At their ninth couple's therapy appointment, Bette and Tina learn about the "orange peel theory."

"So, tell me," Dr. Coleman prompted toward the end of their therapy session, "how did last week's homework assignment go? Did you come up with some 'firsts' to have going forward?"

"We already did a few of them." Bette flipped through her notebook. "We tried a new Spanish restaurant nearby and went to High Park. I'd never been there before."

"Good," the therapist approved. "Shared activities and exploring new places are great options. Some couples who have been together for a long time also find it productive to experiment sexually."

Glancing shyly over at Bette, Tina bit her bottom lip. "I think we'd agree with that."

Bette looked down, trying to hide her sudden smile.

Dr. Coleman was glad to know that her patients had indeed had some success there but had no interest in the specifics, so she refocused them on their upcoming homework assignment: "Have you two ever heard of the 'orange peel theory' that became popularized a few years ago?"

Bette and Tina shook their heads.

"It's related to 'acts of service,'" the therapist explained. "It's the idea that you do things for each other—even something as small as peeling an orange—not because your partner can't do it herself but because you want to make her life just a little bit easier."

"This week," she continued, "I want you to be intentional about what actions you do in service of caring for your partner—make note of what you do already, and think about additional simple and intentional acts you can do in the future."

Driving back home that afternoon, Bette decided, "Coleman still kind of makes me uncomfortable."

Tina looked over at her and smiled. "I think you'd complain about any therapist."

"Probably," Bette accepted. "There's just something so smug about her. And she always pries, just a little—but she's manipulative about it. I think she must just be single and sad and live vicariously through all her patients."

"I think she's married," Tina admitted, a twinkle in her eye.

Bette leveled a look at her. "What do you know that I don't?"

"I was curious," Tina divulged, "so I walked close to her desk once and saw a framed photo of her and another woman and a little boy. It faces away from us, and I wasn't supposed to look, but . . ."

"But you wondered, too," Bette finished. She pondered that new information. "Wow. Okay."

"It was a sweet photo."

"Just because she's with someone doesn't mean they're having sex, though," Bette maintained. "She could still be using us to get her rocks off."

"You might be right."

Bette's eyes narrowed. "Do you really think so, or are you just agreeing to make me happy?"

"You really might be. We can't tell from a photo whether a couple is actually healthy," Tina acknowledged. Then, meeting brown eyes, she offered a sweet smile. "But . . . I'm mostly just agreeing with you to make you happy. And because I love you very much."

"I'll take it." Bette dropped her palm to a slim thigh, and Tina immediately rested her hand over hers, giving it an adoring squeeze.

As they continued driving, Bette looked out the window. "Your place is actually in a really cool neighborhood. Like, look how cute this street is—with the café and all these small businesses. We should go exploring sometime."

"Sure," Tina agreed. "Maybe on the next day we both have off."

Coming home from work the following night, Tina shut the door behind her.

Hearing the sound, Bette called, "Tina?"

"Hi," Tina called back.

Bette walked into the foyer, immediately taking the grocery bags from Tina's hands to lighten her load. She leaned in for a quick kiss. "Welcome home."

"What are you making?" Tina asked as she followed Bette into the kitchen. "It smells great."

"I made some garlic bread, and I'm about to make some caramelized onion pasta."

Tina smiled. "I love when you make that."

Walking by her to grab the butter from the fridge, Bette's palm ghosted over the small of her back. "That's why I'm doing it."

"How can I help?"

Bette waved her off. "Don't do anything—just settle in. This is easy."

Tina grabbed two onions from the fruit basket. "I can slice these, at least." Bette had always hated cutting onions, the way they made her eyes sting and water.

They stood at opposite ends of the kitchen, slicing onions and garlic in companionable silence while heating up water for pasta.

"How was your day?" Tina asked.

"It was good. Research heavy. How was yours?"

"Long," Tina admitted. "We're getting close to wrapping for the season, but these last few episodes are a lot of work."

"What are we going to do during hiatus? You'll have so much more free time."

Up for anything, Tina shrugged. "We can do whatever you want."

After chopping the vegetables, Bette got to work on putting away the groceries. Pulling a bag of crackers out of the bag, her eyes widened. She held them up as Tina looked over at her. "I love these."

Tina grinned. "I finally found them around here. I had to look at three different grocery stores."

Bette took a step forward, pressing her lips to a soft cheek.

After setting the table, Tina walked back into the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine, and Bette did a double-take when she saw her face. "Have you been crying?"

Tina let out a little laugh as she wiped at her bloodshot eyes. "It's the onions."

Bette's mouth fell open. "I could have cut them!"

"Of course you could have. But I wanted to do it—to make your life just a little bit easier."

Bette brought her thumbs to Tina's cheeks, brushing away the tears. "You've done your part. Do you want to go change into something more comfortable? I'll call you down as soon as dinner's ready."

Content with that plan, Tina pecked full lips. Taking a step toward the staircase, she briefly looked back. "You're my dream woman, Bette Porter."

Walking into the bathroom later that night, Bette watched through the mirror as Tina rubbed moisturizer over her neck, looking radiant as ever. It only took a second, though, for her to notice the slight downturn of her lips, almost imperceptible—and she immediately felt concerned. "What's wrong?"

Tina kept rubbing at her skin—perhaps a little more roughly than usual. "My neck is getting all crepey."

Bette blinked at her, and Tina looked down, breaking eye contact.

"You're self-conscious about it?" A little flummoxed, Bette's eyes widened. "You're never self-conscious."

Tina shrugged. "Mostly, I like aging, you know? I feel more like myself every year. But then I see how different my neck looks from how it used to—the skin's all loose now. And then, sometimes, I look down at my hands and don't recognize them as mine."

"Your skin doesn't look loose," Bette promised.

Tina frowned at her. "You know what I'm talking about."

"Okay, yeah," Bette admitted, keeping her voice gentle. "I mean, my neck is like that now, too." A quiet moment passed. Then, decidedly, Bette asked: "Do you want me to be quiet while you just . . . have your feelings, or do you want me to say something nice?"

At that, Tina's lip curled up. Every day, they really were learning to love each other better. "I guess you can say something nice."

Wrapping her arms around the blonde from behind, Bette smiled as she caught Tina's eye through the mirror. "I know this might not be reassuring—and it doesn't change how poorly we know that women are treated as they get older—but I think every part of your body is beautiful because it's you." She pressed her lips to the side of a warm neck, breathing in the scent of her skin. "I love your neck because it's your neck." Resting her hand over Tina's, she braided their fingers together. "I love your hands because they're yours."

Her cheeks flushing with pleasure, Tina's gaze remained fixed on warm brown eyes, relishing in the heat of Bette's chin resting in the parabola of her neck and shoulder.

"Maybe that doesn't count for much, but—"

Tina smiled at her. "It counts for a lot, actually." She squeezed long fingers in hers.

The following evening, Tina came up with an idea on her way home from work. She reached for her phone and tapped Bette's name.

Bette picked up on the first ring. "Oh, hi."

Hearing the smile in Bette's voice, Tina's lips instantly quirked up. "Hey. Do you want to go to dinner tonight?"

"Are you asking me on a date?"

"Yes. Can I take you out for Italian?"

"I'm never, ever going to say no to that," Bette vowed.

Tina felt her chest suffuse with warmth. "Okay. I'm on my way home now. I'll see you soon."

Walking into their bedroom twenty minutes later, Tina smiled at the sight of Bette standing in front of the full-length mirror while putting in an earring. She leaned against the doorway, happy just to take a moment to look at her.

Bette glanced over and teased, "Are you just going to stand there staring?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I might." Unwittingly, Tina's eyes raked down her body.

Bette felt her cheeks flush.

"Are you hungry?" Tina asked as she pulled her shirt over her head, wanting to change into something nicer.

"Very." Bette's eyes were on her ample cleavage as she ambled toward her, leaning in, wanting pink lips against hers.

Tina rested her palm against a strong bicep, meeting in the middle for a kiss.

A moment later, as she felt Tina begin to pull away, Bette hooked her fingers into her belt loops to pull her in closer instead, pelvis taut against hers.

And—certainly not complaining—Tina's lips parted open, her breath coming faster. Loving the sensation of Bette's mouth against hers, her hands moved over a strong back—down to a soft ass, massaging it—a thrill going through her at the sound of Bette's answering moan. She laughed quietly.

"What?" Bette asked with amusement, their noses brushing as she pulled back to meet hazel eyes.

"Nothing. I just think you're kind of miraculous."

Not expecting that answer, Bette's eyes widened.

"And I think I'm just never going to get over the fact that you still make me feel like this."

"Like what?" Bette pressed.

Tina's gaze fell to Bette's lips. "Like I want to skip dinner."

Delighted, Bette pressed a quick kiss to her top lip. "Well, I want margherita pizza but, after that, I'm all yours."

After dinner, waiting for the check, Tina reached across the table for Bette's hand. "Should we take a picture for Angie?"

"Oh, good idea." Bette reached into her bag for her phone as Tina moved in closer, and then opened up the camera app, snapping a few photos of them smiling.

Together, they texted one to Angie with a brief message: Thinking of you!

Scooting back to the opposite side of the table, Tina turned to Bette. "Speaking of Angie . . . I was thinking about something the other day and was curious about your thoughts."

Bette set down her glass of wine. "Tell me."

"I was wondering: when she talks about our relationship, what do you hope she'll say?"

"Mmm." Bette sat back in her chair as she considered that. "I don't know. I think . . . I hope she remembers all those years that we were happy—before the fighting, and then the distance, and then the divorce. I know she was young back then, and there's always a negativity bias, but I hope the way we are now doesn't feel foreign to her."

Tina nodded, listening.

"I also hope that we've given her a sense of what love is," Bette continued. "Real love. That it's active and hard work but also that it endures and has a certain ease to it." Absentmindedly, she traced Tina's ring finger. "The good thing is that I don't think she ever doubted our love for each other. A lot of divorced parents genuinely despise each other, or seem to. But I think we always showed Angie how much love was there—even beneath all the hurt."

"I think so, too."

"I guess that doesn't really answer your question, though." Bette refocused: "I hope she'll say that we complement each other. And that, ultimately, we modeled a healthy relationship for her. And that we were really good parents—or at least always tried to be." She offered Tina a sheepish smile. "Was that too long of an answer?"

"No," Tina assured her. "I love listening to you."

"What about you?" Bette asked. "What do you hope Angie will say?"

"The same things, really—that we were a good model for her, despite all our flaws. That we showed her what love is, even in all its complexity. I hope she likes us together."

"I'm sure she does. She wanted us to get back together for so long."

"I know. A while back, she told me that—the whole first year after our divorce—she wished for it at every 11:11, on every shooting star, every birthday candle."

Bette nodded thoughtfully. "After you told me that you were engaged and I lost the election and couldn't stop crying, she divulged that she had always hoped that we would find our way back. She said she felt silly saying it, but . . . it wasn't silly. I hoped so, too."

"Yeah." Tina sighed. "I thought I was just going to be stuck missing you forever."

Bette bit back a smile.

"What are you smiling at?"

Bette shook her head. "It's still so amazing to me—that you missed me the way I missed you. You hid it so well."

"I don't know . . ." Tina countered. "It seems like Alice and Shane saw right through me."

"I don't think so. I think they were just hopeful and wanted me to try." Bette paused. "You're always so open, but you can be hard to read, too. I know you better than I know anyone on earth and, still, sometimes I would kill to know what you're thinking."

Tina's lips curled up. "If you ever want to know, you can just ask."

Bette squeezed her hand. "What are you thinking right now?"

"That I want the check." Tina met brown eyes, and the intensity of her expression made Bette's stomach dip with desire.

"We got our margherita pizza," Tina insisted. "Now, I want the dessert I was promised."

"Are you sure you're still hungry?" Bette challenged.

Tina nodded. "Very."

On Wednesday, both Bette and Tina had the day off, so they opted to walk to the cute café they'd seen and peruse the stores along that block.

Tina tucked her hands into her pockets to keep warm. "Do you like the house?"

Bette turned to look at her. "What do you mean?"

"The house," Tina repeated. "The other day, you called it 'my' place. But I want it to feel like yours, too, and not just mine. You can always buy some art or dishes or whatever. You can fill it with anything you want."

"The house is fine. I'd be happy anywhere with you."

"I know," Tina accepted. "But I want you to be comfortable. I want you to actually like it."

"I do like it," Bette vowed. "And I'm making myself right at home. Last night, I added a book to the shelf in the living room. It's between To the Lighthouse and the library copy of The Great Gatsby that Angie left here during one of her winter breaks. They charged me a $140 replacement fee for that."

Tina chuckled. "You could have sent me the bill."

Bette shrugged. "We weren't talking too much back then."

They were quiet for a moment, and then Tina smiled wistfully. "I loved that—when we first moved in together, way back when: seeing all my college Nortons interspersed with your art history books."

"So did I. And, even before that, when you still had your own place but were always at mine. Little by little, more of my things became yours."

"And now it's the other way around," Tina smiled. "I lived here first, and you're adding a book here, a painting there . . ."

"Is there anything you miss from back then," Bette asked, "from when everything was still fresh and new?"

Tina shook her head. "I like the way we are now better. I have so many good memories from then, though."

"Tell me one."

"I don't know . . ." Tina considered what to say. "I guess the way you kind of courted me. You were so romantic all the time when we first started dating, and putting in so much energy. No one had done that for me in quite the same way before."

"Yeah. I really wanted you."

"I really wanted you, too. I was just so endeared by it because, there you were—older than me and kind of intimidating—and then you'd be so sweet, kissing me on the cheek after walking me to my door."

"Who said chivalry's dead?"

"What about you?" Tina wondered, bumping her hip. "What's a good memory you have?"

Bette bit the inside of her lip, thoughtful. "I think the same thing, really—like, yes, I was trying to plan thoughtful dates and introduce you to my experience of LA, but it was also just so easy with you from the start. We were just on the same frequency."

"Yeah, mostly."

Bette's eyebrows furrowed. "When weren't we?"

Tina bit her lip, trying to stifle a smile. "Well, we had sex later than I would have liked."

"I was trying to be thoughtful!" Bette defended, laughing.

"Too thoughtful," Tina joked.

"Obviously, I wanted to. You knew that. But I tried to move slow. It was the first time you had dated a woman—I wanted to ease you in."

"Always so chivalrous." Tina reached out for Bette's hand.

Bette squeezed it in hers. "Needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised that it happened so quickly. And just . . . the way it did. I expected you to be more timid."

Tina shone at her, feeling a little prideful. "I've never been timid with you."

"I know," Bette grinned back.

By the time they were on their way home, the clouds had darkened and the sky was starting to spit.

Bette picked up her pace. "Maybe we should have brought an umbrella."

"I probably should have worn something water-repellant."

Bette looked over at her shivering in her cashmere sweater. "Do you want me to run for the car and then come pick you up? Call an Uber?"

"No," Tina promised. "I want to walk with you."

Bette started to take off her jacket.

Tina hurried to wave the action away. "No, just come closer." She wrapped an arm around Bette's back, pulling her hip to hers.

Paralleling the movement, Bette basked in the warmth of Tina's body. She leaned down, pressing her lips to blonde hair.

That afternoon, after a luxuriously hot shower, Tina was curled up on the couch with her laptop when Bette set down a cup of tea on the coaster in front of her.

Tina looked up. "How did you know I wanted tea?"

Bette sat down beside her with a grin. "Because I know you."

And, knowing Bette just as well, Tina reached for a blanket and threw it open over toned thighs before pulling some over herself.

Bette unlocked her iPad, and they spent a while working side-by-side, happy just to be in each other's company.

Eventually, tired of working, Tina shut her laptop and pushed it onto the coffee table.

Bette looked over at her. "Did you get bored?"

Tina made a face. "I just don't want to work anymore." She nodded toward Bette's screen. "What are you doing?"

"Just some research. Nothing that can't wait." Bette set it down and angled her body toward Tina's. "What else should we do this afternoon?"

"This? We have so few days where we just do nothing. And this weather's the perfect opportunity."

Bette smiled mischievously. "Tell me a secret while we do nothing?"

Tina considered what to say, her expression thoughtful. Then, gently, she offered, "You know, I knew how much my being engaged bothered you. I knew immediately."

Almost infinitesimally, Bette's shoulders slumped. "You did?"

Tina tucked a curl behind Bette's ear. "I always know."

Bette shook her head regretfully. "I tried so hard not to make things harder for you. I love you for knowing me so well, but I hate that you saw right through me."

"I was relieved to know that you cared, honestly," Tina admitted. "Everything was so hard back then. And I think you being overjoyed for me would've been worse—because it would have meant we were really done, and that you were over me for good."

Bette kissed the back of her hand. "You know that there's no getting over you."

They smiled at each other for a moment, and then Bette asked, "What was it that gave me away?"

"I just know you," Tina began. "So I know that, when you're blindsided, you stop blinking."

"I felt blindsided," Bette sighed. "I had no idea you two were that serious. And it's not because you didn't communicate that to me—you always mentioned her when we spoke, and I knew that you lived together. Thinking about it made me want to die, though, so I just tried to block it out."

Easily relating, Tina smiled. "Like when I saw you and Pippa."

"That was way different," Bette defended. "We had just started dating!"

"That doesn't matter!" Tina insisted. "Think about how quickly you and I got serious."

"True," Bette relented. "What else gave me away?"

Tina bit the inside of her cheek, thinking back. "When you're upset but trying to hide it, your smile slips for a second and you start fidgeting."

Bette brushed a piece of lint off her pants.

"And then you get quiet," Tina continued, her thumb swiping over Bette's jaw, "and less self-assured." She traced the curve of her top lip. "That doesn't happen often."

Bette raised an eyebrow, joking, "So, if I want to keep my feelings a secret from you going forward, I should make sure to blink and keep my hands still and talk a lot."

"Exactly," Tina confirmed. "Really, you were generous to try to keep your feelings from me before—you did it for me, and I love you for that. Now, though, I want to know how you feel. I want to know everything."

Bette nodded. "Me, too."

"Your turn," Tina prompted, tucking her legs under herself and focusing her attention on Bette. "Tell me a secret."

They sat in silence while Bette considered what to say. Then, she offered, "For a while, I thought I would just spend the rest of my life alone."

Tina exhaled a disbelieving breath. "What? Every woman in LA would eat you up. Most of them already have."

"I didn't mean I'd have to be alone," Bette clarified. "I meant that I would choose it."

Tina looked at her carefully, brows furrowing. "Wouldn't that have been lonely?"

"It would have been safer."

"That's fair," Tina acknowledged.

"And I was so sure that I'd never find anything close to what I had with you," Bette admitted. "Obviously, I eventually started dating again, but . . ."

"But what?" Tina pressed, even though she already knew the answer.

Bette offered her a soft smile. "It didn't really compare."

Tina leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to full lips. "I love you."

Bette rested her hand on the back of Tina's neck, keeping her close. "I love you."

That night, Bette and Tina lay side by side, legs tangled between them.

Bette lifted her hand, forefinger tracing the curve of Tina's jaw. Through the darkness, she met hazel eyes. "How was your day?"

Tina chuckled softly, her palm smoothing over a lithe waist. "We've been together since dawn."

Bette grinned. "I know. Did you like it?"

Tina's eyes caressed her face. "I liked it a lot. How about you?"

"I loved it."

"Do you have a busy day tomorrow?"

Bette nodded. "I need to do some budget prep for the next fiscal year and make some calls. And then—oh, I forgot to tell you—I'm going to dinner with that textile artist, the one I told you about. We might want to show some of his work."

"His stuff is so cool," Tina complimented. "The colors are amazing."

"They are," Bette agreed. "How about yours?"

"It'll just be a film day. A lot of stunt work. I'm going to try to get there pretty early, but I'll try not to wake you up."

Bette smiled. "I like being awake in the morning with you, even if one of us has to run off immediately."

"Do you want to watch a movie when you get home tomorrow night? You can pick it."

Bette pulled Tina toward her. "You really know the way to my heart."

Tina burrowed in closer, arm wrapped tight around Bette's back, legs braided. "Mine, too."

The next morning, by some miracle, Tina didn't wake Bette up as she got dressed. Heading downstairs to make a quick cup of tea, she decided to brew half a pot of coffee, too, and leave it on the "keep warm" setting—one less task for Bette before work.

After coming home that afternoon, Tina opted to spend an hour cleaning up the house—running the dishwasher and cleaning out the fridge. As she folded a blanket, she noted the Betty Tompkins painting—She is difficult to work with—perched carefully on the console table, still needing a place on the wall.

Walking out into the garage, she located a hammer, nail, and hook before heading back into the living room to finally find a good spot to hang it. She knew she wanted it in there—somewhere that Bette would see it every day—so that she would always remember how much she valued her ferocity.

Ultimately, she hung up the painting on the right side of the mantle, right across from where they sat on the couch every evening.

Walking through the door that night, Bette called, "I'm home!"

Although a light was on in the kitchen—and a lamp on by the couch, illuminating the living room with a golden hue—Tina was nowhere in sight.

"Tina?" Bette started climbing the stairs toward their bedroom.

"In here!" Tina called.

Following the sound of her voice, Bette strode through their bedroom and then tapped the adjoining bathroom's closed door before easing it open. "Oh," she started when she noted Tina in the bathtub, water up to her chest, steam turning the room hazy. "Sorry. I just wanted to tell you that I'm home."

Tina sat up straighter, her eyes on Bette's face. "How was dinner?"

"It was good. Really good," Bette smiled. "We can catch up after your bath. I don't want to interrupt." She turned back, reaching for the doorknob.

"You're not interrupting," Tina assured her. She held out her hand, beckoning Bette back. "Join me?"

Bette's lips curled up into a slow smile. Shutting the door, she made her way toward the tub, fingers already unbuttoning her blouse.

Laying her head against the porcelain, Tina spread out again, floating supine, her eyes on bronze skin as it was slowly exposed to her.

After pulling off her socks and underwear, Bette stepped into the water—still deliciously hot—kneeling briefly between Tina's spread legs before lying on top of her, covering her body with hers and leaning in for a kiss. "Hi."

Tina dimpled, arms wrapping around Bette's back and pulling her close. "Hey."

"Did you have a good day?"

Tina nodded. "Just long. And it's getting so cold out, so I thought a bath would be nice." She lifted her head, pressing her lips to a tan cheek. "You're helping, too."

Bette reached out, brushing a droplet of water off Tina's forehead. "You deserve some relaxation." Ducking her head, she kissed the skin at the side of her neck, a little pink from the heat.

Tina tilted her head back to give Bette more room. She ran her palms over a tan back, savoring smooth skin.

Bette's lips made their way up the curve of her jaw, up to the shell of her ear. "Do you want me to help?" She trailed her fingers up an outer thigh.

"Always." Tina reached for Bette's cheeks, pulling her face to hers. "As long as you promise not to let me drown."

Bette laughed against pink lips. "I promise." She brought her hand higher, middle finger swiping over Tina's clit.

Tina's breath shuddered out at the sensation, and Bette smiled at the sound before repeating the movement. She lifted her other hand to a full breast, caressing it, feeling a nipple harden beneath her palm.

Tina's grip tightened around Bette's back, wanting her as close as possible.

Bette's finger continued its steady movements against Tina's clit, slow and light, not in any rush.

Tina sucked on Bette's bottom lip before easing her tongue into her mouth, groaning when Bette did the same.

Bette hummed in appreciation at the taste of Tina, at how well they always seemed to fit together, and Tina shivered as the sound reverberated against her lips. She thrusted her hips up, wanting more contact. Then, she reached down, resting her hand over Bette's and angling it lower, pushing against two long fingers to urge them inside her.

Glad to give into what Tina wanted, Bette pushed two fingers in, feeling a wetness against her skin, distinct from the bathwater.

"More," Tina insisted, breath coming fast when Bette obeyed, pushing two fingers in again—deeper, this time—while thumbing a swollen clit.

Pulling back for air, Bette looked into Tina's darkening eyes. "I love how you're never shy."

Tina thrust her hips up to meet Bette's rhythm, nails scratching down her back. "Fuck."

At that, Bette felt her own center jolt with desire. "It's so hot," she whispered, dropping a kiss to Tina's shoulder, "the way you always tell me exactly what you need." Maintaining her fingers' movements, she let her lips hover above her ear. "Tell me what else you want."

Tina moaned softly, then searched for the words, finding it more difficult than usual to be articulate. "Will you . . . kiss my neck?"

"Yes." Bette pressed her lips to a pink cheek and then ducked her head, lips moving down the column of her neck.

"Harder," Tina urged, breath quickening.

Bette felt her skin line with goosebumps at the need in Tina's voice—amazed by the knowledge that she was already close. Sucking in the skin at Tina's throat, she whispered, "I'll try not to leave a mark."

Tina's eyes fell shut, unable to focus on anything but the pleasure of Bette's fingers inside her, against her, that hungry mouth devouring her neck.

Keeping her face buried in Tina's neck for another minute—which, incidentally, wasn't loose or crepey, just warm and soft—Bette lazily kissed her way up her jaw, her chin, searching for pink lips. Immediately, their lips parted, tongues brushing and breaths flowing into each other's mouths.

Tina rolled her hips again and, unable to help herself, Bette ground down—desperate for a little friction—pressing herself against the back of her own hand as she pushed in deeper.

A little whimper escaped Tina's throat, their kissing increasingly sloppy as she fought for air, nearing the edge. "I'm—"

"Come here," Bette breathed, arching her back to try to press herself harder against Tina, grabbing hold of blonde hair to pull her face up to hers.

Tina felt her hips raise steadily against Bette's hand, her movements quickening, beyond her control. "Oh, fuck—Bette—I—" She let out a guttural moan as she felt her orgasm take hold, her body buzzing, the edges of her vision blurring—

Rapt, Bette watched Tina as she shuddered against her, devotedly maintaining her rhythm despite the sting of nails digging into her skin, her own knuckles bruising her pubic bone as the blonde's thighs held her in a vice grip.

A minute later, Tina's head fell back against the tub, face flushed red and dewy with sweat. "Oh, my god . . ."

Gingerly, Bette eased her fingers out of her, her other hand coming up to brush back wet hair.

Tina offered a goofy grin, still recovering, working to catch her breath. "I needed that."

Bette smiled back. "Happy to help."

An hour later—both women clean and sated—Bette found them a movie to watch, looking up when Tina came in from the kitchen with an orange and a bowl in hand.

"All Dr. Coleman's talk about them this week made me want one," Tina explained as she sat down. "I stole this for us from work earlier."

Bette chuckled. "Now that you mention it, it's been a long time since I've had an orange." Once they were settled—a blanket tucked around them—she pressed play.

Her eyes on the screen, Tina began peeling, the scent of citrus filling the air. She dropped the refuse into the bowl, then took care to remove the pith before breaking the orange in two and handing Bette her half.

Leaning her head against Tina's shoulder, Bette removed one of the sections, taking a bite.

Tina rested her cheek on Bette's web of curls and bit into a slice, reveling in the simple pleasure of splitting an orange and eating it side by side.

Later that night, they sat together in bed, the room half-lit by lamplight. Looking up from the article on her iPad, Bette noted the cover of Tina's reading material—A History of My Brief Body. "I feel like I've seen that cover before. Is it any good?"

Tina nodded. "It's great. He's brilliant."

Bette scooted closer. "Any highlights so far?"

Tina began flipping back through the pages, looking for some of the lines that had stood out to her. Another minute passed and then: "Oh. Here." She quoted: "'To love someone is firstly to confess: I'm prepared to be devastated by you.'"

Bette hummed softly in agreement. She had learned that, yes, the author was right—love was about giving up control, about knowing that Tina could destroy her and just trusting, hoping, that she wouldn't. And she knew that the same was true for Tina.

"I know things can always change, and we can't ever really know the future, but I feel like you and I are done devastating each other," Tina shared.

Bette smiled. "Me, too. Finally."

"Finally," Tina agreed. Then, she blinked at the text-heavy iPad screen in Bette's lap. "What are you reading?"

Bette scrolled up to the title with her index finger. "Oh, it's a new article in the LA Times about how dire things are for museum workers. Apparently, 74% can't cover basic living expenses and make less than $50,000 a year—and so many of them have master's degrees, so that's criminal."

Tina nodded, recalling Bette's time at the CAC. "You made so much less than you deserved for so many years."

"I know. And I had it easier—I forged my own path to an extent, and I had my dad. I've never had to worry about making rent. But I know that not everyone has that privilege."

"I wonder if there's anything you can do to help the cause," Tina mused. "With your time in politics and board connections, you have so much more cultural capital than young people in the art world now."

"Are you calling me old?" Bette joked.

Tina chuckled. "I'm calling you wise and passionate and well-connected."

"I know. And you're right," Bette agreed. "I'll think about it."

Tina yawned. "Good."

Bette smiled, endeared. "Should we sleep?"

After turning off the lamp on her bedside table, Tina turned onto her other side and wrapped her body around Bette's, her leg tucked snugly between strong thighs.

"The 'orange peel theory' is aptly named, I think," Bette mused. "Doing small things for each other, considering each other . . . it matters."

"True," Tina hummed.

"But, on a non-metaphoric level," Bette continued, "I would peel an orange for you every day, if you asked me to—every hour."

Tina's lips curled up. "I'd plant you an orange grove."

"I'd become a scientist and find a way to grow oranges without a peel," Bette bantered.

Tina's lips puckered against a bare shoulder, laughing with her. "That's how I know it's real."

Letting her eyes fall shut, Bette reached for Tina's hand.

Intertwining their fingers, Tina inhaled deep, breathing in the scent of Bette's curls.