Bay jane and the art of failing gracefully

Bay stood in front of a local queer-owned bakery, clutching her tote bag and praying her deodorant was still working.

Inside, Jane was already talking to the owner, laughing about something in that light, breezy way that made Bay’s knees go weak. She looked... unfairly hot. Like “flirty farm-to-table lesbian” hot. Bay briefly considered running.

Instead, she pulled out Kylee’s note, now folded four times and looking like it had been through war.

HOW TO FLIRT: A GUIDE FOR DUMB GAYS

• Say a normal sentence.

• Make eye contact.

• Don’t spill anything.

• Maybe smile??

• Cry later.

Bay took a breath and walked in.

Jane turned and lit up. “Bay! We were just talking about rainbow cannolis.”

“Love that for us,” Bay said, immediately overcompensating with a double thumbs-up.

Say a normal sentence, her brain screamed.

That wasn’t one.

Jane raised an amused eyebrow. “You okay?”

“Yep! Just thinking about pastry-based activism. Very powerful. Doughnuts for justice.”

Jane laughed. “You’re so weird.”

Bay beamed. “Thank you! I mean—wait. Was that a compliment or a red flag?”

Jane shook her head, biting back a smile. “Come meet Luna, the owner.”

Bay turned to greet Luna, extended her hand, and—of course—knocked over a tiny plastic display of pride flag pins.

“NOOOO,” Bay whisper-screamed, scrambling to gather them like they were endangered species. “I swear I’m not trying to sabotage gay businesses!”

Luna chuckled. “You’re good. Jane warned me you’re a bit... energetic.”

Bay looked up at Jane, scandalized. “You warned her?!”

“Gently!” Jane defended. “I said you were charming and unpredictable. Like a gay raccoon.”

Bay straightened up, pins in hand, face pink. “I prefer ‘lesbian ferret,’ thank you.”

Jane laughed so hard she snorted. “Okay, now that was a normal sentence.”

Bay silently checked that off her list. One down. Four to go.

Later, as they walked out with a box of rainbow cannolis and fresh plans for the Pride vendor table, Jane touched Bay’s wrist lightly. "Hey... want to grab dinner sometime? Just us. No committees. No rainbow merch."

Bay blinked. Her brain short-circuited. Her heart tried to exit stage left.

"Like a date?" she croaked.

Jane smiled. "Yeah. Like a date."

Bay tried to nod but mostly just vibrated. "Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool cool."

Jane squeezed her hand, briefly. Bay was not going to cry. (Yet.)

Two Weeks Later

Bay was sitting on Jane’s couch, eating Thai takeout, wearing her lucky hoodie, and being kissed so slowly she forgot what year it was.

Jane pulled back slightly, lips still hovering. "You still nervous?"

Bay grinned. "Only because you're, like... wildly hot and emotionally stable. It's upsetting."

Jane snorted and kissed her again. "Good. Keep being weird. I like it."

And just like that, Bay’s long, chaotic journey through queer panic, rainbow pins, and committee meetings had landed her exactly where she belonged:

In the arms of someone who thought her ferret energy was the best kind of love language.