The Dove That Held No Olive Branch

"...And what if you make me uncomfortable also?"

There was something in her tone. Not accusation, but something more vulnerable and rawly sincere. Like she was trying to bridge the gap between them but couldn't quite find the right words to say - and just picked anything.

Renée smiled at nothing, the expression failing to reach her eyes.

"If I do, then I guess I deserve it."

She watched the impact of her words land as she turned her face towards her ex. She saw the flash of dismay across Ayla's face that was masked as quick as it came.

"I was joking, sorry."

Ayla's voice dropped even quieter, but there was a tension in it that suggested she'd been anything but joking. That she regretted even this small attempt at honesty the moment she saw the way Renée had seemed to take it.

[She doesn't deserve it, I do…]

They stood there for another moment, both of them trapped in the weight of things unsaid. Both wanting to reach across the distance between them but held back by their own constructed walls. Their own assumptions about what they deserved.

The music changed to a new beat. The band now played something faster and more energetic that drew their attention away from the precipice they'd found themselves on. Renée pointed over to the bar before breaking the silence.

"I'm going for another glass. Speak up if she bothers… well, you know how to handle yourself."

"...Okay."

Another moment slipped by as their spiralling paths spun out of range again. Another chance at honesty lost to impatient retreats and misunderstood intentions.

⛌-⛌-⛌

The reception was winding down and most guests drifted back to their rooms or to the beach for late-night walks. The important couple had also already snuck off to do what freshly wedded people do. Meanwhile, Renée nursed her fourth glass of wine and watched the cleanup begin with the lazy contentment of someone who'd successfully navigated a social marathon.

Not just the morning wedding and early party, but the latter half especially.

[Why did everyone want to talk to me all of a sudden after I walked away from her?]

If she was an even more pessimistic woman, she would think she entirely brought it on herself somehow. Instead, she was enough of a realist to come to the conclusion that the barrage of speakers were troops sent in by Leana.

Two out of three of them all but directly asked about her 'chasing away' Samantha, after all. Of course Ayla was spared from that, so she had the energy to help the staff stack chairs.

Even in her bronze dress that looked like she was made for others to do the work for her, some habits didn't change.

She'd always been the one to clean the coffee shop tables herself before their study sessions instead of waiting on a worker. Her ex would even jump to reorganize the library cart after their research date nights, though she didn't like to be seen as a control freak.

[It was cute, though.]

The lawyer was reaching for a high stack when the writer noticed them wobbling on the dance floor's edge. Without thinking, Renée set down her glass and moved quickly to steady the tower of chairs before anything could happen.

"Careful there, dove. Let me-"

The endearment slipped out as naturally as breathing. Renée felt Ayla go still beside her, the stack of chairs forgotten between them. The word hung in the air like the last note of a familiar song, the smell of wine accompanying it.

The dark haired woman's careful posture loosened, almost imperceptibly. Something flickered in her amber eyes when the author looked over. Not just surprise, but a deeper recognition of something that seemed to catch in her throat.

"I-"

She started, then stopped as her hand tightened on the folding chair.

"Sorry."

Renée stepped back quickly to create physical distance, even as heat rose in her cheeks.

"I just had a bit too much wine. Makes it hard to think like a normal person."

The lawyer's reaction was as subtle as ever - the slightest flinch at 'normal'. A started movement as if to speak and let something loose. But her composure won out, even as something complicated moved into place behind her eyes.

"It's fine."

She coolly responded. Her voice was neutral and too careful even as she remained staring at the person who had rushed over. Like there was something more that needed to be said. Renée gestured vaguely toward the exit.

"Right. I should… Good night, Ayla."

She retreated from the situation before she could do something unwise, not quite quickly enough to miss how Ayla's mask slipped, revealing something that looked almost like pain. Or guilt. The wine wasn't nearly strong enough to explain away the ache that bloomed in Renée's chest at seeing those emotions in her ex.

[That wasn't new. Or little. It was old… six years old.]

Behind her, she heard the soft scrape of a chair being stacked. Renée made it halfway down the open-air corridor before the wind outside caught her attention. Earlier, the evening breeze had been pleasant - now it carried an edge of gusts that made the tropical plants rustle with more urgency.

She paused at one of the archways, leaning into it and letting the air cool her wine-flushed face. She tried not to think about how that pet-name had slipped out so easily. So unintentionally, but so voluntary in her partly compromised state.

When she continued her escape, she caught fragments of conversation near the staff room entrance.

"...depression is intensifying faster than..."

"...better safe than sorry."

A night manager was speaking quietly but firmly into a radio, his casual island resort uniform only slightly official enough in the dark of night to recognize. She didn't *mean* to eavesdrop, but habits were hard to break. She allowed herself to listen to all sorts of things people spoke out loud and blamed it on her writing profession.

Besides, it was easier to hyperfocus on potential weather concerns than on the way Ayla's composure had all but *melted* when she'd called her 'dove'. As if saying it was somehow more effective than that bronze dress she wore!

The lobby workers were shifting into motion as she passed through. Staff members checked clipboards and spoke into radios. At the front desk itself, she noticed them reviewing what looked like a guest registry. Then there were two employees in resort polos that stationed themselves at the beach access points.

"All guests must return to the main building for safety. Please check in at the desk so we can mark you as notified."

One of them announced to a couple who'd clearly been out for an early moonlit walk. Their relaxing time had turned into whispers of worry. Around the time Renée had worked out that she needed to start asking questions instead of just watching, the wedding planner appeared from a service corridor.

She was conferring with the night manager, tablet in hand as they cross-referenced some list on its glowing screen. Carmen's work ethic was now directed at a new sort of logistical challenge. Her eyes lit up and she brushed her hair that wasn't even in the way behind her ear when she caught sight of the writer.

[Okay. I see it now. Was I blinded by my nerves? If she's been doing this ever since I talked to her…]

Even though she hadn't intended to do it in the first place, Renée realized she *couldn't* blame her ex for her assumptions. It was clearly around Stage 2 of a crush! It really was not the sort of complication she needed at this point.

Even if it made Ayla wear *that* dress. Walk that way. Lean over in front of her while bringing her a glass of wine.

[...Actually, maybe I'll send her a fruit basket or something when I get back. Good. Job. Carmen.]