Archive of Our Own

She’d been sweeping leaves from the path near the maintenance shed when a woman walked past carrying a small bouquet of flowers. There was nothing unusual about that, people came and went all the time.

Some visited once and never returned, some came every holiday, there were people that disappeared for years before returning again, and the people that appeared every week like clockwork.

Maya barely looked up before returning to her work.

The next Saturday, she saw her again.

Same dark hair, same flowers.

Maya watched her for a second before turning her focus back to the grave she was preparing for today’s funeral.

By the fourth week, she knew exactly where the woman was going.

Andrea DeLuca.

The grave sat beneath a large maple tree near the back fence, only a short distance from the maintenance shed. It wasn’t the closest grave, but it was close enough that voices occasionally carried over on quiet moments.

Like clockwork, the woman arrived on Saturday afternoons, always with flowers, though she started to switch between yellow and white. One week, she showed up with a small potted plant that refused to stay upright, but had left it at the grave regardless.

When the woman showed up the next week, the potted plant was standing upright, some of the dirt next to the grave having been leveled out for it.

Most days, the cemetery was quiet. And that was a big part of why Maya liked it. People tended to think the dead made places lonely, but in the blonde’s experience, it was the living that brought the loneliness with them.

This woman, though, brought life with her. She brought stories and laughter. Maya hadn’t intended to listen, but in the quiet, voices usually carried. Just like it did today as she was repairing a broken latch on the shed. “...and the entire building evacuated, but it turned out some dad on the third floor let his daughter pull the fire alarm because, they encourage her to try things.”

A dry laugh escaped her, and Maya looked over, the woman was sitting cross-legged in front of the grave, gesturing animatedly despite being alone. 

“You would’ve laughed.” She paused for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Actually, no, you would have made it worse.”

Maya laughed softly before she could stop herself, but the woman didn’t hear.

Or, if she did, she didn’t react to it.

“Who lets their kid pull a fire alarm to try it out!”

After that, Maya paid more attention on Saturday afternoons. She never heard entire stories; fragments, updates about work, complaints about traffic, stories about people Maya had never met and the occasional story in Italian that the blonde could never follow fully, even if she did recognize some words.

Like how she recognized enough to understand that it once took ten minutes of ranting in Italian about a date who offered her pineapple pizza.

Sometimes the Saturdays were quieter, she would simply sit beside the grave for an hour, staring across the cemetery, usually accompanied by tears.

But no matter the week, the woman would smile softly at Maya when their eyes met. The blonde would smile back, wave, and continue with her job before the woman could see the small blush on her face.

The heat settled over the cemetery sometime around noon. By three, Maya's shirt was sticking to the back of her neck. She'd already gone through two bottles of water, both of which she'd forgotten to refill before starting her work on the graves near the entrance. The third sat empty on the fence, useless to her now.

She'd tell herself she'd get another one when she finished the western path.

Then she'd probably forget.

She was halfway through trimming the grass around a row of older graves when she heard footsteps behind her. "Hi?"

She looked over her shoulder and straightened immediately when she found the woman standing a few feet away, yellow flowers in one hand, a bottle in the other. "Hi."

"You are working in this heat?"

Maya glanced around. "I'm afraid the grass didn't agree to take the day off."

The woman laughed and Maya smiled before she could stop herself.

Then she held out the bottle. "I brought you something."

Maya stared at it. The bottle was cold enough that condensation had gathered along the outside. There were slices of lemon and orange floating inside, along with a few pieces of strawberry. “For me?”

The brunette’s eyebrows lifted. "Yes."

"Why?"

She blinked. "Because it is ninety degrees and you have probably been outside since before nine this morning."

Maya frowned slightly. "You know what time I started?"

"You seem like the type to start before opening hours."

Maya looked down at the bottle again. Nobody brought her things. People thanked her, sure, sometimes they left flowers. But nobody just showed up with cold water because they'd noticed she was hot.

The woman across from her seemed to interpret her silence differently though. "If you don't like fruit, I can-"

"No." Their fingers brushed as Maya took the bottle. It was nothing. Barely anything. But neither of them moved immediately until Maya cleared her throat and pulled the bottle closer. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She smiled.

Maya unscrewed the cap and took a long sip. It was cold, really cold, and she closed her eyes for half a second. 

The woman still watched her, a small smile tugging on her lips. "Better?"

"Much."

"Good."

Maya looked at her over the top of the bottle. "You didn't have to do this."

"I know." It was an easy answer, confident.

Maya didn’t really know what to say to that, but the woman beat her to it. “I’m Carina.”

“Maya.” She said, putting her hand out.

She'd seen Carina dozens of times by now. Across the cemetery. From the shed. Sitting by Andrea’s grave.

But this was different. A lot different.

Up close, she noticed the tiny crease beside Carina's eyes when she smiled. And the confidence in the way she stood there, completely unbothered by the fact that Maya seemed to have forgotten how conversations worked. She shook her head slightly, taking another sip.

Carina's gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes. "I should let you get back to work," Carina said eventually with a soft smile.

"Right- yes. Thank you, I appreciate this." 

“You’re more than welcome, thank you for…” she trailed off, gesturing around them, “taking care of this.” Carina smiled once more and walked away before Maya could say anything else. 

Maya looked at the water, at the fruit floating around in it, and took another drink.

Then, because apparently she had lost all sense, she smiled.

She immediately turned back to the grass and made herself scarce before Carina could look over her shoulder and catch her doing it.

After the water, Carina didn’t stop.

And while Maya noticed, it definitely wasn't in the way Carina intended.

The following Saturday, the temperature had significantly decreased, and Carina arrived with Andrea’s yellow flowers in one hand and two coffees in the other. She held one out to Maya without asking. "Black," she said. "But if you prefer sugar, I brought some."

Maya looked at the cup, then back at Carina. "You brought me coffee?"

Carina smiled. "Of course."

Maya nodded with a small, slightly hesitant smile, confused but apparently satisfied with that answer. "Thanks."

"You deserve it," she said, a little too easily.

Maya blinked.

Carina took a sip of her own coffee, hiding the smile threatening to give her away. "You've been working out here all morning, right?"

The blonde glanced down at herself, then back at Carina. "It's my job."

"Still." Carina held her gaze for a second longer than necessary before looking away.

Maya seemed completely unaware of the implication, though, and simply lifted the cup to her lips. Her eyebrows rose in surprise after the first sip.

"That's perfect. Wow- thank you."

Carina laughed softly, unable to hide the smirk on her face as she took another sip of her own coffee. "I'm glad."

Maya smiled and took another sip, pleased that she'd apparently passed some sort of coffee test.

She didn't notice Carina’s gaze dropping to her mouth before looking back at her eyes.

Carina had thought the coffee was obvious.

Not obvious obvious, perhaps.

She wasn't exactly going to show up at Andrea's grave and announce that she found the groundskeeper attractive.

That seemed inappropriate.

There had to be some sort of rule about flirting in a cemetery.

Especially when the cemetery contained her dead brother.

Still, coffee. It was thoughtful. People didn’t tend to just bring coffee so sure, it could possibly be flirting. At the very least, it was supposed to make Maya wonder.

She wasn’t sure what she had expected, a smile, sure. But whatever she expected, it was more than this. Something. Anything really.

She glanced back at the grave.

"Your groundskeeper is impossible," she murmured.

Andrea, predictably, didn't answer.

The next Saturday, heavy wind had picked up during the night before, having knocked over half a dozen flower arrangements which meant Maya spent most of the morning cleaning up.  By noon she was repairing a damaged section of fencing. Halfway through replacing a board, a thought appeared out of nowhere.

Yellow flowers or white this week?

Maya frowned.

What?

She tightened another screw, intending to shake it off, but the thought returned. Last week had been yellow, same as the week before but before that it’d been white.

Maya stared at the fence. Why did she know that? More importantly, why was she thinking about it? She saw Carina once a week, for all the blonde knew she could be out of town.

That realization though, brought an unexpected sense of disappointment. 

Maya immediately ignored it.

At three twenty-seven, a familiar figure stepped through the entrance carrying a bouquet of yellow flowers, and Maya looked away immediately.

Three seconds later she looked back.

Carina was already heading toward the same section as usual, toward Andrea DeLuca. The blonde watched until she disappeared between the rows of headstones before she returned to her work.

It was probably fifteen minutes later, carried on the wind, came the faint sound of singing. Soft and gentle like a lullaby. Maya paused, letting the hedge trimmers hang loosely by her side as she listened for a moment.

Just a moment.

She shook her head and went back to work.The confusion didn’t go anywhere though. It lingered. Because for some reason, Maya had started looking forward to Saturdays. To catch glimpses of a woman she knew little about.

And she still had no idea why.

Not much later, Carina appeared beside her. 

"So," she started, "are you always this busy?"

Maya glanced at her. "I'm the groundskeeper."

"I know."

"So..."

Carina sighed. "You are very difficult."

She frowned. "I'm pretty easy."

"That's not what I meant." Carina laughed. “Does it keep you late? This work?" she asked.

"It depends on what needs doing, really." Maya gestured toward the fence. "Sometimes I stay until it's finished."

Carina smiled. "So… do you know how to stop?"

Maya considered that for a moment before laughing. "Not really, no."

Carina laughed softly. "I was actually going to ask if you ever do anything that isn't work."

Maya's eyebrows lifted. "Like what?"

"Anything fun."

"Sometimes."

"Such as?"

Maya paused, apparently thinking about it seriously. "I run. A lot," she admitted. "I like to work out, but I also like to read."

Carina's smile widened. "You read?"

Maya glanced at her, catching the teasing note in her voice. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Do you?"

"Sì." Carina nodded, looking almost pleased that Maya had asked. "Not the running, though. Definitely not the running."

Maya laughed softly. "I think I've seen you walk quickly once."

"That’s the fastest you’ll ever see."

There was something about the certainty in Carina's voice that made Maya smile again. She looked back down at the fence, pretending to inspect the section she'd been working on even though she'd already checked it twice. Maya cleared her throat and picked up one of the loose pieces of wire, busying her hands with it. "Running isn't for everyone, I don’t blame you."

The brunette’s expression softened as she watched her. "And what else do you do?"

She looked up. "What do you mean?"

"Besides running and reading." Carina gestured vaguely toward her. "You must have something else you like to do."

Maya thought about it. "I work."

Carina stared at her.

Maya blinked. "What?"

"I was hoping for something slightly more exciting."

Maya huffed a quiet laugh. "I don't know. I like working on things. Fixing things. Being outside."

"Anything you do with other people?"

Her brow furrowed. "Why?"

Carina's lips curved, just slightly, as she looked at her. "No reason."

Maya studied her for a moment, trying to figure out what she'd missed. There was something in Carina's expression that made her stomach flutter. "Okay.”

Carina laughed under her breath and shook her head and Maya smiled despite herself. She liked making Carina laugh. She wasn't entirely sure why that thought made her feel so warm.

"You're strange," she said.

"And yet you keep talking to me."

Maya's smile faltered for half a second.

She hadn't really thought about that.

"I like talking to you," she admitted.

Carina's expression changed, just for a moment. “I like talking to you too.”

Maya turned back to the fence slightly and started working again in an attempt to keep the small smile hidden.

Carina stood there for another moment, watching her work. There was something strangely comforting about Maya like this. Focused. Quiet. Completely absorbed in whatever was in front of her.

Carina liked watching her. She liked the way Maya's hands moved. She liked the way a loose strand of hair kept falling into her face and she liked that Maya never seemed to notice when people were looking at her.

Which, Carina was beginning to suspect, was going to become a problem.

Another Saturday, Carina brought pastries. "I made too many."

Maya looked at the box. "There are two."

"Exactly."

"Wait you made these?"

Carina stared at her.

Maya stared back.

"One for me," Carina said slowly, "and one for you."

"Oh." Maya took the pastry. "Thank you, you didn’t have to."

Carina waited with a small smile as the blonde took a bite.

Her eyes widened. "These are really good."

"Good." Carina smiled.

Maya ate the rest while talking about a broken sprinkler.

And as Carina slowly ate her own, she listened carefully.

Mostly.

Because Maya was explaining something about water pressure while Carina was trying to figure out how she'd ended up flirting with a woman who was currently gesturing enthusiastically about irrigation systems.

This was ridiculous.

She was sitting on a bench in her brother’s graveyard. 

Eating a pastry.

Listening to the cemetery groundskeeper talk about plumbing.

And somehow she was having a crush.

On the groundskeeper.

Who apparently had no idea.

Cazzo.

Carina looked at Maya, who, despite having almost finished her pastry, didn’t stop talking. "...and then I had to replace the entire line because whoever installed it originally apparently hated me."

Carina smiled. "That sounds terrible."

"It was." Maya took another bite.

Carina wondered if she should tell her.

Not here.

Definitely not here.

There had to be a better place to ask someone out than beside a headstone.

Days later the storm had come in fast.

By evening the sky had turned the color of old steel, and by midnight the rain was loud enough against the windows that Maya had checked the locks twice without meaning to.

The next morning, everything smelled like wet earth and broken leaves.

Maya arrived early, before the gates officially opened, boots already sinking slightly into softened ground. The first thing she noticed was the fence line. A branch had come down near Section Two. Nothing major. She added it to the mental list.

Check. Remove. Repair.

Routine.

That was all it was.

She moved through the graveyard towards the shed, grabbing some cloths and the basic toolkit before making her way to Mason’s grave. And after straightening a plant and cleaning his headstone, she started her walk throughout the yard. Eyes scanning automatically for damage the way she always did after bad weather.

A vase knocked over.

A bouquet half-buried in mud.

By the time she was about halfway through the cemetery, her hands were already cold from the damp air. Andrea DeLuca’s section was near the maple tree and Maya noticed it before she consciously decided to look.

It didn’t matter that she still had other graves to check first.

The small decorative stethoscope sign that a man had left months ago, bright metal and slightly absurd against the quiet stone, had been blown sideways. It had landed on the wrong grave entirely, resting awkwardly against a plain marker two rows over.

Maya frowned.

Wind had a way of being careless like that.

She crossed the grass and picked it up, brushing off damp soil before returning it to its proper place.

Then she stopped. The grave itself was worse than she’d expected. Yellow flowers, fresh days ago, had been flattened into the mud, petals darkened and heavy with rain. Some had been pushed right up against the base of the stone. Others were scattered outward like they’d tried to escape. The inscription was streaked with dirt, as if the rain had dragged the earth down the face of it.

Maya stood there for a moment longer than necessary. The wind moved through the trees, shaking droplets loose onto her jacket as she exhaled slowly. “Right,” she said quietly.

The work was simple.

Automatic.

First she cleared the flowers, separating what could be saved from what couldn’t. She set the intact stems carefully to one side, away from the mud. Then she pulled the weeds that had been loosened by the storm anyway, as if the weather had already started doing half her job for her.

She found a cloth in the pocket of her coat and wiped the stone down. Slow, steady motions. Left to right. Top to bottom.

Until the name became perfectly readable again.

Andrea DeLuca.

There.

Better.

She replaced the flowers in a small cluster, adjusting them so they stood upright instead of leaning into the damp soil. Not perfect. Nothing was perfect after storms. But neater. Respected.

She picked up the stethoscope sign again, straightened it carefully, and pressed it back into the ground until it stopped wobbling.

When she was done, she sat back on her heels and looked at the grave.

It looked like itself again.

Maya stood back up, brushing dirt from her hands.

“It’s part of the job.” Her voice sounded too firm in the quiet. She nodded once, as if that settled it. As if that explained why she had come here first when there were a dozen things to do with more priority.

She hadn’t even checked the whole grounds first.

She knew that. She’d walked straight past two other sections without stopping. Maya stared at the repaired grave for a moment longer. The wind shifted again, carrying the scent of wet grass and crushed flowers. “Right,” she repeated, quieter this time.

Then she turned and walked back toward the main path, already cataloguing the next broken fence line, the next fallen branch, the next task that made sense.

Because this one didn’t.

After the storm, Maya told herself she was done. The grave was clean. The flowers were upright. Everything was back where it belonged.

There was no reason to keep paying special attention to Andrea DeLuca's plot.

None.

She would take care of his grave together with the rest of his section or if something happened.

The following Tuesday, she pulled three weeds growing near the edge of the stone.

Sure, his section was meant to have the weeds pulled tomorrow, but it was only because she was already passing by.

The next Thursday, she noticed a cracked flower stem and replaced it with one from a bouquet that had been left by the donation buckets.

The week after that, she repaired a loose corner on the wooden flower box that bordered the grave. 

Even though that was scheduled for two days after.

None of it was deliberate.

At least that was what Maya told herself.

The cemetery was her responsibility. She maintained all of it. This was maintenance.

Nothing more.

If Andrea's grave happened to be the first one she checked after Mason’s when making her rounds, that didn't mean anything. If she noticed problems there faster than anywhere else, that didn't mean anything either. She simply knew the grave well.

That was all.

The same way she knew which graves attracted rabbits or which headstones shifted after heavy rain.

Routine.

Familiarity.

Nothing else.

Routines came into existence before either of them seemed to notice.

Carina stopped by most weeks.

Not always for long. Sometimes she had somewhere else to be, and those visits lasted little more than a smile and a, "Ciao, Maya," before she disappeared between the rows of headstones again.

Maya never minded. At least, that's what she told herself. She definitely didn't notice when those days left her feeling strangely disappointed.

Most of the time, though, Carina lingered.

She would arrive with her usual flowers tucked against her side and, more often than not, something else in her hands. A coffee. A pastry wrapped in a paper bag. Once, a small box of cookies she'd apparently decided she had bought too many of and couldn't possibly finish alone.

Maya had accepted every single one.

Somehow, the visits had gradually turned into conversations, too. At first, it had only been a few words while Carina watered Andrea's grave or Maya finished whatever she was working on. Then a few minutes. Then longer.

Their conversations weren't always about anything important. Sometimes Carina asked how her week had been. Sometimes Maya told her about something she'd fixed or a tree that had needed trimming after a storm. Sometimes Carina complained about work, and Maya listened, even when half the medical terms went over her head.

They were learning little things about each other.

Nothing particularly important. Just the sort of things people picked up when they talked often enough. Maya knew Carina had a habit of talking with her hands especially when she got passionate about something. Carina knew Maya would light up when she got to tell her about a new trail she ran. The blonde knew which stories about Seattle made Carina roll her eyes, and Carina had somehow learned which parts of Maya's job she could ask about that would send her rambling.

It wasn't anything special.

It was just talking.

And Maya liked it.

And sometimes they simply stood together for a few minutes, comfortable enough that neither seemed to feel the need to fill the silence.

Maya liked those visits.

More than she probably should.

Then, one week, Carina came looking for her and found a funeral instead.

She had stopped just inside the cemetery gates, her eyes searching the familiar paths for a glimpse of Maya. She had a small paper bag in one hand and two coffees in the other when she heard the quiet murmur of voices.

Maya stood several rows away, her posture unusually straight as she stood near the graveside. There were people gathered around her, and for once, she didn’t appear as the person maintaining the cemetery.

Carina's smile faded. She looked down at the coffee in her hands before glancing back toward Maya.

Maya caught sight of her. For a second, something flickered across her face. Surprise, perhaps. Then recognition.

Carina lifted one of the coffees slightly, a silent question.

Maya's expression softened. She shook her head and gave the smallest apologetic smile before turning her attention back to the funeral.

Carina nodded. She simply left the coffee and the little paper bag somewhere Maya would find them later.

The next time she came, Maya thanked her for it, even if the brunette tried to play it off like it was nothing while Maya pretended she hadn't been disappointed when Carina didn't stay.

Neither of them was particularly convincing.

One week, Carina paused when she got to Andrea’s grave right as Maya happened to be trimming hedges nearby.

Not close enough to eavesdrop but close enough to see. Carina approached the grave carrying her usual flowers and Maya watched her tilt her head slightly at the freshly cleared space around the headstone. At the weeds that weren't there and the flowers standing neatly beside the stone.

Her gaze moved across the surrounding graves, the ones that weren’t bumped up on the maintenance list.

Then back to Andrea's.

A small frown appeared.

Maya immediately looked away and focused very intensely on a hedge that did not need her attention.

When she looked back several minutes later, Carina was still staring, shooting her a soft smile.

The following Saturday, Maya found herself wondering if Carina would notice the repaired flower box.

Which was ridiculous.

Absolutely ridiculous.

She spent half the morning arguing with herself about it.

What was also ridiculous, is that when Carina arrived, the blonde was pretending to check the irrigation lines.

Carina stopped in front of the grave, looked down, and immediately bent to run her fingers along the repaired wood. 

A grateful expression returned as their eyes met. And while Maya felt a strange flicker of satisfaction, it was followed immediately by embarrassment.

What was she doing?

This wasn't a game.

She wasn't leaving clues.

She was maintaining cemetery grounds.

Normal cemetery grounds.

That happened to contain one specific grave she thought about far too often.

They both liked the days Carina stayed after visiting Andrea. She'd sit on the cottage steps while Maya finished paperwork, and somehow those few extra minutes became longer and longer. They talked about nothing and everything, never really needing a reason to keep the conversation going.

Carina asked about Maya's childhood, and Maya asked about Italy. Carina asked why she'd become a groundskeeper, and Maya gave her the shortest answer possible. "I like it here."

Carina had looked at her for a long moment, clearly unimpressed. "That isn't really an answer."

"It's the one I have."

Carina had smiled then, the kind of smile that made Maya wonder if she'd said something funny. "I'll get the longer one eventually."

Maya had laughed, assuming she was joking.

She wasn't.

Carina wanted to know. Not just why Maya worked here, but why she'd chosen this place. Why she seemed so comfortable among the dead. Why she knew every name, even on the oldest headstones. Why some graves received more attention than others. Why she always seemed to know when Carina was arriving, even when she couldn't possibly have seen her coming.

And, perhaps most importantly, why Maya sometimes looked at her in a way that made Carina's stomach flutter before immediately looking away.

She didn’t ask that though.

Carina knew what she was doing.

Mostly.

She was flirting. She thought she was flirting, anyway. She was just starting to wonder whether she was suddenly flirting badly, or whether Maya was simply the most oblivious woman she'd ever met.

It had to be the latter.

"What?" Maya asked one afternoon when she caught Carina staring at her again.

The brunette smiled innocently. "Nothing."

"You've been looking at me for like a minute."

"Maybe I like looking at you."

Maya blinked. Then, apparently deciding there had to be another explanation, she glanced down at the paperwork in her lap. "Did I get something on my face?"

Carina stared at her for a second before laughing.

"No, Maya. Your face is fine."

"Oh." The blonde looked relieved. "Okay."

Carina shook her head, smiling to herself.

Definitely the latter.

By the time Maya locked the cemetery gates that evening, Carina's words were still stuck in her head.

Maybe I like looking at you.

Maya stopped with one hand on the gate and frowned. She'd meant it as a joke.

Probably.

Except Carina had looked at her when she'd said it. Really looked at her. And then she'd laughed when Maya asked if there was something on her face, but that didn't necessarily mean anything.

It could have been a joke, Carina joked with her all the time.

Maya pulled the gate shut and locked it, then stood there for another moment.

Maybe it had been flirting. The thought made something warm twist low in her stomach. But she immediately dismissed it.

No.

Carina wouldn't flirt with her. For one thing, they were standing in a cemetery. Who flirted in a cemetery?

And Carina was probably just friendly. She brought flowers. And coffee. And pastries. She talked to Maya for ages and remembered little things she'd told her weeks ago, but that didn't mean anything. Some people were just good at remembering things.

Carina was a doctor. Doctors were observant. And the staring? Maya had probably imagined that part. Besides, if Carina actually liked her, wouldn't she have made it more obvious?

Maya frowned.

She had no idea what more obvious would even look like.

Still, she knew what flirting looked like. She'd seen people do it. She'd even been on the receiving end of it before, often enough.

This wasn't that.

It couldn't be.

Carina was just Carina.

And Maya was just-

She sighed. "An idiot," she muttered to herself.

The worst part was that she had started looking forward to Saturdays for two different reasons.

The first was easy to admit.

She liked hearing Carina's stories. She liked learning new things about her, and even about Andrea. There was always something she liked about the way grief seemed softer when it was wrapped inside memories instead of silence.

The second reason was harder. Because now, every Saturday, Maya found herself wondering whether Carina would notice. Whether she'd see the cleaned stone, or repaired decoration. She wondered if she’d leave after a simple hello or stay for longer. And every time she did notice, Maya felt absurdly pleased. Like she'd accomplished something important.

So when the following Saturday arrived, Maya really shouldn’t have been surprised that she kept catching herself checking the clock. 

Three forty five. 

No flowers.

No woman.

No voice drifting across the grass.

She frowned and returned to repairing a section of fencing.

At four thirty, a familiar figure appeared through the front gate, rushing over to Andrea DeLuca’s grave, flowers tucked under one arm.

Relief washed through Maya so suddenly she nearly dropped the hammer.

She froze.

What the hell was that? Carina hadn't been gone for weeks. She'd been late. That was all. Maya watched her walk toward Andrea DeLuca's grave, flowers tucked under one arm before she forced herself to look away.

Later that day, Maya found Carina waiting near the cemetery gates when she finished for the day.

She slowed as she approached, surprised to see her there. Carina hadn’t stopped by after rushing in, and now she was leaning against the gate, her arms loosely crossed, and looked up as soon as Maya got close.

"Are you done for the day?"

"Yeah." Maya nodded toward the cemetery behind her. "Everything's done."

"Okay." Carina didn't move.

Maya frowned slightly. She wasn't sure what she was waiting for. "Where are you going?"

"Coffee."

Maya looked toward the road, then back at her. "You're getting coffee?"

The brunette had a soft smile on her face. "Yes."

"Okay." Maya nodded and moved to start walking.

Behind her, Carina stared.

She'd been waiting for Maya. She'd deliberately waited by the gate instead of simply leaving, because she'd thought that might be a fairly obvious hint. Then she'd told her she was getting coffee.

And Maya had said okay.

Carina took a breath. "Maya?"

Maya stopped and looked back at her. 

"Do you want to come?"

There was a brief pause. "Oh."

Carina waited.

The blonde looked at her, then at the road, apparently considering the invitation as though Carina had just asked her to help move a gravestone.

"Sure."

Carina stared at her for a second.

That was it?

No realization? No teasing? Nothing?

She shook her head and started walking.

Maybe she needed to be more direct.

Then again, she was currently walking away from a cemetery with the woman she'd been flirting with for weeks.

That seemed like progress.

Maya fell into step beside her, seemingly unaware of the crisis she'd just caused. "So, the irrigation system is still acting up," she said. "I think there's a pressure problem somewhere near the east side."

Carina smiled.

Of course there was.

For most of the walk, Maya explained the problem in increasingly complicated detail. Carina understood perhaps half of it, but she listened anyway, asking questions when Maya paused and watching the way her whole face changed whenever she talked about something she cared about.

She liked that.

She liked a lot of things about Maya, actually.

Probably more than was sensible for someone she was still getting to know. Especially considering that they met because of Andrea's grave.

Carina glanced sideways at her.

Maya was still talking about irrigation.

She had absolutely no idea what Carina was thinking.

Carina smiled.

Definitely worth it.

Carina, two weeks later, was beginning to lose her mind.

She'd smiled at Maya. She'd brought her coffee. Pastries. Little treats she'd insisted were things she had bought too many of and couldn't possibly finish alone. She'd remembered exactly how Maya liked her coffee. She'd asked her to get coffee with her. She'd sat beside her by the shed for hours, listening to stories about the cemetery and she’d even got stories about Maya's childhood. She'd touched her arm. She'd complimented her.

She had been flirting.

She knew she had been.

And Maya just smiled at her like Carina was being nice.

Carina sighed, rubbing a hand over her face.

Maybe she was being too subtle. Maybe Maya genuinely hadn't realized what she was doing.

Or maybe-

No.

Carina stopped herself before she could finish that thought.

She wasn't going to entertain the possibility that Maya didn't like her.

Because Maya did.

She had to. There were signs, moments. Carina had seen them. The way Maya looked at her when she thought Carina wasn't paying attention. The little smile she tried to hide when Carina made her laugh. The way she always seemed to find another reason to be near Andrea's grave whenever Carina arrived.

Carina had noticed.

She noticed everything about Maya.

Which was perhaps why the whole situation was becoming increasingly ridiculous. She was flirting with a woman in a graveyard. A woman who took care of her dead brother's grave. A woman who apparently thought all of this was completely normal.

Carina looked toward Andrea's headstone and shook her head. "I'm trying," she muttered.

Then she glanced back at Maya.

Maya was watching her.

For a second, Carina wondered if perhaps she'd finally figured it out.

Then Maya smiled. Just that same soft, slightly shy smile she'd given her a hundred times before.

Carina smiled back.

Maybe she would just have to ask her out.

Because apparently, after all this, that was the only thing Maya might actually understand.

Carina had chickened out the following Saturday.

She'd arrived with coffee, stayed for almost an hour, and spent most of the time she talked with the blonde, telling herself she was going to ask Maya out.

She hadn't.

The week after that, she'd decided she definitely would.

She hadn't then either.

Apparently, asking a woman out was considerably more difficult when that woman was the groundskeeper who took care of your dead brother's grave and who Carina had somehow managed to develop very real feelings for.

So, another week later, Carina stood beside Andrea's grave and decided she was done waiting.

Maya was nearby, crouched beside one of the flower beds, carefully pulling weeds from between the stones. She looked up when Carina approached and smiled.

That smile nearly ruined Carina's resolve. "Hi."

"Hi." Maya stood, brushing the dirt from her gloves. "How are you?"

"Good." Carina smiled back. "You?"

They fell into their usual rhythm after that.

Carina told Maya about her week. Maya complained about a broken piece of equipment. The brunette laughed at something Maya said, and Maya smiled in that quiet way she always did when she was pleased with herself. She thanked Maya for fixing the crooked stone border around Andrea's grave, and Maya shrugged it off like it was nothing. 

And then, eventually, she took a breath. "Maya?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you like to get coffee sometime?"

Maya blinked. The question seemingly caught her completely off guard. "As a thank you?"

Carina's heart sank.

She hadn't even meant to say it like that. And now- now she needed a reason that didn't feel quite so terrifying.

"Yes," she said, a little too quickly. "As a thank you."

Maya shook her head. "You don't need to thank me."

Carina's smile faltered. "Oh."

The disappointment was clear on her face, and Maya's expression immediately changed. "No, I didn't mean-"

"It's okay."

"No." Maya took a small step closer, looking increasingly frustrated with herself. "I didn't mean I don't want to."

Carina looked back at her.

Maya paused. Then, quieter, she said, "I'd like to get coffee with you anyway."

For a second, Carina simply stared at her until she couldn’t help the smile that tugged on her lips. "Good."

The blonde smiled back, looking relieved.

Carina hesitated. She could leave it there. She could accept the coffee and go home and spend even more time wondering whether Maya understood what she'd meant.

Or she could just say it.

"Because I wasn't really asking to thank you."

Maya's smile disappeared. "You weren't?"

Carina shook her head. "No."

There was a pause where the blonde was watching her carefully now, and Carina could see the uncertainty settling across her face.

Carina took a small breath. "I like you, Maya."

Silence.

Maya stared at her.

Carina waited.

And waited.

Maya's expression slowly changed. Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened slightly. "Oh."

Carina couldn't help but laugh. "Oh?"

Maya looked back at her, still seemingly trying to catch up with the conversation. "I-"

She stopped.

Her eyes drifted toward Andrea's grave. Then toward the coffee cup Carina had brought her that morning. Then back to Carina. "Oh."

Carina laughed again. "What?"

Maya looked genuinely bewildered. "I thought you were just really nice."

Carina stared at her. Then she laughed so hard she had to look away while Maya's cheeks turned pink. "What?"

"Nothing." Carina shook her head, still laughing. "Absolutely nothing."

Maya frowned. She was still thinking.

And Carina could practically see it happening.

The coffee.

The pastries.

The flowers.

The hours by the shed.

The invitations.

The compliments.

The touching.

The staring.

Every little moment she'd apparently filed away under Carina is just a very nice person.

Maya's eyes widened again. "Oh my God."

Carina smiled. "Yes."

"I've been an idiot."

"A little."

Maya groaned, she went to cover her face with one hand but Carina gently caught her wrist and pulled her hand away. "Hey."

Maya looked at her.

Carina smiled. "You still said yes."

The blonde’s mouth twitched. "Yeah." Maya looked at her for another moment and her smile widened. "Good."

Carina's smile softened. "Good?"

Maya nodded, suddenly looking a little more nervous. "I like you too."

Carina's eyebrows lifted. "Sì?"

"Yeah." Maya glanced away, then back at her. "I've liked you for a while."

Carina stared at her. "You have?"

Maya nodded. "I just..." She frowned, trying to find the words. "I didn't think you could like me back."

Something in Carina's expression softened. "And so you thought that all of this,” she gestured between them, “you thought I was just being nice?"

Maya gave her a sheepish smile. "Apparently."

Carina laughed quietly.

Maya smiled too.

"Still want that coffee?"

"Definitely." And this time, when Carina smiled at her, Maya understood exactly what it meant.

Carina glanced toward Andrea's headstone. Then back at Maya. "I want to know more."

Maya frowned slightly. "About… me?" Almost as if to double check.

Carina laughed. "Sì, Maya, you."

And once again, Maya looked completely speechless.

Carina decided she liked that look on her.

Quite a lot, actually.