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For the most part, Mel was happy with her life.
She felt fulfilled professionally, at the very least. Though it had taken years of hard work and a few detours to land herself in PTMC, she was thankful for the experiences she had gone through. If the journey had been easy, the payoff wouldn’t have been as rewarding. The Pittfest shooting was a tragedy that ultimately had a silver lining—Mel proved herself as a competent, levelheaded resident, and the attending physicians across all shifts felt that she could shoulder more responsibility. While Mel couldn’t handle the more difficult cases by herself (by nature of the liability involved), her opinion was readily considered, and she was selected often for learning experiences with the doctors. Dr. Shen, especially, always looked to her first, though whether that was because he truly trusted Mel or wanted a more hands-off approach was still unclear.
Her personal life, too, was flourishing. Becca settled into the new environment of their apartment easily, and she loved the center she and Mel picked out for her to go to when Mel was (often) not at home. Despite the unpredictability of her shifts and the demands of the trauma center, Mel hadn’t missed a Friday night in weeks. Becca was always ready by 6:00pm sharp, Mel signed her out of the center, and they spent the night eating takeout (Becca’s choice) and watching Elf. It was a pastime Mel found herself looking forward to every week despite the repetition and the movie she could quote line for line.
She was also friendlier with the people at the ED, which made up the center of the Venn diagram of her life. Mel worked well with the doctors about her, the residents with her, and the medical students below her. At least a couple of times a month she was invited to (and happily attended) a social gathering suggested and arranged by one or more of her coworkers. She’d gone out for drinks with Trinity, Dennis, and Javadi, a strong bond formed between the newbies after the chaos of that first shift. Another week, Dana had invited everyone to her place for a cookout, putting all the men to work and sipping rum punch with Mel, Cassie, Perlah, and Heather that was borderline carcinogenic. (Mel only felt a little bad about pouring her half-full cup into one of Dana’s holly bushes). She had even gotten roped into laser tag with Dr. Abbot, Samira, Dr. Ellis, Dr. Garcia, and Dr. Walsh, which was a terrifying experience she didn’t plan to repeat anytime soon.
Frank came back after the recovery program, and the hospital walked on eggshells around him, as if any stressor would send Frank back down the drain of drug addiction. Mel didn’t see the point in handling him with kid gloves; either he would settle back into the anarchy of the trauma department, or he wouldn’t. The Pitt was a sink or swim environment, and Frank would have to do one or the other. They picked up the friendship where it had left off, a little more tentatively this time, the absence of his ring a glaring reality neither of them spoke about. Apparently, Trinity felt the same way.
To be more specific, the first words Trinity said to him were, “Wow, you look like shit,” in front of the entire department, nurses and all, at the central hub where the cases were divvied up. Mel froze beside her, a tablet in her hands, lips parted from being halfway through discussing the chart notes with Trinity. Frank, gaunt and exhausted, exhaustion bruised purple beneath his eyes, had stared at her for a moment before tipping his head back and laughing. The floor took a collective breath, Perlah and Princess ducking their heads and muttering to each other, Dr. McKay and Victoria turning back to the young woman they were screening.
Mel assumed they must have had a conversation after, at some point, because that wasn’t the sort of observation that could be made without consequences. Frank wasn’t allowed to oversee the residents anymore; he either worked with Heather and other senior residents, or he administered care under the watchful eye of an attending. Prescriptions were off-limits entirely. But Frank continued looking to Mel for input, grabbing her on the way to a case that it wasn’t entirely necessary for her to be present for. It wasn’t normal, by any stretch of the word, but what was normalcy in an emergency room, anyway? Mel preferred this new routine of Frank and Trinity snapping at each other with no teeth, barbs and jokes exchanged that had no real heat behind them. They were like siblings, Mel thought, or perhaps rivals; troublemakers when they were on shift together, jokes and almost-pranks exchanged, but with mutual respect. Mel didn’t ask, but she wondered if Frank appreciated that Trinity had said something.
There was one noticeable exception to her satisfaction with her life, though: Mel hadn’t been on a date in three years.
During that first shift, she had thought, maybe, by the end, Frank Langdon—with his intense blue eyes and dry humor—would have asked her out. She’d seen the ring on his finger, of course, but the grapevine had told her (entirely without Mel asking) that he and Abby were separated and had been for months. Mel had a feeling about Trinity Santos, too—her gaze often lingered around Mel’s mouth when they spoke, and she was always nudging Mel with her elbow, slinging an arm around her shoulders, physical gestures that were welcome but ultimately unnecessary. Once again, Mel thought Trinity was spoken for, based upon the blatant flirtations Trinity and Dr. Garcia exchanged over and around patients.
The stipulation that Frank needed to complete an inpatient treatment program, however, changed the dynamics between every member of the trauma department. His absence was keenly felt, and Mel did not miss how Dr. Garcia stopped having Trinity ride along with her on cases that needed surgical intervention or prep for the surgical department upstairs. Trinity only mentioned it once—whatever, it’s not a big deal, I’m too much of a wildcard anyway—with a flippant tone belied by the bitter twist to her mouth and how she picked relentlessly at the label on her beer when the topic came up.
Weeks later, though, and nothing had happened—still. Frank stared at her intently from across the room, lips parted, his gaze zipping elsewhere when Mel glanced in his direction. Trinity was all hands, fingers brushing Mel’s wrist, squeezing her shoulder, and not a single verbal acknowledgement of any of it. Mel figured this was just them, how they were, friendly in a way that crossed some lines without any intention of following up. It was something she could deal with if it meant she finally had real friends that wanted to spend time with her and that made the slower shifts feel less daunting. Mel also had a habit of misinterpreting social cues, so maybe all this evidence did mean nothing at all.
This new routine changed two weeks before Valentine’s Day.
As with most holidays she didn’t celebrate consistently, Mel was only vaguely aware that it was approaching because red and pink themed decorations were starting to crop up at the hospital and Becca had been discussing a dance the center was having that morning. Since she wasn’t currently in a relationship and she had been striking out recently with her online dating profile, there was no reason for her to look forward to it. Mel didn’t have anything against the holiday on principle—except maybe the commercialization and the requirement of spending money on a loved one to be considered a good partner—but the celebration of love did make her keenly aware of the absence of romantic prospects in her own life.
The locker room was bustling when she entered, a hubbub of activity already at 60 minutes before night shift transitioned into the day shift. She weaved carefully between Dennis chugging a protein coffee drink and Mateo working product into his hair, ducking under the latter’s elbow and turning the corner to where most of the women’s lockers were. Trinity and McKay were both there, the former leaned up against the closed lockers with crossed arms while McKay plucked at her bangs until they settled correctly over her forehead. They were in the middle of a discussion, McKay shaking her head in disbelief. Trinity was still only in an undershirt, which Mel did not study any longer than was appropriate.
“Morning, Mel,” McKay greeted, shooting a smile over her shoulder as Mel typed in her combination.
“Good morning, Dr. McKay,” Mel returned politely, tugging open her door and slipping her bag from her shoulder. “Good morning, Trinity.”
“‘Sup, Mel,” Trinity offered, saluting lazily before she returned her attention to McKay. “You’re serious? No fucking way he tried that.”
“Sure did,” McKay sighed, nodding to herself in the mirror stuck to the inside of her locker and shutting it. “He was waiting for me as soon as I walked in the door. I could’ve killed him if Robby wasn’t standing right there.”
“What happened?” Mel asked, her voice slightly muffled as she pulled her sweatshirt over her head. When she emerged, Trinity was watching her closely, something sharp in her gaze. Mel tilted her head, and Trinity jumped, looking around her and at Cassie again.
“Chad tried to weasel out of his weekend with Harrison so he could get laid on Valentine’s Day,” Cassie explained, shaking her head. “Because obviously I don’t have plans, and it wouldn’t be a big deal if I took him, right?” Cassie snorted.
“Do you have plans?” Mel asked, at the same time Trinity said, “What a dick.”
“I do, actually,” Cassie replied, tugging her sleeves down to her wrists. The heat hadn’t kicked on yet fully, February chill leeching in through the thick hospital walls. Mel couldn’t figure out how Trinity wasn’t freezing, still sans scrub top. “But it isn’t any of his business, and he’s always begging for extra time with Harrison. Suddenly, when he gets the opportunity, he doesn’t want it anymore.” Cassie sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “He’s gonna’ have to deal with it. This is the extra custody we agreed on, and if he misses it, I’m re-applying for full.”
She took that as her cue to exit, and Mel heard Mateo and Dennis both slam their lockers shut, too. Trinity tugged on her scrub top, and then hesitated, shifting her weight.
“Hey, uh—Mel,” Trinity said, and Mel finished clipping her ID badge on, tucking pens into her pockets. She turned to face Trinity, her eyebrows raised expectantly. “I got you something.”
“You did?” Mel asked slowly, and Trinity offered out a long, thin box wrapped in red paper. Mel took the offering gently, tilting it from side to side in examination.
“Yeah, you know. Something I thought you’d like.” Trinity folded her hands behind her back, looking everywhere except at Mel. Mel narrowed her eyes in thought, brain churning—red wrapping paper, Trinity’s discomfort, the coming holiday—and dismissed it all. “You can open it later, if you want.”
“I’ll open it now,” Mel offered, and slid her thumb under the paper, popping the tape off without ripping it. Trinity bit the corner of her lip, wavering like she wanted to flee. She switched to bracing her hands on the back of her head, weight back on her heels. Mel’s eyes widened briefly at the gift—a selection of dark chocolate with various fillings—and then she smiled genuinely, warmly, her gaze fond as it found Trinity’s. “I’ve always preferred dark chocolate. How did you know?”
“Lucky guess,” Trinity answered with a wink, leaning back on her heels. “Don’t eat them all at once, okay?” she joked, and Mel knew it was a joke because Trinity was grinning. “And no sharing, not even if Huckleberry gives you the kicked puppy look.”
“I won’t,” Mel promised, and she slowly pressed two of her fingers to the side of Trinity’s palm, touching without quite holding her hand. “Thank you, Trinity.”
“You’re welcome,” Trinity replied, pink in the cheeks, avoiding Mel’s eyes. The door to the locker banged open, and Mel took her hand back, placing the chocolate delicately on top of her bag. Frank rounded the corner, looking a little harried, his hair messier than usual. It was a good look on him, she thought, a few strands down over his eyebrow, his shirt slightly askew, showing the ridge of one collarbone.
“Mel, I—” he started, and then stopped when he saw Trinity behind her, his eyes flicking curiously—suspiciously—between them. “Santos,” he greeted curtly, and Trinity rolled her eyes.
“Langdon,” she parroted, and then nodded at Mel. Her expression softened a little, and Mel’s lips twitched into a smile. “See you on the floor.” She sidestepped Frank neatly, giving him a light punch on the arm in greeting. Frank grunted, exaggerating the injury by reeling back from the punch, and Mel heard Trinity snort as she left.
“Good morning, Frank,” Mel greeted, closing her locker slowly so it didn’t slam. Frank approached her with some amount of trepidation, Mel noticed, and she frowned, studying his strides until he was within a reasonable conversation distance. One hand was in his pocket, the other held behind his back. She glanced up at him, then, and was unsurprised to find he was already watching her, his eyes very blue under the fluorescent lighting.
“Hey, Mel,” he greeted. Silence fell immediately, sticky and expectant, and Mel waited patiently for him to continue. Both he and Trinity had a habit of waiting for her to shatter it, which Mel only did if she had something relevant to say—a happenstance that was few and far between. Neither of them had learned that quite yet. “Here,” Frank suddenly said, and shoved a bouquet of flowers into her arms, dark pink carnations and birds of paradise in full, beautiful bloom. Mel’s mouth opened in surprise.
“Wow,” Mel said, for lack of anything else. She studied the petals closely, dragging her fingertips over the birds of paradise. Flowers were a common gift given to women, and she was no stranger to bouquets ending up in her care—but this arrangement made every other one she’d received pale in comparison. “These are beautiful.” Mel peered at him from underneath her lashes. “What are they for?”
“Just because,” Frank hedged, his hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders tight—a lie. Mel allowed him this deceit, his discomfort palpable between them.
“Thank you,” Mel said simply, and shifted the flowers so she could touch Frank’s inner elbow. He jumped and then immediately relaxed, his forearm settling more firmly into her palm. “This is a very sweet gesture.”
“You’re welcome.” Frank nodded, mostly to himself, it seemed, and then indicated over his shoulder with a thumb. “I’m gonna’…” he continued, and then fled, his bag still slung over his back. Mel studied the space he was occupying only moments ago for an extra second or two, and then keyed in her combination, leaning the flowers against the wall of her locker. The box of chocolates rested expectantly atop her bag, and Mel’s eyes bounced between them both, considering.
Three days later found Mel on the night shift, which wasn’t exactly her favorite place to be—she had to leave Becca at the center overnight, and the odd hours ruined her sleep schedule for at least a few days after, her internal clock fighting the change and the necessary reset to normalcy. She didn’t work them unless they were already in her schedule or there was some sort of emergency that required her presence on the floor, and unfortunately, it ended up being the latter, this time. Ellis had food poisoning, and though Abbot could theoretically handle the shift with her missing, Mel was available—she didn’t have a good reason to say no, either.
And she liked Dr. Abbot. He could be intense, true, and his stint in the military meant he sometimes ran his shift with a sort of devil-may-care attitude. The improvisation didn’t always gel with her, because she really preferred everything to be orderly and by the book, A + B = C, and so forth. For Abbot, it felt more like A + E = J or sometimes M, and there was no telling which answer it was going to be until she arrived at it. But his experience was unmatched, he allowed her more freedom than she received working under Dr. Robby, and the night shift often delivered more unusual cases. Her most interesting stories always occurred between the hours of 7:00pm and 7:00am.
The lull predictably arrived around 3:00am, as it often did, a singular patient sedated in the trauma bay after jumping into an (empty) pool after several shots, so Mel let Abbot talk her into taking a break. She shuffled through the cafeteria slowly, perusing the snacks and drink options in the cooler. Nothing was jumping out at her, and Mel zoned out for a minute (or two), the labels blurring before her eyes.
“Rise and shine, sweetheart,” a voice said to her right, and Mel startled, her gaze finding Frank’s. Sweetheart. He was holding out a steaming cup, cardboard sleeve in place, and tipping it enticingly in her direction. “Raspberry hibiscus tea, if you want it.”
“Yes, please,” Mel breathed, and took the cup from him, wrapping her hands around it. Warmth immediately seeped into her palms, and she inhaled the earthy, floral scent, revitalized. Frank scanned his card at the electronic register before Mel could even consider getting hers out, and lead her to a table by the windows, a vast, black sea extending out from the hospital that was only periodically broken up by streetlights and the occasional car. “How much do I owe you?” she asked as she took the seat across from him, and Frank waved a hand.
“Don’t worry about it. My treat,” he assured her, and Mel smiled gratefully, sipping slowly. It was still scalding hot, but it warmed her right down to her marrow, perking her up instantly. “Did I make it right?”
“It’s perfect,” she sighed, some of the tension bleeding out of her. Mel didn’t intentionally stand stiff and straight all the time, but it tended to happen, her shoulders back and her spine in one even line throughout her shift. It started to ache, after a while. Frank had only added a little milk, no sugar, which Mel preferred second only to plain, black tea. His smile went wide, so brilliant is almost shined. “Thank you for not getting me coffee. I don’t really drink it.”
“Sure,” Frank replied, and stretched his legs out, his hands around a to-go cup that Mel assumed must be coffee. Most of her coworkers didn’t have the same reservations about caffeine that she did, a fact that sometimes concerned her. They were all heading for a major cardiac event if they kept their intake up. Speaking of, Trinity had just wandered into the cafeteria, her expression perking up when she spied Mel—and then falling, just slightly, when she saw Frank, too. Mel watched her process some internal struggle before she headed in their direction. “I figured. You don’t have that crazy look in your eye that the rest of us do,” he teased, and Mel chuckled.
“That’s just you, Langolier,” Trinity said by way of greeting, plopping into the remaining chair. “The rest of us are perfectly normal, thanks.” Frank scoffed, sipping from his coffee, and nudged her with his foot. Trinity opened a bag of chips with a quick, practiced move.
“Nobody else on this planet has seen that movie, you know,” Frank deadpanned, and Trinity shrugged her shoulders. “And it’s Langoliers.”
“You have,” Trinity pointed out, popping a chip in her mouth. Salt and vinegar, as always. “The title is The Langoliers, by the way.” Mel hid a smile in her tea, and Trinity dropped a protein bar in front of Mel—her favorite kind. “Eat up, babe. You look dead on your feet.”
“Thank you,” Mel said, surprised and warmed by the gesture. Babe. She tore open the packaging and took a bite, making a small noise of satisfaction. Frank gave Trinity a pointed look, and she frowned at him, a hidden conversation passing between the two of them. Mel watched the exchange with some amusement, mostly confusion, and said nothing.
Frank’s phone started buzzing, and he sighed, removing it from his pocket to glance at the screen.
“Break’s over. See you both back up there,” Frank sighed, and placed the lid back on his coffee, cradling it to his chest as he picked his way back through the tables.
“What did you get?” Trinity asked, tipping her chin towards Mel’s drink.
“Raspberry hibiscus tea,” Mel answered, taking another slow sip. It had cooled a little, steam still rising from the liquid. “Frank got it for me,” Mel continued, studying Trinity’s expression closely.
As expected, Trinity’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment, and then her expression relaxed, an intentional erasure of emotional output. Her gaze was out the window, not on Mel, an opportunity Mel utilized to analyze the minute changes in Trinity’s face. There was something going on behind the scenes, Mel realized, though she didn’t have a clue what it could be.
“That was nice of him,” Trinity commented, but her voice sounded strained, like she was saying it for Mel’s benefit and not her own. “Hey, are you doing anything on Thursday?” she asked abruptly, her eyes meeting Mel’s. They were lighter than Frank’s, softer, more baby blue. Mel considered the question, eventually shaking her head.
“No, not that I know of.”
“Okay, cool,” Trinity acknowledged, licking the salt off her fingers. Mel’s gaze tracked the movement, only blinking when Trinity dropped her hand. “There’s a vineyard in Gibsonia I want to try,” Trinity continued, and then frowned in thought. “Wait, do you drink wine? We can do something else.”
“That sounds fun,” Mel quickly assured her, smiling patiently. She and Frank were so similar, sometimes, an observation that Mel hadn’t once voiced aloud. If she didn’t answer fast enough, they both rushed to ask a follow-up question, as if they were trying to cover their tracks. “Who else is coming?”
“Just us,” Trinity responded, and when Mel raised her eyebrows, she rushed to amend, “Unless you want to invite other people. We can get a group together. They probably offer discounts or something.” She shrugged her shoulders, too casual to be natural.
“We can go by ourselves,” Mel affirmed, and Trinity’s posture suddenly looked a lot more real, her shoulders slumping.
“Awesomesauce,” Trinity said, and then immediately cringed. “Pretend I didn’t say that, okay?”
It wasn’t a date. That’s what Mel told herself, anyway, as she stood in front of her closet in nothing but her underwear and one of her nicer bras, arms crossed over her chest. Trinity would have told her if it was a date, right? That seemed like the kind of information covered at the beginning of the question, not on the day that Mel was supposed to meet Trinity at a vineyard.
Before she could overthink it, Mel picked out high-waisted jeans and a blouse, first two buttons undone, and boots. There was no snow, but she didn’t trust Pittsburgh not to make up for it with black ice. The sleeves were billowy, leaving her wrists free, and Mel left her hair down, contemplating contacts in the mirror and discarding that idea. They bothered her eyes too much.
“Ready to go, Becca?” Mel called, sitting on the couch to tie her boots up. The music in Becca’s room shut off and she trotted down the hallway, pausing before she reached the living room.
“Are you going on a date?” she asked, her head cocked curiously.
“No, I’m just meeting a friend,” Mel explained, standing again and gathering her belongings—wallet, keys, phone. She wasn’t going to get into how she’d asked herself that very question at least four times since she woke up that morning. Becca studied her closely, her mouth turning down in a thoughtful frown.
“I don’t dress that nice for my friends,” she pointed out, tugging on her backpack until the straps laid more evenly on her shoulders. “Are you sure it’s not a date?”
“I’m sure,” Mel replied. “She didn’t ask me on a date. We’re just going to the vineyard together as friends,” Mel explained further. Becca seemed satisfied with that and changed the conversation to the movie selection at the facility, rating each and every one on the drive over. Mel dropped her off with the promise that she would be back later and then tried desperately to talk herself out of the jitters on her way to the vineyard. It was unseasonably warm for February, close to 60 degrees, and Mel cracked one of her windows, the brisk air doing little to clear her head.
When she pulled into the lot, Trinity was already there and outside waiting for her, leaned up against her car. One boot was braced on the door behind her, and she had a vape in her hand, cupped against her phone. When she spotted Mel she waved, smiling widely, and Mel ignored how her heart skipped a beat, a little blip between one and the next. She parked carefully and got out, and when Trinity rounded the back of Mel’s car, she stopped.
“Whoa,” Trinity murmured, and Mel tried not to stare—she really did. Trinity’s hair was loose around her shoulders, and she was wearing plaid-patterned, slim cut pants, a forest green peacoat open atop a ribbed shirt with a turtleneck. She looked sleek, put-together, and Mel focused very hard on breathing, in and out, at a regular rhythm. “You look incredible.”
“Thank you,” Mel said, and Trinity hovered for a moment, like she wanted to hug her—ultimately she didn’t, something Mel tried not to be disappointed by. “You’re very pretty,” Mel offered, and felt her cheeks go pink. Words were not her strong suit, but Trinity still looked flattered, her eyes dipping away.
“Thanks. I try, you know—occasionally,” Trinity joked, and offered her arm. “Ready?” she asked, and Mel nodded. and Mel slipped her fingers into the crook of her elbow, the coat soft under her hand. Once inside, Trinity shed the coat, and Mel found out very quickly that the shirt was sleeveless. Trinity’s arms were unexpectedly defined, the imprint of her shoulders clear when she smoothed her hair back down, and it sent a zap of lightning down Mel’s spine, curling warm and pleasant in her stomach. The desire to fit her teeth around Trinity’s bicep was so unexpected and strong Mel made a noise, and Trinity’s eyes caught on hers, her lip tucked under her teeth to suppress a pleased smile. Mel cleared her throat sharply, avoiding eye contact.
“Have you been here before?” Mel asked the wall, and Trinity shook her head. She, thankfully, did not mention Mel’s brief lapse in self-control.
“Nah,” Trinity answered, and placed her hand gently at Mel’s lower back, leading her towards the counter. Mel drifted with her, trying to focus on walking and not on the weight of Trinity’s palm over her spine. “But my friend recommended it—specifically the wine tasting, so I booked that for us.”
“Was it expensive?” Mel frowned.
“Don’t worry about it,” Trinity assured her, waving a hand and offering Mel a reassuring smile. “You can buy me a bottle of wine to pay me back.”
“I will,” Mel promised, and Trinity’s smile widened, showing her teeth.
“Which do you want to try first?” Trinity asked, resting her elbows on the counter. “I’m thinking the cabernet.”
“You can pick,” Mel offered. “I don’t know anything about wine.” Mel paused. “Well, I know it’s made from grapes, and that the color is determined by how the grapes are processed.”
“See, you know more than you think,” Trinity assured her, and then rattled off a few bottles they’d like to try to the sommelier, her Italian and French surprisingly silky and only lightly accented, like she’d been practicing. Once the glasses were in front of them, she nudged one towards Mel and then picked up her own.
“What are we toasting to?” Mel asked, and Trinity cocked a hip, considering.
“To getting day drunk on a weekday?” Trinity suggested, and Mel giggled—honestly giggled, bubbly and airy, the sound surprising them both. Trinity’s lips parted, and then she smiled warmly, her eyes dipping down.
Before Mel could do something reckless or stupid, she clinked her glass into Trinity’s, taking a sip of the wine. It was unexpectedly robust, a little dry, blackberries at the base of her tongue when she swallowed.
“It’s good,” Mel commented, somewhat surprised, and Trinity huffed a laugh. She didn’t ordinarily drink wine, but if it was all this nice, she might have to start.
“Don’t sound so shocked,” Trinity said. “I know what I’m doing sometimes.”
“Sorry,” Mel said immediately, and Trinity shook her head fondly. “Oh, that was—you weren’t being serious.”
“Mel, if I need an apology, I’ll let you know, okay?” Trinity assured her. “Until then, let loose. I can take it.” Her gaze is all crackling warmth over the lip of her glass, liquid mercury. “Happily. I like seeing you relaxed like this.”
Mel felt a blush rise in her cheeks, and she took a sip, distracting herself from the reality that she was enjoying Trinity flirting with her. The experience turned out to be more enjoyable than Mel predicted. Trinity was equal parts funny and flirtatious, a fact that Mel struggled to interpret but didn’t analyze too closely. This was supposed to be fun, she reasoned, and it was not a date; Trinity would have told her if it was. Trinity laughed at Mel’s jokes, and she held Mel around the waist for most of the afternoon, and she took just as many sips from Mel’s glass as she did her own, but—still. Friends did those things, right?
These behaviors were within the realm of normal, so Mel allowed herself to settle into this situation of lines that were becoming increasingly blurred. She studied the line of Trinity’s throat when she tipped her head back to drink, and she tucked a strand of hair behind Trinity’s ear after it fell, her gaze burning into Mel’s like twin blue flames. The wine wasn’t helping her compartmentalize, but Mel enjoyed the floaty, tipsy feeling it was inspiring in her, how aware it made her of Trinity’s palm burning through her shirt.
It was all very confusing, especially when Trinity looked at Mel’s mouth like she’d give anything to kiss as they said goodbye—and then didn’t. Trinity hugged her, instead, arms around her shoulders, and Mel breathed in the heady scent of her perfume just below her jaw, something woodsy and spicy and intoxicating. Mel did end up buying her that bottle of wine to thank her, and Trinity promised they’d share it soon.
Like Mel had said to Becca: not a date.
Friday morning, Frank appeared beside her locker as soon as Mel opened it, his shoulders loose but his arms crossed. It threw the veins in his forearms into stark relief, his sleeves tight around the generous curve of his biceps. Mel didn’t greet him as she usually would; she had a feeling he wanted to speak to her about something, and she’d prefer it if he came out with it already.
“How was your date with Santos?” he asked casually, and Mel frowned into her cubicle.
“It wasn’t a date,” she explained, slipping her bag over her head. Frank was silent beside her, and she tugged her braid over her shoulder, glancing at him around the door. At least—she didn’t think it was. Trinity had paid for the wine tasting, true, and she’d looked at Mel’s mouth a lot, but that was normal for them, apparently. It was a routine that Mel had grown accustomed to; she no longer tried to read between the lines anymore. If Trinity wanted to date her, she would ask. “We went out as friends.”
“Oh,” was all Frank managed for a long moment, his mouth almost in a frown. He glanced to the side, turning his head; Mel traced the strong line of his throat with her eyes, how his jaw jutted sharp and masculine above his pulse. “Do you want to take a cooking class with me this weekend?” he asked suddenly, and Mel’s eyebrows furrowed. “I got a discount for bringing another person, and I know you mentioned you wanted to learn cook more,” Frank continued. Mel didn’t answer fast enough, and he straightened abruptly, his hands going into his pockets. “It’s fine if you don’t. It’s cool. I can invite someone else.”
“No, I…yes, I’d like to go,” Mel confirmed, and Frank blinked at her. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
“Great,” Frank expressed warmly, honestly, his eyes back on her. “I’ll pick you up around 2:00.”
Mel was beginning to get better at this whole ignoring the signs thing. Trinity and Frank had both gotten her traditional Valentine’s Day presents—so what? Trinity took her out to a wine tasting, and though it was a very charged afternoon, nothing had happened. They were still friends. Trinity still looked at Mel’s mouth instead of her eyes when they spoke to one another, so nothing had changed there. This cooking class with Frank was surely, Mel thought, another normal experience for friends to embark on together.
“Are you going on another not date?” Becca asked smugly from the passenger seat, her stare on the side of Mel’s head so pointed it may as well have been a foam sword held in Becca’s hands. Mel had opted for skinny jeans and a flannel, this time, her hair gathered into a messy bun.
“Yes, I’m going to a cooking class with a friend,” Mel agreed, stressing the final word in that sentence. “A different friend, not the one I went with last week.”
“Tell him I say hi,” Becca requested. “And that he should take you on a real date,” she continued, grinning openly. Mel sighed; she didn’t have the patience (or the ability, really) to explain the truth to Becca. How did she tell her sister that she had friends who happened to take her on outings that felt like dates but so clearly weren’t?
Once Becca was dropped off, Mel returned home, planning to take it easy until Frank got there—that was the plan, anyway, until her nerves made her too jittery to sit still. Instead, she organized their DVD cabinet, first by genre, and then alphabetically by title within those sections. She forced herself to go through the motions slowly, which paid off; she only had a few minutes to spare between finishing up and Frank knocking on the door.
On the other side, Frank was dressed in dark pants and a pale blue button-up, the first one undone, and his hair was swept back, in place for once. He’d shaved that morning, a small nick just below his Adam’s apple, and Mel bit the inside of her cheek hard, pushing down the overwhelming urge to put her lips there, to feel the hollow of Frank’s throat against her mouth.
“Ready, sweetheart?” Frank asked kindly, patiently, his head tilted to the side, and Mel startled.
“Yes, of course,” she affirmed, and Frank offered his hand. Mel took it in hers, comforted by the span of his fingers around hers, the bony ridge of his knuckles beside her thumb. The class was being held at a high school, and Mel caught on instantly that everyone else there was, indeed, a couple. She tried not to read too much into that, or into Frank continuing to hold her hand through most of the verbal part of the lesson.
The instructor walked them through the basics, mostly, such as how to perform different knife cuts and timing on cooking meat, and then gave them a recipe to follow, a sort of friendly competition amongst the attendees to see who could make the best attempt at it.
“You dice, and I’ll fry?” Frank suggested, and Mel nodded, very seriously. “I think your knife skills are better than mine.”
“We’re both adept with a scalpel,” Mel pointed out, and Frank tilted his head, smiling softly. “Are you being serious, or are you teasing me?”
“I’m being serious. Your hands are steadier than mine,” he affirmed, and Mel tried not to let that compliment go to her head. Based on Frank’s grin going sly, she didn’t do a good job of hiding how her shoulders straightened and her chin lifted.
Mel began chopping vegetables to not embarrass herself further, arranging them neatly by type, and Frank drizzled oil in the pan, tilting it to fully coat the Teflon. He stepped back as Mel scraped diced onions, mushrooms, and garlic into it, the oil immediately spitting, and when Mel moved away, her back bumped his chest. Frank’s arm went around her waist, his hand fanning over her stomach, and Mel inhaled sharply through her nose, her skin going hot under his palm.
“Okay?” he murmured into her hair, and Mel nodded, a chuckle rumbling in Frank’s chest through her back. It was very difficult to focus after that; Frank didn’t let her go, switching his hand to wrap gently around her wrist as he guided her through tossing the vegetables with a spatula. The instructor kept gazing at them, her hands clasped together, like it was the most romantic thing she’d ever seen, and Mel steadfastly did not read into it.
After the winery with Trinity, Mel could handle this. Frank was warm and teasing, witty enough to keep her on her toes, and he kept brushing his hand over her shoulder, down her arm, nudging his head against her temple as he watched her cook. He wasn’t doing much cooking himself, Mel noticed, but she didn’t call him out on it; she was enjoying having him close to her like this too much, his attention solely focused on her. They didn’t win the competition, but the pasta still turned out delicious, the noise Frank made at the first taste sinful and entirely inappropriate for a public setting. It made Mel’s cheeks flare red, and Frank grinned toothily at her, like a wolf.
He dropped her off at home once they finished up, lingering outside her door.
“Did you have fun?” Frank asked, his hands in his pockets, simultaneously too close and too far to reach out and touch.
“Yes, I did. I didn’t know cooking could be so fun,” Mel answered honestly, lingering in her open doorway. “How much was the class?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Frank dismissed with a wave of his hand. He tipped closer, and for a brief, insane moment, Mel thought—hoped—he was going to kiss her. Instead, he drew her into a hug, tucking her head under his chin. Just like Trinity had, and Mel steadfastly kept the frown off her face, waving to Frank when he pulled away.
Not a date either, Mel figured, if there was no kiss at the end, and no indication that Frank wanted it to go any further.
Another day, Trinity brought her to the aquarium, hands in her pockets as she fondly watched Mel and Becca pour over the information screens, gesticulating wildly at various fish darting past them. She lent Mel her jacket when they went to see the penguins outside and kissed her on the cheek at the end of the outing, her lips brushing the corner of Mel’s mouth. The morning after, Frank took them both out for breakfast at a local farm, all the food delivered fresh to the table, hardy winter vegetables roasted until they were soft and eggs direct from the chickens roosting there. He shared his fruit salad with Mel, cradling her chin gently in his hand as he placed a blackberry on her tongue.
Becca loved them both, as it turned out, and her questions about whether Mel was dating either of them tapered off eventually. Instead, she started asking Mel again when she was going to find someone to actually date, because she “couldn’t spend all her time letting her friends take her out on dates that weren’t really dates.”
It started to feel…well. If they asked Mel, it felt a lot like they were both taking her on dates, certain days devoted to Trinity and others belonging to Frank, despite what Becca thought. Never at the same time, which was to be expected; they were like siblings that got on each other’s nerves particularly well. And Mel still wouldn’t classify them as dates, either—neither of them had kissed her. Not once, on any of these excursions, even if Mel sometimes got the feeling that they wanted to. They kept buying her meals for her, and drinks, and taking her to events that couples traditionally attended together. But that didn’t have to mean anything, did it? Valentine’s Day was fast approaching, and the timing could be a coincidence.
Trinity had only ever kissed her on the cheek, dangerously, dizzyingly close to her mouth, and Frank pressed his lips to the crown of Mel’s head, his height and his proximity making her lightheaded.
It wasn’t the kind of friendship she’d ever experienced before—but, Mel considered, maybe Trinity and Frank were like this with all their friends.
(Was it wrong for her to hope they weren’t?)
Everything clicked into place the day before Valentine’s Day.
Mel had switched shifts with Cassie, which meant she had an unexpected day off in the middle of her work week at the same time as Samira—someone who she was friendly with but had, sadly, slacked on maintaining a friendship with. They’d agreed to meet up for coffee (and tea) bright and early, 6am sharp, at a café just down the street from the hospital. It wasn’t that Mel disliked the other options in the city; it’s just that the hospital was a central point between both their places, and it was cheap because the place had to compete with several other restaurants.
When Samira pushed open the door for them both, she groaned, tugging her hat down over her eyes. The café was covered wall-to-wall in Valentine’s Day decorations, pink streamers hanging from the ceilings and red foil Cupid cutouts taped up on several walls. Every table had a small vase with flowers in it, and the employees were wearing headbands with hearts on them or light-up pins.
“Wow,” Mel uttered. It was a little bit of overkill, in her opinion, but she probably wasn’t the target audience.
“I hate this holiday,” she whined, and Mel placed a hand on her back, rubbing softly. Samira gave her a grateful pout over her shoulder, and once they ordered and obtained their drinks, they took a table in the corner, tucked away from the bustle at the counter. “It always reminds me how chronically single I am.”
“You’ll find someone, Samira,” Mel assured her, running her fingers over the edge of the cardboard sleeve around her cup. She always preferred hot drinks, especially in winter—but she was known for enjoying a chai latte in the dead of summer, sweat beading on her hairline as she sipped the steamed milk. “You’re beautiful, and kind, and you’re a doctor,” Mel continued, ticking off each feature with a finger.
“Aw, thank you, Mel,” Samira hummed, patting one of Mel’s hands. “You have to tell me your secret, though. How’d you manage it?”
“Manage what?” Mel asked, sipping from her beverage slowly. “I’m just as single as you are.” Samira stared at her for a moment, dark eyebrows furrowed, her lips parted.
“Mel,” she said patiently, and Mel watched her from beneath the wrinkle in her brow. “You aren’t…” she trailed off, and Mel cocked her head. “Mel,” she said again.
“What?” Mel queried. “Are you trying to ask me something? I won’t know what it is if you don’t say it.”
“How did you manage to get a boyfriend and a girlfriend, and I don’t even have one?” Samira asked, finally, all in a rush.
“How did I…what?” Mel managed. “I’m not dating anyone, Samira.”
“Have you told Trinity and Langdon that?” Samira asked. Mel stared at her, uncomprehending, her jaw slack. “Oh, shit. Shit. Um—pretend I didn’t say that, okay?” Samira’s eyes went wide, her words slightly muffled where she covered her mouth with a hand. All Mel’s synapses lit up at once—Trinity’s hand curled around her hip, Frank’s chest nudged up against her shoulder as he guided her wrist, Trinity fondly watching her and Becca loop around the aquarium, Frank offering Mel a blackberry from his own fork.
Oh. Oh.
“I have to go,” Mel said abruptly, and stood from the table. How could she have missed reality staring her dead in the face? This was so embarrassing. “Thank you, Samira.”
“Mel—” Samira, half-standing, her hand out, but Mel was already gathering her things and speed-walking away from her with a jerky wave. “You’re welcome,” she muttered to no-one.
Mel used the rest of her day off to plot. She’d dropped Becca off at the facility early for a recreational soccer game, with a clipboard in hand and a whistle around her neck—assistant coach, Becca had proudly told her, chuffed. Frank and Santos were both working; Frank on day shift and Santos on night shift, so she’d have to line up the timing perfectly to avoid tipping off the other and running into the start of the shift. She wasn’t sure yet how involved they both were in this—did they talk to each other before they invited her on excursions, or did they leave it up to chance?
Mid-morning, she texted Frank, Do you want to come over for dinner later? My treat. Frank responded, Hell yeah!!!! a few emoji at the end Mel can’t begin to decipher, and then mid-afternoon, when she was sure Trinity was awake, she texted, I’m making dinner tonight, do you want to join me?
Trinity responded a little slower, fraying Mel’s nerves to threads, but eventually she messaged back, You know the way to a girl’s heart.
She didn’t feel good about lying, but Samira had shifted some very important puzzle pieces into place, and Mel wasn’t going to sit on her hands forever. It was shocking, actually, that Mel hadn’t asked the question herself. She was usually better at pursuing direct answers to her questions, but she didn’t—imagine if she was wrong? She could still be wrong. Trinity and Frank were tied for the most flirtatious people she knew.
Trinity arrived first since she wasn’t at work, her eyes tired but her smile warm when Mel met her at the door. She swept Mel into a hug, arms around her waist, and spun them both, laughing into Mel’s neck when Mel squeaked and grasped at her shoulders.
“What are you making?” Trinity asked, squeezing Mel’s waist as she passed by her to the kitchen. Mel felt all turned around, her head spinning, and she straightened her shirt, inhaling deeply once, twice, to center herself again. Trinity was in scrubs already, but her hair was down, the ponytail the last step to her routine when she walked through the hospital doors.
“Pasta,” Mel answered simply, turning up the heat on the pot of water. “It’s not very exciting, I know.”
“Mel, I would happily eat anything you make,” Trinity assured her, picking up a wooden spoon and stirring the spinach. Three knocks sounded on her front door, and Trinity glanced over her shoulder, her eyebrows raised.
“I wonder who that could be?” Mel asked nobody in particular, her hands fidgeting in front of her, her eyes on the clock over Trinity’s head. She was an awful liar. Trinity’s eyes narrowed, and Mel nodded to herself, hastily shuffling to the door. It had a direct line of sight to the kitchen, so she’d be found out as soon as Frank walked in the door—was it so terrible that she wanted to delay the inevitable?
Mel tugged the door open, and Frank wrapped her in a hug, dipping down so Mel had to go up on her toes and link her arms around his shoulders. He nuzzled her temple, and then released her, grinning—until he met Trinity’s eyes over Mel’s head, and his expression did something complicated, like he was annoyed and guilty all at once.
“Frank,” Mel directed sternly, and he glanced at her again, watching her from underneath the dark fan of his eyelashes. She took his hand and led him into the kitchen, where Trinity was leaning against the counter, her arms crossed. Mel dropped his hand, wrapping her own around her waist. “Trinity,” Mel continued, and Trinity pressed her lips together, watching Mel. “Which one of you wants to explain?”
Neither of them moved. Actually, they both looked away from her—Frank out the window, and Trinity at the living room beyond the counter that split the two rooms.
“Were you both taking me on dates?” Mel asked slowly into the silence, glancing between them both. “Because it’s okay if you were,” she continued, before she’d decided fully whether it was okay, but—it didn’t feel like a lie. Trinity glanced at her, surprised. “What’s not okay is keeping it from me.” Silence, still, thick and cloying, and Mel’s shoulders slumped. “If you were just doing it to be my friend, that’s fine, too. I get my wires crossed, sometimes—I read too far into things,” Mel started, aiming herself down a path she really didn’t want to go down.
“Sweetheart, wait, that’s not—” Frank finally piped up; Trinity was closer, and she approached Mel swiftly, taking Mel’s hands in her own.
“Mel, I was taking you on dates,” Trinity confessed in a rush, her fingers warm around Mel’s, steady. “I thought you weren’t interested. I looked at your mouth, like forty times at the vineyard, and you didn’t do anything.”
“You could have just kissed me,” Mel pointed out plainly, and Trinity winced. “I’ve said this to both of you before—I need you to be clear with me. I don’t always pick up on subtle social cues.” Mel turned towards Frank. “What about you?”
“Me, too,” Frank agreed. “I was planning on kissing you, but—” His eyes jumped to Trinity.
“But?” Mel echoed, and Frank floundered, lifting his hands and then dropping them again.
“I don’t want to date Santos,” Frank exhaled, his words all bunching together, and Mel’s eyebrows jumped. The water started bubbling behind her, the spinach steaming, but she couldn’t be paid to care about either of those things. “She doesn’t want to date me, either.”
“Trinity?” Mel probed, glancing at her again.
“Uh, yeah. Gross,” Trinity agreed, her hands still around Mel’s. “I don’t date men, Langdon included.”
“Then…” Mel’s brows came together, her mouth twisting to the side. She was having a lot of trouble keeping up with how this situation was unfolding. “We’ll be friends.” She slipped her hands from Trinity’s, dark eyes analyzing Trinity’s crestfallen expression, and then Frank’s. “That’s what you want, right?”
Very gently, Trinity’s hand cupped her jaw, turning Mel’s face back towards her. Her eyes jumped between Mel’s, assessing her, and then Trinity was kissing her, her fingers light on Mel’s neck. Mel made a sound, surprised, and pressed a little further into her, Trinity’s mouth soft beneath Mel’s. It only lasted a second, Trinity’s thumb sweeping over Mel’s cheekbone as she pulled back, and Mel’s brain short-circuited.
“We want you to date us both,” Trinity clarified, her fingers twisted up with Mel’s own. Frank’s eyes were averted, his hands in his pockets. Mel was having a little trouble thinking, her head swimming, heart thudding almost painfully beneath her breastbone. “Separately. Langdon and I decided we could share.”
“I—wait,” Mel tried. “Is that—can we do that?”
“If you want,” Frank offered. Trinity turned to the stove, clicking the heat off on both sides, and Frank took that opportunity to close the distance between them, slipping a hand around her back. Frank’s palm was warm, grounding, the pads of his fingers steady where they pressed between each dip of her vertebrae. “There are no rules against it. I mean—okay, the hospital definitely has something in the fine print about maintaining appropriate relationships within the department,” Frank rambled, his fingers starting to tap on her back; Mel pivoted to hold his forearm loosely, the movement stilling. “Nothing specific about how many people you can date at once, though.” A smile, quick as a blade, just as sharp. “You can think about if this is what you want.”
“Or you can just date me,” Trinity offered, her arms crossed, confidence brimming. “Langdon will survive. He got a wife once, he can get another one.”
“And Santos has slept with just about every other female resident in the hospital, so it’s no loss for her, either,” Frank pointed out, and Trinity flipped him off.
“If this is going to work, you need to be nicer to each other,” Mel instructed, and Frank pouted at her. “Becca tries to make me feel bad all the time with that look, and hers is a lot better. It won’t work,” Mel informed him. “And I’d like it to work. I think—yes. I can date you both.” Mel tapped her finger on her mouth, considering. “But I’m serious about being kinder.”
“Fine,” Trinity agreed in lieu of Frank stepping up, and offered her hand out to Frank. “Truce, Langdon? Limited time offer.” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “I’ll take it back if you’re not fast enough.”
“Truce,” Frank agreed hurriedly. “As long as I get to kiss Mel next. We should create a log to keep track.”
“Who gets to have sex with her first?” Trinity challenged, grinning with all her straight, white teeth, and Mel’s face went bright red, a fever suddenly burning bright under her skin. She thought of Trinity’s arms, the dip of her waist, and then of Frank’s shoulders, of the sliver of stomach between his shirt and his scrub pants.
“I’m standing right here,” Mel objected, shifting uncomfortably, very aware of the fact she had two people she was very attracted to standing in her apartment at that very moment. “Can we discuss sex later, please?”
“Anything you want, babe,” Trinity assured her, tugging gently on the end of Mel’s braid. “I have to head to the ED, but we’ll talk about it more later, okay?” At Mel’s nod, Trinity smiled, and then jerked her head at Frank. “Let’s go, Langdon. No alone time allowed with Mel until we figure out the details.” Kindly, though, she left them both in the kitchen, waiting at the doorway—Frank swooped close, pressing his mouth to the corner of Mel’s mouth, and then the other, Mel’s hand finding its way into the collar of his shirt.
“See you tomorrow,” Frank murmured against her forehead, and then tipped his hand in a lazy salute, following Trinity out into the hallway. He shut the door behind them, and Mel pressed her palms to her face, her cheeks so hot she swore they sizzled.
The most frightening part, it turned out, was explaining this to Becca. Mel took them both out to Becca’s favorite park for a picnic—it had a sprawling playscape and a dog park, two features that Becca could never get enough of. Becca tore off towards the dogs as soon as they got out of the car, and Mel took her time setting up the blanket, placing the basket at one corner and kneeling carefully. It was a little chilly, still, mid-50’s, but she’d brought extra blankets and coats, and Becca had her pink mittens on, a scarf wrapped snugly around her neck. Mel took out the snacks they had brought, arranging them in the middle of the blanket. Becca had requested goldfish crackers, and Mel had also selected salt and vinegar chips for Trinity, fruit roll-ups for Frank, and pre-chopped fruit for all of them.
Trinity arrived first, and she sprawled next to Mel gracelessly, complaining about having to stay until 10am. She had a baseball hat shoved over her hair, a denim jacket over a sweater, and Mel leaned down, brushing a kiss over her forehead. Trinity immediately brightened, and sat up straight again, looping an arm around Mel’s shoulders. Frank parked shortly after, and he lowered himself more gingerly beside Mel, taking her hand in his and entwining their fingers in his lap. He had a bomber jacket zipped all the way up to his chin, his jeans frayed around his shoes. Mel took a grounding breath, and Frank squeezed her hand, Trinity knocking Mel’s shoulder with her own.
Becca turned towards them, her eyes on the dogs behind her as she waved; when her gaze landed on them, she froze, brows furrowed. Mel understood—she had only just gotten Frank and Trinity into the same room the day before, as if the hospital was the sole place they could stand to be around each other because it was required of them.
“Hi, Becca,” Trinity greeted, and Becca edged closer, sitting carefully on the corner of the blanket.
“How are you?” Frank asked, filling in the silence that Becca didn’t move to break.
“Good,” Becca answered. “I met a golden retriever over there—his name is Barney.” She glanced at Frank, and then again at Trinity, deep in thought. “Why are you both holding Mel like that?”
“Becca,” Mel began, pressing her fingertips into her own leg. “Do you remember when you asked me if I was going on dates, and I said no?”
“Yes, and I asked if you were sure,” Becca confirmed. “Because you were dressing up and it took you two hours to decide whether to wear glasses or contacts.”
Trinity snickered, and Mel glanced sideways at her. Trinity tried to cover it with a cough, an extremely unsuccessful gesture that Mel still appreciated, in a weird way.
“I was wrong. I was going on dates,” Mel continued. “With Trinity, and with Frank.” She gestured at Trinity, then at Frank, and Becca glanced between them, processing slowly. “I didn’t know it at the time.”
“So, you, Trinity, and Frank are all dating each other?” Becca asked slowly, pointing between the three of them.
“Gross,” Frank said immediately, and Mel elbowed him. “Ow, Jesus,” he muttered, and Trinity shoved his shoulder behind Mel for good measure. “Hey, okay, I get it.”
“I’m dating Trinity and Frank,” Mel explained, and tilted her head towards Trinity, looking for support. She wasn’t sure it was making sense to Becca, who was still staring at each of them in turn, a deep furrow between her brows.
“Mel is my girlfriend,” Trinity helpfully supplied. “And Frank is her boyfriend, but he’s not my boyfriend,” she continued. “Because that would be…” Trinity trailed off, shuddering. “Awful.” She met Becca’s stare, head cocked. “Do you know what a lesbian is?”
“She doesn’t get an elbow for that?” Frank protested under his breath. Mel squeezed his hand, and his pout lessened, the lines between his eyebrows easing.
“You only like girls?” Becca guessed, and when Trinity nodded, she clapped her hands together. "I knew it! I could tell because you dress like a boy sometimes.”
“Not all—” Mel began, but Trinity interrupted gently, “Yeah, exactly. Sometimes girls dress like boys and boys dress like girls.” Becca nodded, accepting that. She glanced slyly at Mel, her hands folded in her lap.
“Does this mean I can have two boyfriends?” she asked, and Frank smothered a laugh behind his hand.
“Why don’t we figure that out when we get there?” Mel suggested dryly, patiently, and Trinity bit down on a grin. They were going to be a terrible influence on Becca, Mel could tell, a thought that made her feel warm and gooey inside—to have Becca accepted so readily, for Becca to take Mel’s brand-new relationship in stride.
“Okay, fine,” Becca sighed, reaching for the goldfish. Frank thumbed over Mel’s knuckles, Trinity nudging her shoulder firm and warm into Mel’s, and something settled in Mel’s chest, like a cat curling up around her heart.
The Venn diagram had become a circle, her professional, personal, and romantic life all overlapping, and she decided it was more of a knot, now, four strands interwoven together.