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(2020) - Hopkins, Minnesota

Paige tells herself she isn’t stalling. 

She’s “testing the door’s structural integrity,” which is absolutely not the same thing as hovering in the doorway of her own bedroom like a golden retriever waiting for its owner to look at her.

There are cardboard boxes taped shut, a bulletin board covered in ticket stubs and crooked Polaroids. In half the photos, Azzi is there: all cheekbones and dimples and the kind of pretty that makes strangers whisper "gorgeous," the way you say “wow” when you see a chandelier.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Azzi says, not looking up. “It’s rude.”

“Bro, It’s like a constitutional right to look at art in public spaces" Paige says. 

“This is your property, Paige. Not a public space” Azzi corrects her.

Azzi’s tone isn’t cruel, just factual, but it slices straight through Paige’s half joking smile. 

She laughs, because she always laughs first “Right. I’m just… talking.”

She looks away quickly as her face burns. 

This is exactly what I mean. I say dumb stuff. I always say dumb stuff.

UConn will be full of people who never say dumb things. People who can quote philosophers or at least know how to pronounce quinoa. 

Paige can read a defense like a psychic, but she couldn’t tell you her own GPA without wincing.

She hears Azzi stop folding when the sound of fabric against wood ceases;

“You’re doing it again,” Azzi says softly.

Paige blinks. “Doing what?”

“Calling yourself dumb in your head.” Azzi’s voice has that steady calm that never fails to disarm her “You’ve been doing that all week.”

Paige tries to joke “I mean, I do need to use my fingers to do the times tables.”

“Paige.”

“No, seriously” She forces a grin. “It’s fine.”

Azzi walks over, and Paige watches the small movements, the slight tilt of her head, the way her curls bounce against her shoulder.

Her face is ridiculous: perfect skin, soft brown eyes, the kind of pretty that makes people nervous. 

“You’re not dumb,” Azzi says, standing close enough that Paige can smell the sugar in her lip balm.

Paige tries to laugh, but it catches in her throat. “Sure”

Azzi shakes her head. “You’re one of the smartest people I know.”

Paige looks at her, confused by how certain she sounds “Azzi, I once misspelled my own name on a math test.”

Azzi’s mouth softens "You’re smart. You read people so well, P. You know when I’m upset before I even know I'm upset.”

Paige shrugs, trying for casualness “You’re easy to read.”

“Shut up,” Azzi says, laughing as she gives Paige’s shoulder a light shove. “I’m complimenting you.”

Paige grins, the embarrassment fading into affection “Sorry, thank you, princess” Paige leans forward and kisses her before Azzi can retort.

Azzi kisses back once.

When the brunette pulls away, her forehead rests against Paige’s. “You know you call me princess too much, right? It’s getting annoying, you’re going to say it in front of someone eventually."

Paige grins “First Amendment. Freedom of speech.”

Azzi narrows her eyes “You’re obsessed with the amendments today”

“I know them all.”

“You absolutely don’t.”

“Sure I do. There’s the one about free speech, the one about soldiers not crashing at your house —”

Azzi pulls back, surprised “That’s the Third Amendment.”

“See? I told you. I’m a scholar, mama”

She laughs, a real one this time, the kind that lights her whole face. 

God, Paige loves that laugh, and loves even more that she can earn it.

“You’d tell me if I was stupid, right?” Paige asks quietly, the question hiding real fear under a joke.

Azzi’s answer is immediate “You’re not stupid, but yes. I’ll always tell you when you’re wrong”

Paige smiles, “That’s kinda hot.”

“Everything’s hot to you.”

“Only when you say it.”

Azzi laughs, shaking her head. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Hot idiot,” Paige says, grinning.

Azzi kisses her one more time, just to shut her up.

(2021) Storrs, Connecticut

Paige had decided that reading was war, and the enemy was sentences.

She sat cross-legged on her dorm bed, the lamplight spilling over a half-open copy of The Summer I Turned Pretty, its pages already soft from guilt. 

The book was a year old now, the birthday gift Azzi had given her last October, the same set Paige had insisted she wanted because Azzi wouldn’t stop talking about them.

She remembered that night vividly: Azzi explaining plotlines, Paige pretending she didn’t care and then asking fifty questions. 

Azzi had smiled and said, “I’ll get you the books”

Paige had loved that idea. She just hadn’t loved the actual reading part.

Well, she’d tried (once or twice) but the words would blur after a few pages, her eyelids heavy, her brain spinning. It wasn’t that she couldn’t read, she just couldn’t stay. 

Tonight, though, she was determined. 

It was the week before her birthday, and she’d decided that this year, she would finally read the damn thing.

She’d even turned off her phone (a miracle in itself).

The door opened softly.

Azzi poked her head in, curls loose, hoodie hanging off one shoulder, and the warm lamplight catching on the gloss of her lips.

 “Oh, sorry,” she said, eyes widening when she saw the book “You’re busy.”

Paige looked up, smirking “Caught me mid-literature, baby”

Azzi blinked, then grinned “Oh, you’re actually reading it?”

“Wow, the condescension jumped out”

“I’m not being condescending,” Azzi laughed, stepping into the room. “It’s just… really cute that you’re reading the book I got you last year.”

Paige’s cheeks warmed “Don’t make it sound like I’m illiterate."

“Did you finish any of them?”

Paige rolled her eyes, closing the book “Okay, rude.”

“So, no?”

She groaned. “I tried, bro? I really did. I started at your place, remember? And then I fell asleep by page, like, six.”

Azzi’s laugh filled the dorm.

Paige rubbed her neck, embarrassed “I’m sorry. I just… I don't like reading. I want to, I really do. It’s just, my brain goes fuzzy”

Azzi crossed the room, she leaned against the desk, watching Paige like she always did. “Hey,” she said quietly, “you don’t have to like the same things I do”

“I know, I just—” Paige sighed, “I wanted to do something that you like.”

Azzi’s voice softened "You do a lot of stuff I like.”

“Besides,” Azzi continued, smiling now, “you love football. I hate football, and you don’t call me stupid for it.”

Paige looked up. “You’re right.”

“I know I am.”

Azzi pushed off the desk and walked to the bed, tugging lightly at Paige’s wrist. “Do you like my voice?”

Paige blinked, thrown “What?”

“My voice. Do you like it?”

“Of course I do,” Paige said, grinning. “It’s, my favorite sound”

“Then come here.”

Paige hesitated, but Azzi was already climbing onto the bed, sliding into the corner.

Paige followed, letting herself be maneuvered until her head was resting on Azzi’s lap. Azzi’s fingers slipped into her hair, absent-mindedly combing through it, nails scratching lightly at her scalp.

Paige’s heart nearly stopped. This is about to be good.

Azzi reached for the book “If you won’t read, I’ll do it for you.”

Paige tilted her head. “You’re kidding.”

“Birthday gift, part two”

“That’s not how birthdays work.”

“Quiet,” Azzi said, smiling as she opened the book with one hand

She started to read.

 Her voice was soft, she knew where to pause, how to give the words space. She didn’t just say them, she played them.

Paige didn’t follow the plot, but she didn’t care. The story didn’t matter, the sound did.

Azzi’s free hand kept moving through her hair, slow and rhythmic. Paige felt herself melting into it, the warmth of her thigh against her cheek, the rise and fall of her breath.

Her eyelids got heavy.

Damn, she thought, I’m falling asleep to the sound of a book. That’s a new low.

Almost as if reading her mind, Azzi said softly, “You can fall asleep, you know.”

Paige’s eyes fluttered open “No. I’m following.”

“You’re not.”

“Shut up, yes I am.”

Azzi laughed quietly. 

She set the book down on the nightstand, then leaned over, brushing a kiss across Paige’s cheek “Okay,” she murmured. “Then let’s not read.”

Paige tilted her head, pouting halfheartedly. “No, I was totally invested. I need to know if—uh—what’s her name—gets the guy.”

“Sure you do,” Azzi said, lying down fully, pulling Paige up so she fit under her.

Paige ended up half beneath her weight, half wrapped around her.

Paige murmured “You’d rather cuddle than read?”

Azzi smiled against her neck “Maybe. I think I was brushing your hair more than I was actually reading.”

Paige chuckled, closing her eyes “Good. I liked that part better”

There was a pause, then Azzi whispered, “You know, if they ever make a show out of those books, we’ll watch it together.”

Paige smiled, already fading into sleep. “Yeah,” she mumbled. “You won’t have to explain the plot.”

Azzi laughed softly “I always do”

Azzi’s hand kept tracing soft circles through her hair, until she fell asleep.

(2023) Storrs, Connecticut

Azzi isn’t used to parties this loud.

She’s twenty-one now, officially legal, technically grown, and still somehow the same girl who checks twice before entering a crowded room. Her fingers stay very much wrapped around Paige’s hand, the only fixed point in the moving of bodies and light.

Paige moves through the crowd like she owns it, as always. She’s laughing with someone at the door, shouting greetings, nodding toward another room; people part for her without meaning to.

Azzi just follows, trying not to lose her grip. 

Paige keeps glancing back, squeezing her hand every few seconds, like a Morse code of reassurance: you’re fine, I’ve got you, stay close.

Paige looks unfair tonight: a cropped black tank, loose jeans, hair twisted into a messy bun under a gray beanie, there’s a pair of glasses perched on her nose.

Azzi thinks, you shouldn’t be allowed to be this hot in public.

When they reach the bar, Paige taps her shoulder over the music.

“Hey, babe. Can you grab us a couple drinks? Same as last time, vodka cranberry for me, tequila sunrise for you.”

Then she’s gone again, swallowed by another wave of hellos and noise.

Azzi turns toward the bar, and the counter it’s like an obstacle course: bottles lined up, bartenders moving at impossible speed, people calling out orders she doesn’t understand.

Vodka cranberry. Tequila sunrise. She repeats the words like a test she didn’t study for.

When it’s finally her turn, she freezes. There are too many bottles, too many choices, and her mouth goes completely dry. 

She knows plays, she knows stats, she knows the feeling of a perfect jumper leaving her fingertips, but she has no idea what goes in any of these fucking glasses. 

Unfortunately Azzi  has never read the metaphorical book of “How to Be Effortlessly Cool in Social Situations 101”

Someone elbows past to flag the bartender, shouting something about whiskey neat.

Azzi steps back, heat climbing up her neck. 

Maybe Paige will forget she asked, maybe the drinks will materialize out of pity.

“Hey.”

Paige’s voice, behind her, close enough that Azzi feels it in her chest before she turns

“Did you get them?” Paige asks, leaning in.

Azzi hesitates then, quietly, “I didn’t know how to.”

Paige blinks “How to what?”

“How to order them.” The words tumble out in a rush. “I didn’t know which one was which, or what goes in them, and I didn’t want to ask because—” she stops herself, embarrassed. 

Azzi looks away “I didn’t want to look dumb.”

Paige steps closer, until their hips almost touch. “You’re not dumb,” she says again, firmer this time. 

One hand finds Azzi’s waist, fingers warm through the thin fabric of her shorts “You’re barely twenty-one. You’re not supposed to know drink recipes, that’s why I exist.”

The breath Azzi’s been holding escapes as a laugh.

“C’mere.”

Paige laces their fingers together and guides her to the counter, the bartender grins when he sees her.

 “Bueckers! You made it.”

“Of course,” Paige calls back, sliding into conversation like she’s been doing it her whole life. 

They exchange a fist bump, start talking about football, a language Azzi doesn’t speak but loves to hear. 

Paige’s voice is all quick rhythm, she’s charming without trying. The bartender laughs too loudly at something she says, and Azzi feels a pulse of pride rather than jealousy. 

That’s my girlfriend.

Paige orders the drinks with ease, tossing around words Azzi’s never heard “cranberry on the light side,” “no salt rim, she hates it” and the guy nods like she’s reciting scripture. 

Watching her, Azzi feels the same rush she does watching Paige on the court: that easy command of space, the quiet authority of someone who just knows.

It’s intoxicating.

When the drinks slide across the table, Paige thanks the guy and turns back, “See? Easy.”

“Yeah,” Azzi says, half-smiling “For you.”

They find a high-top near the dance floor, and Paige sets the drinks down, presses one into Azzi’s hand “Try it.”

Azzi sips, winces. “Strong.”

“That’s the point.” Paige laughs, eyes glinting behind her glasses.

They weave back through the crowd, the music is heavier now, bass vibrating through Azzi’s ribs. She sips the drink again (sweet, citrusy, too strong) and feels warmth rise in her chest. 

Paige is talking to someone from the soccer team, laughing, her hand still resting casually on Azzi’s lower back. Azzi knows it’s a little unhinged to find social competence sexy, but she does.

After a while, Paige turns to her, grinning, hair slipping from her bun. “You okay, babe?”

Azzi nods. 

Then, impulsively: “I need to tell you something.”

Paige’s smile falters. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s important,” Azzi says, voice low.

Concern flickers across Paige’s face “Okay, let’s go somewhere.”

She leads her down the hall, past the noise, until they find an empty bedroom lit by a single lamp. 

The door clicks shut behind them, and the world narrows to just the sound of their breathing.

Paige turns to her. “Talk to me. What happened?”

Azzi doesn’t answer, she steps forward, presses Paige back against the wall, and kisses her.

The first touch is quick, almost clumsy, but the second is very sure.

Paige’s surprise melts into something warmer, her hand slides automatically to the curve of Azzi’s ass, then higher, fingers tracing circles against her back.

Azzi exhales into the kiss, her nerves burning off in the heat between them. 

Paige tastes like a drink Azzi can’t name.

When they part, Paige’s voice is rough against her ear. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.” her breath is hot, her hands still gripping tight.

Azzi’s mouth curves, the alcohol making her brave. “Then don’t handle me so rough,” she murmurs, voice low, teasing “You do that and I’ll just do it again.”

Paige huffs a laugh against her temple. “God, you’re drunk.”

“Maybe.”

“You talk dirty when you’re drunk. It’s kind of unfair.”

Azzi tilts her head, smiling lazily. “I just like you taking care of me.”

Paige groans, forehead dropping to her shoulder “Now you’re trying to make me talk dirty”

“I know.”

That earns her another kiss, slower this time, Paige’s thumb brushing along her jaw, the world outside the door fading away.

Paige’s smile turns soft “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Only for you.”

“Lucky me.” Paige murmurs “Now, drink some water before you say more things that’ll make me kiss you again.”

Azzi laughs, but doesn’t argue. 

(2024) Storrs, Connecticut

Azzi always thought there was something uniquely cruel about doing interviews after a game.

You’ve just run for forty minutes, your legs are tired, your lungs are still trying to figure out what happened, and then someone hands you a microphone.

Azzi hates it, always has.

Her hair’s damp against her neck, the white UConn jersey clinging in uneven patches, and she’s trying not to think about how gross she feels.

Next to her, Paige looks annoyingly unbothered. Still flushed, still sweaty, but sitting straight, chin up, expression calm and sure. 

Azzi thinks it’s unfair, how someone can look that good after forty minutes of sprinting. Her blonde hair doesn't have a singlet flyaway, blue eyes sharp even under the fluorescent glare. 

She looks like the whole world’s made to catch her at good angles.

Azzi straightens her posture just to look less disheveled next to her.

The moderator’s voice cuts through the murmuring press: “Questions for the players?”

Hands go up, and the familiar clicking of recorders starts.

Paige answers the first one, then the second, then the third.

She’s ridiculous at this, perfectly calm, articulate, never stumbles. The words line up politely for her in her brain, waiting their turn.

And Azzi watches her with the same reverence people reserve for miracles.

She remembers the first time she saw it, Paige as a sophomore, standing behind a podium, laughing off a tough loss with charm that made reporters laugh too.

God, everyone else fumbled, but Paige made it look like it was easy.

Azzi still hasn’t figured out how she does it.

A question breaks through her trance, she blinks, realizing she’s been staring at the slope of Paige’s nose for too long.

The reporter says something about teamwork, looking at both of them this time. “You two seem to have developed great chemistry on the court — can you talk about how that connection’s evolved this season?”

Usually, they ask Paige, but now, the microphones are angled toward both of them.

Paige glances sideways at her, the corner of her mouth twitching in a small smile “You take this one?”

Absolutely not, Azzi thinks. I wasn’t even listening. I was busy looking at your face.

She swallows, forces a small grin. “You’re doing great,” she says under her breath.

Paige raises an eyebrow. 

“You’re really good at this,” Azzi murmurs “You should keep going.”

The way Paige’s jaw tightens tells her she’s fighting a blush. Azzi’s proud of that, she’s media-trained down to her molecules — until Azzi Fudd says something soft in a tone no one else is supposed to hear.

Paige whispers back quietly, “Nice try.”

Azzi, still smiling sweetly for the crowd, adds, “Seriously, you’re so good” her voice is quiet, but she knows Paige hears the layer underneath:

 I know you like the praise, I’ll keep going if you don’t take over.

Paige bites the inside of her cheek, eyes darting toward her.

“Go on,” Azzi coaxes, feigning innocence. “You’re better with words.”

Paige tilts her head, amused but exasperated. “Azzi.”

Azzi leans a little closer, pretending to fix the mic on her jersey. “Please?” she whispers, her tone sugary sweet “You sound so good.”

She watches Paige’s throat work as she swallows hard, the giveaway that Azzi’s winning.

“Fine,” Paige says finally, clearing her throat “Yeah, I can—uh—answer that.”

She turns back to the reporters, slipping effortlessly into her professional cadence, though Azzi can hear the faint tremor under it.

“I think what makes us work,” Paige says, gesturing between them, “We’ve known each other long enough that we can read each other’s movements, not just plays. We know how to make space for each other”

Her voice is steady, confident, but Azzi can see it now, the faint pink creeping across her cheekbones, the way her hand grips the mic a little tighter.

She can feel Paige’s awareness of her, even as she’s speaking.

Azzi smiles to herself.: Caught you.

The reporters eat it up, nodding, scribbling notes, and Paige finishes her answer like a pro.

Azzi leans toward her again, voice barely audible under the sound of the next question. “You’re blushing,” she whispers.

Paige doesn’t look at her, but her lips curve into the faintest smile. “You’re evil.”

Azzi sits back, crossing her arms, fighting the urge to laugh.

She knows CD is probably going to lecture them later about professional boundaries, but she doesn’t care.

She likes watching Paige be brilliant, and likes even more knowing she can shake her composure with a single line.

(2025) Storrs, Connecticut

Paige had always known Azzi was a bad driver, not catastrophically bad — just bad.

To be fair, Paige had taught her, which might’ve been the problem. She’d tried her best, but Azzi as a student was a handful. She hated being corrected, hated following instructions, and preferred when Paige just reached over and did it for her.

So Paige did (repeatedly)

Now, a few years later, Azzi was still terrible.

The winter air bit at her cheeks as they crossed the parking lot outside the diner. Their rare Friday off, one whole week without practice, a luxury before the tournament season picked up again. 

Paige jingled Azzi’s car keys, and Azzi was already sliding into the passenger seat.

“You’re not even gonna pretend to drive your own car?” Paige asked, eyebrows raised.

Azzi shot her a look, curls bouncing under the beanie. “I could drive, you just always do.”

Paige grinned “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is when you act smug about it”

“I’m not smug. I’m just stating facts, bro.”

Azzi crossed her arms. “You know what? Fine. I’ll drive.”

Paige blinked “Really?”

“Yeah”

“It’s dark out.”

“So?”

“I don’t have a helmet.”

Azzi glared. “You’re insufferable.”

Paige tossed the keys at her. “All right, Hamilton. Let’s see it.”

Azzi huffed, but there was determination in her eyes, the same one she got before a three-pointer. Paige found it adorable.

She also found everything about Azzi adorable, which was becoming a recurring problem.

The car smelled faintly like vanilla and gum, and the dashboard lights cast a blue glow across Azzi’s face as she adjusted the mirrors. Her lips were pursed, brows furrowed, curls spilling from her hood.

The blonde tried not to laugh.

“Seatbelt,” Paige said.

“Don’t start.”

“Just saying, safety first.”

Azzi turned the ignition with unnecessary drama “You taught me, remember? If I’m bad at this, it’s because you’re a bad teacher.”

Paige clutched her chest “Excuse me? I am an excellent teacher, you were a bratty student.”

They bickered all the way out of the lot, voices overlapping with the hum of the engine. The road stretched ahead, empty under the streetlights and Snow dusted the sidewalks; the windows fogged slightly from their laughter.

After a few minutes, Azzi said, “See? Perfectly fine.”

Paige leaned back, half-smiling “You’re tense.”

“I’m concentrating.”

“Bro, you’re gripping the wheel like it’s running away from you.”

Azzi shot her a quick glare “Do you want me to crash?”

“No, I want you to relax. Tell me something smart while you drive. Multitask”

“Something smart,” Azzi repeated, drumming her fingers on the wheel. “Um… so, in business law, we were talking about contract enforceability last week —”

Paige blinked. “Of course you were.”

“No, listen,” Azzi said, and suddenly her voice changed “Like, there are all these cases about people making deals that aren’t technically valid because there’s no ‘mutual assent,’ right? It’s basically just a fancy way of saying both sides have to actually mean it. You can’t make a contract by accident, or when you’re joking”

Paige watched her, the way her brow furrowed when she was focused, how her lips curved slightly around every careful word. 

“So,” Azzi continued, “like, if I said, ‘Paige, I’ll pay you a million dollars if you let me drive home,’ it wouldn’t count because I’m obviously being sarcastic. Unless you could somehow prove I wasn’t.”

Paige grinned “Oh, I’d find a way, mama”

Azzi laughed, glancing at her before looking back at the road. “You’re so annoying”

Paige said “But, for real, you actually sound like a lawyer right now.”

“You don’t know what a lawyer sounds like, P.”

“No,” Paige said, still watching her, “I don’t, but that’s really smart.”

Azzi smirked “You think me talking about business law is hot.”

Paige didn’t deny it. “Baby, I think you talking about anything with that look on your face is hot.”

Azzi’s laugh was quiet, but the corners of her mouth stayed curved. “You’re so easy.”

“And you’re so smart,” Paige shot back. “Terrible driver, though.”

“Shut up.”

When they finally pulled into the lot by the apartment, Azzi eased the car forward and started to park  (It did not go well)

Too wide, then too narrow, then: What the fuck is she doing, dog.

Paige bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“Don’t,” Azzi warned. “Don’t you dare.”

“It’s okay, baby,” Paige managed, shoulders shaking. “You’re doing great.”

Azzi slammed the gearshift, scowling. “I can’t. I hate this.”

Her voice went soft, the tone that made Paige weak every time.

“Move,” Paige said.

“What?”

“I’ll park for you.”

“From this seat?”

“Watch me, bro” Paige leaned over her, one hand bracing the headrest, the other finding the wheel. Azzi froze, heat rising to her cheeks as Paige’s breath brushed her jaw.

 “You handle the pedals. I’ve got the wheel.”

Azzi swallowed, fingers tightening on the gearshift. “You’re bossy”

“Yeah, yeah,” Paige said, close enough that her breath brushed Azzi’s ear. “Okay, reverse. Slow.”

Azzi pressed the pedal, the car rolled back a few feet, and Paige turned the wheel carefully, her wrist brushing Azzi’s arm.

“Good, now brake… perfect. Forward, just a touch.”

Azzi obeyed, pulse quickening for no logical reason. 

“Harder,” Paige murmured “You can go a little harder.”

Azzi’s laugh came out shaky “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Maybe,” Paige said, steering them straight again “Now ease off… good. Perfect, look at that.”

And, somehow, they rolled neatly between the lines. 

Paige shifted the gear into park with a satisfied click and sat back, grinning. 

Azzi shook her head, cheeks flushed. “You’re such a dork”

Paige leaned forward, “Admit it, that was hot.”

“Shut up.”

“Say thank you.”

“Thank you,” Azzi muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Good girl.” Paige laughed, opening her door.

Azzi felt the heat in her cheeks, but decided to keep up with her contrarian shit “You really think that “parking bit” was hot?”

Paige grinned “You know it was.”

“No, It wasn’t,” Azzi said, trying for indignation but failing, her blush gave her away.

Paige sat back, stretching “Baby, you’re an awful liar. Don’t even try.”

“I didn’t find it hot, sorry” Azzi said again, climbing out of the car, slamming the door for emphasis.

Paige followed, laughing, hands in her jacket pockets.

The parking lot was quiet now, lights reflecting off the thin layer of frost on the ground.

“Come on,” Paige said, catching up. “You really didn’t think it was hot?”

“Nope.”

“Not even a little?”

“Nope.”

Paige stepped closer, her grin turning sly. “So if I do this” she pressed a hand lightly against Azzi’s waist, “you’re not, like, flustered at all?”

“Paige, someone could see.”

“And if they do?” Paige leaned in, voice low. “You think people don’t already know?”

Azzi’s breath was caught, and Paige smiled against her ear. “You love it.”

“Maybe,” Azzi muttered, smiling despite herself

Paige kissed her cheek, then her jaw. “So we can’t take this upstairs?”

“Carol’s probably awake.”

“Is she?”

“She is.”

Paige threw her head back, fake groaning “Damn that sucks for her”

“Can you be quiet?”

Paige grabbed her shirt, pulling her forward for one more kiss.

Someone could see, and Paige didn’t care.

When she pulled back, her grin was pure mischief. “I can be quiet,” she whispered. “Can you?”

Azzi’s answering smile was shy. “You know I can’t.”

(2038) Minneapolis, Minnesota

By November, even the smallest things felt enormous: groceries, parking, bending down to tie a shoe.

Azzi loved being pregnant, but at thirty-six weeks, the word love came with conditions.

The cart wheels squeaked under the lights of the grocery store. God, her back ached, her feet ached, even her eyelashes felt heavy. 

She checked her phone — 8:47 p.m, and Paige hadn’t texted back yet.

Maya’s probably still awake, Azzi thought, guilt fluttering in her chest. 

Their six-year-old was usually asleep by eight-thirty, but nights with Paige tended to stretch longer with all the movie marathons, and the “five more minutes” turning into thirty.

Azzi tossed a box of pasta into the cart, wincing when it hit too loudly. She wanted nothing more than to get home, kick off her shoes, and stop being upright.

By the time she pulled into the driveway, the house was dark except for the faint glow of the living room lamp. 

That was strange, she knew her girls, Paige and Maya’s evenings usually sounded like a small zoo, with the occasional crash of a toppled tower of blocks.

She eased the front door open “Paige?”

No answer

She followed the faint sound of a voice down the hall, it sounded like the softest version of Paige’s voice she had ever heard.

When she reached Maya’s room, the door was cracked open. 

Lord, the sight made her heart stutter.

Maya lay curled beneath her blanket, curls tucked into a tiny pink bonnet (the wrong side out). Her stuffed unicorn guarded the pillow, and Paige lay beside her, propped on one elbow, reading softly from a worn copy of Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief.

Paige looked beautiful in the lamplight: hair messy from the day, glasses slipping down her nose, an oversized sweatshirt draped over her shoulders. She turned a page with the same care she used when handling a basketball.

“…and that’s when Percy realized the pen was a sword,” Paige murmured, voice low and steady.

Maya’s eyes fluttered, half-asleep, the smallest smile on her lips.

Azzi stood there, hand resting on her round belly, her heart suddenly too full.

The same book Paige had taken months to finish when she was twenty-five, curled on their old couch insisting she’d “finally get into reading if it kills me.”

And now here she was, reading it to their daughter, her voice as gentle as it possibly could be.

Azzi giggled quietly, pressing a hand to her lips, the sound made Paige glance up.

Their eyes met: blue on brown, both softened by years of love. 

Paige smiled, small and tired and achingly sweet.

“She’s out,” she mouthed.

Azzi nodded, she mouthed back, "You’re cute"

Paige grinned. "You love me".

Azzi rolled her eyes, though her chest felt warm enough to glow. 

She backed out of the doorway and shuffled to their room, by the time she finished her shower and brushed her teeth, the house was quiet again.

When Azzi stepped back into the bedroom, Paige was already there, glasses on, still reading Percy Jackson (of course).

Azzi laughed. “You’re reading ahead?”

Paige looked up, grinning. “Homework. I have to stay one chapter ahead of Maya, she gets mad if I can’t explain stuff.”

Azzi shook her head, climbing carefully into bed. “You’re so cute.”

Paige shifted over to help her, one arm sliding around her shoulders, the other hand gently lifting the heavy curve of her stomach. “Here,” she said softly, “come here, mama.”

Azzi exhaled, letting Paige’s strength do the work for her. 

The motion was so practiced it almost made her tear up.

When Azzi was settled, Paige leaned down and kissed her stomach, slow and so damn reverent.

“You know what?” Paige said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“What?”

“I was thinking earlier, you’ve done all the hardest things. Carrying Maya, carrying Diana now” Paige’s grin softened. “You make it look so easy.”

Azzi laughed quietly, fingers brushing through Paige’s hair. “None of this is easy.”

“Maybe not,” Paige said, pressing another kiss just above her belly button “But you make it look brilliant”

Azzi smiled, hand finding Paige’s cheek. “That’s because I picked the right person to do it with.”

Paige looked up at her, the same blue eyes Azzi had fallen for years ago, now the same shade reflected in their daughter’s. “You think we’re smart for doing this twice?” she teased.

“I think we’re out of our minds,” Azzi said, laughing softly. 

Paige climbed up beside her, tucking herself into the curve of Azzi’s body, resting one hand over her belly.

Azzi traced slow circles over Paige’s knuckles.

“Hey,” Paige murmured. “She kicked earlier, didn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

“Think she’ll be more like you or me?”

Azzi smiled. “Hopefully smarter than both.”

Paige chuckled, sleepy. “It’s likely."

“You’re smart,” Azzi whispered.

“I am, I married you,” Paige said, voice fading into a grin.