Chapter Text
The day after the bachelorette party, Hannah stood in front of Grace’s door with a paper note in her hand. After some debate she had forgone dressing the note in an envelope, preferring the simplicity of giving the letter as it had been composed. It reminded her of passing notes in high school, which she had not participated in but seen.
They hadn’t spoken since the kiss; Hannah wasn’t sure they would have even stopped if Isabel hadn’t arrived at the cottage soon after, the commotion forcing them apart and into their separate spheres. Isabel had “forgotten” that Grace was hosting her bachelorette party that day and demanded the staff clean the remnants off the lawn, and wanting to avoid her mother-in-law, they relocated to the main estate where Grace disappeared into the small blue alcove that was her room. Only her lingering eye contact as she left kept Hannah from falling into a stupor, but now, almost twenty-four hours later, Hannah felt unsure of herself.
Her plan had been simple: When Grace answered the door, Hannah would present the note with a flourish and say something charming or witty — maybe "Good evening" or “It rained two inches in under an hour last night” — and Grace would swoon in a way she never had for Edgar and put her hand on her heart and watch Hannah walk away. Ideally Grace would pull her into a kiss as soon as she saw her and the note would fall to the ground, forgotten. But now Hannah had been standing there for approximately fifty-four seconds and counting and couldn’t bring herself to knock.
Hannah folded the note and prepared to slip it under the door. She had written it the night before.
My dearest Grace — You look beautiful today. I know this even if I have not seen you. I cannot express how important you are. You are my best friend in the world. You did nothing wrong yesterday — but perhaps I did. The thought of souring our relationship, which is so dear to me, fills me with dread. Our kiss has undone my heart and for the first time in my life I feel that I am seeing straight, but should you not feel the same, I fear you will withdraw from our friendship. Nothing needs to change if you wish it to remain the same. Yours, always, Hannah.
The letter had been difficult to write. Emotionally, of course, but also technically; the “G” key stuttered as of late and required more force than the others. Hannah could have used another more functional typewriter, but she appreciated the symbolism of composing the note with the machine that Grace had helped Edgar select for her.
The moment Hannah crouched to deliver the letter, the door opened, un-knocked. She straightened quickly. The action should not have tired her, but she was breathless all the same; Grace did look beautiful. She wore a snug pink t-shirt underneath a white cardigan and loose, flowing brown pants, giving the sensation that she was floating through the air.
“Hannah,” Grace said. She sounded surprised.
“Grace,” Hannah said, sounding delighted. “I—I didn’t expect—”
“Me neither.” Grace smiled. “What are you doing here? I mean, I thought you’d be in your yurt. I was just coming to see you.”
Hannah nodded, trying to compose herself. Seeing Grace for all of five seconds already had her stomach in knots. She couldn’t forget why she was here.
“Do you want to come in?” Grace asked. She stepped back and widened the door. The blues that decorated her room seeped through the entryway and cushioned Grace such that she resembled a siren in the sea. Hannah stepped inside.
“I wrote this for you,” Hannah said. Her eyes could not stay on Grace’s face for long. She laughed slightly as she held up the note and immediately regretted it. This was a serious matter. “You don’t have to read it while I’m here. I just wanted to make sure it got to you. I can leave now.”
Grace’s eyebrows furrowed. “No, stay.” She took the letter from Hannah and closed the door, then moved to sit on the bed. “I want to talk to you even if you don’t want to talk to me.”
“I do want to talk to you,” Hannah said quickly, and she smiled when Grace laughed. “Sorry. I can stay.”
“Thank you.”
Grace watched as Hannah sat next to her on the bed. She wore a small half-smile that Hannah had never seen before. Grace unfolded the note carefully.
“This paper is beautiful,” Grace said. “You know, I’ve always dreamed of being given a love letter. I told Edgar when he bought your typewriter.”
Grace’s eyes held a familiar faraway look; Hannah initially associated it with Edgar, but she had become to understand that Grace wore the expression simply when she spoke about love. Hannah, too, had a preoccupation with romance — not for love, but life — and it was this dreamlike quality that set her apart from everyone she knew, even her brother. Only with Grace did Hannah feel like she was part of something, that she was in on the joke instead of being the joke.
“I’m surprised it hasn’t happened yet,” Hannah said.
Grace hummed and began to read the note. If Hannah could not look at her before, she could not look away now; Grace’s face shifted as she read, her half-smile growing until it took over her face. When she finished, she laughed a little and read it again. For a brief moment, Hannah thought she looked sad — her smile wavered and her eyes blinked quickly — but then the expression was gone.
“It rained two inches in under an hour last night,” Hannah said belatedly.
“That was wonderful, Hannah,” Grace sighed. She folded the note closed. “I think—that’s what I wanted to tell you. I don’t want anything to change.”
“O-kay,” Hannah said. She spoke slowly to let the sudden spike of sadness move through her, but it clung at her heart. This wasn’t unexpected, she reminded herself.
“No, I mean—I don’t want anything to change from yesterday.”
“Before the kiss. Or kisses, plural.” Hannah nodded. “I understand. I’ll see you at dinner?”
Grace pulled Hannah by the collar and kissed her. Hannah gasped into her mouth and cupped her face, returning the kiss gently. Grace made a small sound in the back of her throat and pulled Hannah closer until the two of them fell back on the bed. When the fall caused them to separate briefly, Hannah laughed and kissed her again. She felt Grace smile.
"Do you get it now," Grace murmured.
Hannah did. They stayed there for what felt like hours, and might've been, kissing with an urgency that dipped and peaked; in a bold move, Hannah had held Grace's mouth open by the chin so that their tongues could move languidly against each other, and then later Hannah made an embarrassing noise (or noises, plural) when Grace pulled at her lower lip. They did nothing else — an unspoken boundary made it so, even though Hannah liked Grace's soft inhale as Hannah's hand moved across Grace's bare stomach and up her back.
Later — whatever that meant, Hannah's internal clock was off — they laid on their backs as they listened to the sound of rain against the window. It was dark; she should go back to her yurt soon, or she would hear grief from her mother.
"I should go," Hannah said. She sat up and stood; Grace followed. They walked each other to the door in silence.
It was too late for dinner, so Hannah said, "I'll see you tomorrow?"
Grace held the door open. She wore the half-smile again. "Okay."