiss and the first time Agatha stayed the night, this part—the ease of it—had started to settle in. Like joy didn’t always have to be new to feel overwhelming.
Nicky tugged on Agatha’s sleeve. “We still goin’ to the movies, Mommy? You promised.”
“Yep,” Rio said with a wink. “Popcorn and root beer—my treat, little man.”
They stepped out into the heat—sunlight pooling on the sidewalk, the soft smell of sunscreen and cut grass drifting through the air. Behind them, Rio locked the center doors, then glanced sideways.
Agatha caught her looking at Nicky—just ahead, swinging Froggy by the leg, humming to himself.
She reached out and took Rio’s hand.
“I want this forever,” she said, barely above a whisper.
Rio didn’t miss a beat. She just squeezed her hand, steady and sure. “You’ve got it, babe.”
As they walked toward the car, Agatha slowed. She turned back toward the pool doors—the glass still fogged, her reflection faint and layered over memory. She glanced down at the hoodie sleeves bunched at her wrists. Her hands looked the same. But now she saw them for what they were—capable. Chosen. Free.
She let out a breath. It caught for a moment—like it had to climb its way through years of silence—but then it came. And with it, a quiet smile.
Not long ago, she’d stood in that same lobby, wondering if she’d missed her chance to live honestly. To be loved fully. To love in return.
But now—
Now Rio’s hand was warm in hers. Nicky’s laughter echoed down the sidewalk. And Agatha knew, deep in her bones, that she wasn’t lost.
The water hadn’t changed.
But she had.
She wasn’t drifting anymore.
And as they reached the car, the line came back to her—dog-eared and underlined, from a book she hadn’t meant to finish so quickly: “She looked at her, and something settled.”
It had. Quietly, completely, and without question.