The arcade's owner, it seemed, had a conscience. Every claw machine was filled with plush toys that were genuinely adorable—none of those cheap, misshapen things that looked like they'd crawled out of a nightmare.
Grace Barron tried four, maybe five times before she finally managed to snag a bright yellow Pikachu, its stitching neat and its expression cheerfully innocent. She handed it to Jane MacAdam, then—almost without thinking—turned her head toward the other side of the arcade, where Oakley Ponciano and Lina Quinn were laughing together.
Jane noticed the glance and tilted her head, puzzled. "Grace… what's wrong?"
"Nothing." Grace shook her head lightly, but her eyes lingered for a beat too long before she turned back. After a moment's silence, she asked, almost casually,"Jane, have you ever… had a crush on someone?"
Jane blinked. The question hit her like a sudden gust of wind. "What?"
She hadn't prepared for this—hadn't imagined Grace would ask something so intimate. Her ears burned, hot as a kettle left too long on the stove. She nodded, stiffly. "Yes."
That someone is you, she thought.
She had believed, for a time, that those feelings had faded—that she didn't like anyone, man or woman. But seeing Grace again had shattered that illusion. Grace carried the same quiet radiance she had the first time Jane met her. No matter how many years passed, that feeling remained unchanged.
Grace's voice was gentle, curious. "And… did it ever lead anywhere?"
Jane's heart thudded painfully. Her tongue felt clumsy. "N-no," she stammered. How could it? Grace is married now. And even if she weren't… it would never happen. I just know it.
Grace studied her face, misreading the tension as something else—perhaps the ache of an old, unfulfilled love. "Do you still like that person?" she asked softly.
"Yes," Jane whispered. Her thoughts were a tangled skein, impossible to smooth out.
Grace hesitated, then spoke again, her tone quieter, almost searching, "If… if the person you liked was married, but you met them again—and you still liked them—and you ended up spending time together… would you hope for something to happen?"
The question hung between them like a fragile thread. Grace hadn't meant to pry, but Ellisa Cheney's betrayal had left scars. Once bitten, twice shy—that old saying felt truer than ever.
Jane pressed her lips together, then lifted her gaze. "Honestly? Of course you'd hope for something. That's what feelings do. But… my sense of right and wrong wouldn't let me act on it. That's just me, though. I can't speak for others. I wouldn't do it—but that doesn't mean someone else wouldn't."
Her voice steadied as she went on. "I've seen people steal what isn't theirs. People who seem so upright—until they're not. And if the person being pursued can't resist temptation… well, then something will happen."
Her words were calm, almost clinical, but they carried weight. Grace nodded slowly, her thoughts circling back to Oakley and Lina. Laughter drifted from their corner, bright and careless. Grace's eyes flicked toward them again.
Jane followed her gaze—and suddenly understood. Grace wasn't asking for no reason. She was unsettled. "Grace," Jane said quietly, "do you… think Lina likes your wife? That she's trying to… steal her?"
The question landed like a stone dropped into still water. Grace's spine went rigid. Jane's bluntness was almost shocking—so direct it left no room for evasion.
Grace had never been the jealous type. Her heart was big, her trust deep. But Ellisa Cheney had changed something in her. Made her wary.
Jane's eyes were wide, earnest. "Are you afraid your wife might… not have enough self-control?"
Grace snapped out of her spiral like a rope had been cut. "No," she said firmly, shaking her head. "Absolutely not."
Jane blinked. "Then—"
"Then Oakley is not that kind of person," Grace said, her voice solemn. "She's not some… eight-legged deep-sea octopus."
Jane stared. "An… octopus?" Grace nodded gravely. "A cheating monster."
Jane choked on a laugh, coughing into her fist. Grace didn't smile. "If Oakley ever did something like that," she said, "then there wouldn't be a single decent soul left in this world."
Her voice softened, almost reverent "Besides… she told me I'm her favorite."
Grace's eyes lingered on the LED lights framing the claw machine, their glow reflected in her irises. Jane pressed her lips together. She understood now—Grace's love for Oakley ran deep, unwavering. Even in moments of doubt, she crowned Oakley with halos, turned her into something sacred.
Jane looked down at the Pikachu in her hands. Her chest felt tight, tangled with emotions she couldn't name. She had planned to lock away her feelings tonight, to seal them like old letters in a box. But instead, she had been fed a feast of affection—love so palpable it spilled into every word Grace spoke.
It was bittersweet.
She smiled—awkward, polite, and aching.
Grace's gaze drifted to another machine nearby. Inside hung a giant plush goose—round, ridiculous, irresistibly cute. Its clumsy charm radiated from every inch, a perfect embodiment of "so dumb it's adorable."
Oakley loved geese. She collected memes, laughed at every silly picture. And she adored plush toys. Grace's fingers tightened around the basket of tokens. She would win that goose for her.
This machine was different—no claw, just a blade to cut the string suspending the prize. Grace had never tried this kind before. Curiosity sparked.
She turned to Jane.
"I'm going to try for that one. Want to stay here or look around?"
Jane hugged the Pikachu, glanced around, then shook her head.
"I'll stay."
Her interest in the arcade was thin—rooted only in Grace. Without her, everything else felt hollow.
Grace nodded, then began feeding coins into the machine. The tokens clattered like rain.
Jane watched, then murmured, "Honestly… I never imagined you'd be like this."
Grace tilted her head, eyes on the joystick.
"Like what?"
Jane's voice was soft, almost wistful.
"So… in love."
She had always pictured Grace as untouchable—gentle, yes, but distant, like sunlight behind glass. Someone immune to the messy gravity of desire. But now… Grace was human. Flesh and blood. Vulnerable.
Grace smiled faintly.
"Strange, isn't it? But she's that kind of person. The kind you can't help but look at twice."
Her words flowed as she maneuvered the blade, breath held in concentration.
"I've never met anyone like her. She's… luminous. Even in darkness, she shines."
Jane listened, silent. Grace's voice was threaded with admiration, every syllable steeped in tenderness. Her eyes softened, her smile curved like a secret.
And Jane understood—Oakley was Grace's world. Just as Grace had once been hers.
By the time they left the arcade, night had deepened. Skylark's streets lay hushed, shadows pooling under the lamps. Inside the car, silence stretched—thick, uneasy. Oakley scrolled through her phone, playing Snake. Grace gripped the wheel, then paused, staring ahead.
"Seeing an old friend," she said quietly. "You must've had fun."
Oakley shrugged, tossing her hair.
"More or less."
Her tone was light, but clipped—too brief for her usual chatter. Grace felt the shift like a chill. At the arcade, Oakley had laughed freely. Now, her brightness was gone, sealed behind a door Grace couldn't open.
Grace hesitated, then spoke again.
"I thought you looked happy."
Oakley glanced at her, eyes glinting.
"Don't I always smile when I'm out?"
She yawned, turned back to her phone.
Grace stared at the road, then reached out—touching Oakley's shoulder.
Oakley blinked, startled.
"What?"
Her Snake game ended in that instant. She gasped.
"My snake! It died!"
Her voice was full of mock tragedy, eyes wide
"I was about to break my record!"
Grace's lips twitched.
"Let it die," she said absently.
Oakley froze.
"Excuse me?"
Her look said: Did you just speak human?
Grace winced, realizing how it sounded.
"I mean… you've played enough. Maybe it's time to rest."
Oakley tilted her head.
"Playing is how I rest."
Grace's fingers tightened on the wheel.
"But…" Her voice faltered. Oakley waited, curious.
Grace drew a breath, then turned, her eyes dark and earnest.
"We haven't… really been together tonight."
Oakley frowned. "What?"
Grace's lashes lowered, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's been an hour."
Oakley blinked, confused.
"An hour?"
Grace nodded, gaze steady.
"You haven't talked to me for an hour and five minutes."
Her words fell like a confession—soft, raw, almost childlike.
And in that moment, Oakley saw it: the quiet ache behind Grace's calm, the longing that had been there all along.