The chill bit gently at Ariel’s cheeks as she walked, her breath ghosting visibly in the air. It was one of those gray Seattle evenings that felt like it had settled into permanence with clouds stitched across the sky in heavy silence and the occasional drizzle threatening but never quite arriving. She wrapped her coat tighter around herself as her boots clacked against the sidewalk.

  She’d needed to walk. Just for a bit. Stretch her legs after a long day at the office and let the cold clear her mind. Instead of heading in her usual direction toward home or the nearest cab stand, she took a left on a street she rarely walked. Something about not knowing exactly where she was going felt right. Her hands were buried in her coat pockets, and her pace was slow and unhurried. She passed a few little boutiques already shuttering for the evening, a vintage record store with lights still on inside, and a bookstore that had a handwritten “Closed Early Today” sign on the door.

  A gust of wind tugged at her coat hem. She exhaled sharply through her nose, smiling at the contrast between the cold and the lingering warmth in her chest. She still hadn’t quite come down from the rush of the day: the meetings, the planning, the realization that Holly was really going to be working with her soon. Every time she thought about it, her heart gave this little joyous flutter like a bird testing its wings.

  And then, as she rounded the corner, something caught her eye. A store window softly aglow with gold lighting and delicate displays. A mannequin in the window wore a deep burgundy robe with floral embroidery, and behind it hung a small hand-painted sign:

  “Curves Welcome: Sizes up to 5X in stock.”

  Ariel slowed to a stop.

  It was a lingerie boutique. One she’d never noticed before. The lettering on the glass read Madame Lune, and it looked nothing like the garish mall shops she remembered from her teens. This place was... elegant. And welcoming.

  She tilted her head, her hands still stuffed in her coat pockets.

  Then she grinned.

  A minute later, the small bell above the door jingled softly as she stepped inside. The air was warm and gently perfumed. Vanilla and rose, maybe. Soft music played in the background, something vintage and jazzy. The shop was lined with rich velvet curtains, lace-trimmed shelving, and mannequins of all shapes and sizes showcasing beautiful, complicated-looking pieces in every shade imaginable.

  A sales associate glanced up from behind the counter and gave her a warm smile. “Welcome in, take your time,” she said softly.

  Ariel gave a nod in return, then wandered.

  She ran her fingers gently over a satin robe in emerald green, admired a corset in deep plum, paused in front of a section labeled “Supportive & Sensual.” She blushed a little at some of the more risqué pieces, but there was a little thrill there too. A flicker of heat low in her belly that made her press her thighs together slightly as she moved.

  And then she saw it.

  Tucked on a middle rack, surrounded by blush pinks and pale creams, was a brilliant blue lace nighty. It was short, sheer, with floral patterns embroidered along the bust and hem. The straps were adjustable, and the neckline dipped just enough to toe the line between elegant and devastating.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  But what made her heart stutter was the size tag.

  It was her size. Exactly.

  She stood there for a moment, just staring at it, before her lips curved into a wicked little smile.

  She didn’t need to close her eyes to picture Holly’s face. How those heterochromic eyes would widen, how her mouth would drop open, how the rest of her would follow into a puddle of stunned, worshipful desire. Ariel could already hear the stammered praise, feel the way Holly’s hands would shake just a little as they reached for her.

  “Oh yeah,” Ariel whispered under her breath. “You’re not surviving this.”

  She plucked the nighty from the rack and brought it to the counter, cheeks faintly flushed but her grin entirely unapologetic. The associate barely batted an eye, just folded it with care and tissue paper, then placed it gently in a soft navy-blue boutique bag.

  As soon as Ariel stepped outside, she slid the little bag into her laptop satchel and zipped it shut. It felt like a secret. A delicious, private little secret stashed away next to her spreadsheets and developer notes.

  She stood on the curb, hailed the next cab that passed, and climbed in. The cab jolted forward, and Ariel settled into the seat with a satisfied sigh.

  Outside, the city passed by in quiet golds and silvers.

  But in her bag, blue lace waited.

  The moment Ariel stepped into the apartment, she was greeted by the warm, rich scent of garlic and tomato simmering together in the thick, herb-laced air that instantly coated her in a feeling of home. Her boots thunked softly against the entryway mat as she shut the door behind her, a shiver running through her from the lingering cold outside.

  From the kitchen, she heard a gentle clatter of pans and the cheerful, melodic hum of Holly’s voice, completely absorbed in whatever she was cooking. The glow of the overhead light spilled across the counter, where chopped basil and grated parmesan sat ready in small ceramic bowls.

  Ariel grinned to herself and slipped quietly out of her coat, hanging it with practiced ease. Her bag, still hiding its little secret, she gently set down in the bedroom closet. Out of sight for now. She paused a moment, palm resting on the satchel, a slow smile pulling at her lips.

  Then she waddled into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around Holly from behind.

  Holly let out a soft, delighted giggle, leaning back into the embrace without hesitation. “Well, well,” she teased, still stirring the sauce with a wooden spoon. “If it isn’t my favorite executive.”

  Ariel nuzzled against the crook of her neck. “Hi, babe.”

  “Hi,” Holly murmured, reaching back with one hand to squeeze Ariel’s hip affectionately.

  Ariel swayed with her a moment, holding her close. “It smells incredible in here. Like…painfully good. What is it?”

  “Rigatoni alla vodka,” Holly announced with a proud little bounce. “But I added mushrooms and pancetta, because I know how you look at pancetta.”

  Ariel groaned dramatically. “You’re trying to kill me. In the sexiest, most pasta-based way possible.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Holly said with a smirk.

  Ariel let her arms linger for another long moment, then released her with a kiss to the back of the neck. “Let me go wash up. I want to be properly reverent for this feast.”

  “Good. Because the garlic bread is almost done and I want to watch you melt when you bite into it.”

  Ariel laughed and slipped away, heading to the bathroom. She caught her reflection in the mirror as she turned on the water—rosy cheeks, relaxed eyes, her hair slightly wind-mussed from the walk. She washed her hands slowly, letting the warmth of the water sink into her bones. After drying off with the hand towel, she glanced once more toward the closet and smiled to herself again. Later.