Hoodies, Hands, and Heart Problems
Bay hadn’t planned on going out. She was wearing her “leave me alone” hoodie (complete with one mysterious bleach stain), leggings that had seen better years, and shoes that might have technically been slippers.
She just needed oat milk. That’s it. A quick, quiet, deeply introverted mission to the local co-op.
And then—bam.
There was Jane. In the produce section. In jeans and a soft gray T-shirt and a messy ponytail, holding an avocado like she was auditioning for a queer cooking show called Domestic and Dangerous.
Bay froze, clutching her oat milk like a life preserver.
Jane spotted her and lit up. “Hey!”
Bay’s brain: Run.
Bay’s mouth: “Oh hi hello yes fruits!”
Jane laughed. “That’s a sentence.”
“I meant—fruit. You. No—fruit that you are holding. You’re holding fruit.”
“Technically a large berry,” Jane said, gently placing the avocado in her basket. “Want to walk with me?”
Bay blinked. “Like... walk walk?”
“Yeah. It’s nice out. You look like you need air.”
She did. But she didn’t know if she needed Jane-shaped air.
Still, her feet moved anyway.
They ended up strolling through the park next to the co-op, sipping iced drinks and talking about nothing and everything. Jane kicked off her shoes and walked barefoot in the grass. Bay trailed behind, resisting the urge to narrate her gay spiral out loud.
Jane suddenly turned to her. “You ever think about how different life was, like, five years ago?”
Bay snorted. “Five years ago I didn’t even know how to properly flirt with women. I thought ‘gay panic’ was just a meme. Now I live there.”
Jane smiled, a little sad. “You’ve changed a lot. In a good way.”
Bay shrugged, looking at the grass. “I’m still figuring it out.”
“You’re allowed,” Jane said, and gently bumped her shoulder. “I’m still figuring it out, too.”
It was the way she said it—soft, sincere, like she wasn’t just talking about queer identity or career stuff. Like she was talking about Bay. About them.
Bay swallowed hard. “You always this emotionally available outside the office?”
Jane grinned. “Only when I’m barefoot.”
Bay stared at her—completely, utterly unprepared for this version of Jane. Casual. Warm. Dangerous.
And then Jane did something that short-circuited Bay’s entire nervous system.
She reached over and tucked Bay’s hair behind her ear.
Just like Kylee used to.
Just like Bay had dreamed someone would, when she felt like she deserved it.
Bay forgot how to breathe.
Jane’s voice was barely above a whisper. “You okay?”
Bay laughed softly, trying to play it off. “I think I need to lie down. On the grass. Forever.”
Jane smiled and lay down beside her.
Bay
Bay sat across from Jane in a tiny meeting room that smelled like old Expo markers and workplace tension. A sad whiteboard stood between them, covered in notes from a previous team that had clearly given up on life.
They were alone.
Alone alone.
Bay was doing great. Sweating only a little. Definitely not spiraling about the way Jane had tucked her legs under her like they were lounging in her own apartment or something.
Jane tapped her pen. “Okay, so vendor timeline. We’ve got the bakery confirmed, plus that arts-and-crafts booth that sells glitter pronoun pins?”
Bay nodded. “Yeah, and the queer plant nursery wants to do a ‘repotting station for your ex-era’ theme. Which is either genius or emotionally violent.”
Jane snorted. “We love a little trauma therapy with our ferns.”
Bay laughed too, then paused. Jane was looking at her now, eyes soft, thoughtful. Not in the “ha ha, you’re a walking disaster” way. More in the “I see you and I’m not running” way.
Bay panicked.
“So,” she said, voice too high, “what’s your... deal?”
Jane blinked. “My deal?”
“I mean—like, are you seeing anyone? Dating? Crushing? Do you like long walks or emotional unavailability?”
Jane tilted her head, amused. “You asking for a friend, Bay?”
Bay’s brain short-circuited. “Maybe. I mean. No. I mean—just making conversation! Like coworkers do. In... one-on-one meetings. Professionally.”
Jane leaned in just slightly. “I’m not seeing anyone. Been too busy with work and, you know... other distractions.”
Bay’s mouth went dry. “Oh.”
A silence settled between them—not awkward, not heavy. Just... charged.
Jane smiled gently. “You always get twitchy when things get real.”
Bay flailed. “I do not—okay, I do. But in my defense, flirting terrifies me and you smell like fancy soap and your face is very symmetrical.”
Jane laughed—a warm, surprised kind of laugh that made Bay feel like she'd won something.
“Bay,” she said, “are you trying to flirt?”
Bay leaned back in her chair dramatically. “I have no idea. Am I succeeding? Because I genuinely can’t tell anymore.”
Jane rested her chin in her hand. “You are, actually.”
Bay froze.
Jane’s smile turned just a little mischievous. “In your own, chaotic way.”
Bay tried to speak but only managed a very dignified, “Ha.”
They both laughed again, softer this time. A new kind of quiet settled—one with possibilities.
Then the door opened and Carlos poked his head in.
“Meeting over? Or should I come back after the honeymoon?”
Bay almost died.
Jane didn’t miss a beat. “We’re busy planning our plant-themed wedding, Carlos. Come back later.”
Bay just stared at her. “You can’t say things like that and expect me to function.”
Jane winked. “Good thing I don’t expect that.”