During their tenth week of couple's therapy, Bette and Tina consider spending a few days in Vancouver.

"Last week, you considered what small acts of service you could do for each other," Dr. Coleman recapped. "Again, a lot of those small acts ultimately become habits you don't even have to think about, but it's good to consider doing them with intention, too—it's an easy way to show your partner how much you care."

Bette and Tina looked at her, listening.

The therapist turned to Tina. "Tina, we've learned that acts of service are especially important to you. More than hearing about how much Bette loves you, you like to see that love in practice."

Tina nodded.

Then, Dr. Coleman turned to Bette. "But, Bette, acts of service are important to you, too. You want Tina to care enough to know you, and to know you well enough to effectively show you how much she cares."

"Right," Bette agreed.

"So, keep working on this," the therapist encouraged. "Sometimes, it's these small things that really make a difference in long-term partnerships."

"Definitely." "We will."

"Now, what about this week?" she prompted, switching gears. "Any major plans—either together or apart?"

Bette shook her head. "It's a typical week for me. Tina's going to Vancouver, though."

"We're shooting on location," Tina explained. "Just for a few days."

"Okay. So, since you won't be together as much as usual, your assignment can be individual this week—a way for you each to reflect on potential triggers in yourselves and in each other, as well as areas of appreciation." Dr. Coleman paused for a minute before continuing in more detail: "I want you to create a list of the things you love most and least about yourself. Then, I want you to create those same lists about your partner."

Bette made a face. "What's the purpose of that?"

"It's an opportunity to reflect. It's also a good reminder to yourself about what you may want to work on, and it alerts you to what might trigger an argument between you two."

"How so?" Tina asked.

"Well, let's say that you hate that Bette is habitually late. Her being late is likely to spark a fight," the therapist offered. "Or let's say that you're habitually late—and you dislike that about yourself. If Bette's late one time, that may also spark a fight. By making note of these trigger-points ahead of time—and actively working on them and communicating about them—you can help avoid conflict going forward."

"And we have to share the lists with each other?" Tina pressed, already nervous.

"Not this week. This week, I just want you to reflect individually."

In the car on their way home from the appointment, Bette looked over at Tina. "I resent this assignment."

"Should we rebel and just not do it?" Tina asked conspiratorially.

"Yes," Bette joked. Then, looking out at the road in front of them, she sighed.

Affectionately, Tina dropped her hand to a toned thigh. "It's funny that Coleman used the example of 'habitual lateness'—because that really did drive me crazy for a while."

Bette looked over at her.

"It started six or seven years after we got together," Tina continued. "Suddenly, I found myself always waiting around for you. And then, at some point, you were back to being punctual."

"I think it was around the time Angie was born," Bette remembered. "I had lost you once. I wasn't going to take you for granted again."

But, of course, they both knew that wasn't exactly true—that Bette had in fact taken Tina for granted after that, and that had very much factored into their divorce.

Watching Bette frown regretfully, knowing exactly what she was thinking, Tina smiled at her. "That's why we're here—in therapy, and doing these assignments even when we would really rather not: so that we can keep prioritizing this and stay together."

"Yeah." Bette shrugged helplessly as she met hazel eyes. "I'm still a work in progress."

Tina reached for her hand and brought it up to her lips. "Me, too."

On Sunday morning, Bette and Tina sat on the sofa together to work on the lists their therapist had assigned them.

Tina scrunched up her nose as she looked at her list of things she liked least about herself. "I know that self-reflection is important, but it's not fun at all."

Bette laughed. "The alternative is worse, though. We know people who never reflect, and they're usually insufferable."

"True," Tina hummed. "What else should we do today? We'll need a palate cleanser."

Bette shrugged. "I'll take you to lunch?"

Tina rested her palm on her chest. "The way to my heart."

They got to working on their second set of lists, thoughtful and quiet, pens hovering over pages. Stubborn, Bette wrote of Tina.

After coming up with a couple adjectives, Tina stared blankly at her notebook, trying to come up with three more things about Bette that drove her crazy. But all that came to mind were the aspects about her that she loved.

Without meaning to, Bette glanced over at Tina's notebook, spotting the word Reactive before hurrying her eyes away, not wanting to invade her privacy.

"This is too hard," Tina decided.

Bette smiled. "I honestly think I like you too much to come up with five things."

Tina beamed. "Isn't it nice how we not only love but also like each other?"

Bette reached out, gingerly tucking a strand of blonde hair behind Tina's ear. "Yes."

That evening, they stood together in the kitchen, slicing vegetables for the lemony orzo recipe they'd seen in the New York Times while music played softly in the background.

"Where do you keep your zester again?" Bette asked.

Tina pointed to the drawer to her left. "It's here."

Walking around her to grab it, Bette affectionately brushed her palm over the small of Tina's back, and they shared a little smile when the blonde looked up.

Once the scent of lemon peel filled the air, Tina offered, "I think that cooking with someone you love is one of life's greatest pleasures."

Bette nodded in agreement. "It makes me so happy—just standing in the kitchen with you most nights, even when we're not saying anything."

They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes. Tina washed and dried her hands at the sink and then turned and strode up behind Bette, wrapping her arms around her. She tucked her chin into the side of a bronze neck so that she could watch long fingers carefully deshell the garlic.

Immediately, Bette's lips curled into a smile. "Hi."

"Hi." Tina ducked her head, inhaling the clean scent of Bette's skin, her dark curls. "This song always makes me think of you."

Listening to the chorus of Donnie and Joe Emerson's "Baby," Bette smirked. "Why—because I'm your baby?"

"Yes." Tina craned her neck so that she could press her lips to a smooth cheek. "Because you're my baby."

Bette felt butterflies fill her abdomen. She felt her whole body bloom with warmth.

"And my sweetie." Tina pecked her cheek again, then continued punctuating each term of endearment with a kiss. "And my honey, darling, sweetheart, lover—"

At that, Bette turned in her arms, reaching for a curved jaw to pull Tina's face to hers.

Tina eagerly returned the kiss, smiling at the sound of Bette's barely audible moan of approval.

Feeling pink lips curl up against hers, Bette was so in love that she felt delirious. She ran her tongue along Tina's, wanting her closer and then closer still. And, feeling that strong grip around her back tighten, forcing their bodies nearer, she knew that Tina felt the same.

Finally, they pulled back, but not far. Tina brushed back a loose curl, her eyes full of devotion. "Have I mentioned lately that you're my favorite person?"

Bette leaned in for another kiss. "I love you."

Later that night, after the movie credits played, Bette shut off the TV and turned her attention to Tina.

Tina reached out for her hand, their fingers instinctually intertwining.

"What are you doing tomorrow? Just working?" Bette asked.

Tina nodded. "And I need to pack. Vancouver's a lot warmer than here right now. That'll be nice."

Bette smiled knowingly. "By 'a lot warmer' you mean high fifties instead of low forties, right?"

Tina laughed. "Warm by Canadian standards, anyway."

"I hope you're able to explore a little and not just work. It's beautiful there."

Tina made a face. "I'm not holding my breath. You and I should go together during hiatus, though—like, a proper vacation."

"Hey, what if I come with you this week?" Bette suggested. "I can start scoping out spots for us for when we go."

Tina looked over at her, a little surprised. "Oh. Yeah." She paused. "You could. If you want to. Sure."

Immediately recognizing the ambivalence in Tina's tone, Bette's brows flew up. "Do you . . . not want me to come with you?"

Tina hesitated.

Bette frowned, realizing, "You don't want me to come with you."

"It's not that. . ." Tina began—and it wasn't, not entirely.

Bette waited.

"I just need to be able to focus," Tina explained, careful not to hurt Bette's feelings. "There's so much to do, and you'd be a distraction."

"I won't distract you," Bette hurried to assure her. "You wouldn't have to entertain me. I'd just do my own thing and let you do yours."

Tina smiled. "I know. But, either way, I'd be distracted, knowing you're there."

Bette stared at her for a moment, sensing that her reticence went beyond just the "you'll distract me" excuse. Because . . . really? Cautiously, she asked, "Is it that you want to keep your work and me compartmentalized?"

"No," Tina vowed. "I want you to meet everyone. I can't wait to take you to the wrap party next week and introduce you." She paused. "But, you know . . . we've been together day and night for almost three months now. It could be good for us each to have our own space for a couple days."

And, even though Bette recognized that Tina had a point—and that a little distance was normal and healthy and good—still, she felt the sting of rejection. And, still, the idea that Tina wanted to spend three days apart set off alarm bells in her head to the tune of you're too much, too much, too much. Tina already had left her once for being too much. She nodded, looking down. "Right."

Immediately identifying the hurt behind Bette's expression, Tina frowned. "Bette, come on."

Bette swallowed the bile in her throat. "No, I know. It's just that—"

"Are you seriously upset about this?"

"No," Bette insisted. "I was just . . . taken off guard. It's fine."

"It's three days," Tina snapped, tone a little harsher than anticipated.

Bette ran her hand through her hair, feeling defensive—and resenting that Tina was making her feel that way. "Look, I just think it might be worth talking about."

"I don't think that me wanting to go on a work trip on my own requires a whole discussion," Tina countered. "Bette, come on. You're being insane."

"Insane?" Bette repeated in disbelief, voice raising in volume. Then, she lifted her hand, wanting to put a pause to their fight before one of them said something they couldn't take back. In an effort to take Dr. Coleman's recurring advice—to respond, not react—and to part with one of her worst qualities—being reactive, according to Tina—she suggested, "You know what? Let's just talk about it tomorrow."

"What?" Amped up and irritable, Tina worked to take deep breaths, willing her heartbeat to slow.

"I think we should just . . . take a minute," Bette explained.

Tina worked to soften her tone. "Yeah. That's a good idea."

Bette lifted the blanket off her legs, preparing to stand. "I'll just sleep in Angie's room tonight."

At that, Tina felt her stomach bottom out. She felt her face bleach white. She didn't know that was what Bette had meant.

Meeting hazel eyes—and immediately seeing the panic in them—Bette exhaled a long breath. "Tina, it's fine. I need a little time to . . . process."

Panicking internally, Tina's brows furrowed, her voice coming out small. "You can't process from our bed?"

Bette rubbed at the back of her neck, her expression troubled.

"I won't pressure you to talk," Tina promised, suddenly desperate to talk her out of sleeping apart.

"I'm just trying to avoid a big fight," Bette explained. "I don't want to be unfair to you or say something I'll regret. And it's like you said before: a little space could be good for us."

Tina pulled one of her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around it. "Okay." So Bette needed space to think. She could give her that.

Bette tried to work up a reassuring smile.

Tina shrugged, feigning ambivalence. "Fine."

Long after midnight, Bette lay in Angie's bed, still not even close to sleep. She felt heartsick and anxious. Restless, too. She knew that taking some space was progress, and better than the alternative—yelling, or blaming, or turning defensive—but it didn't feel any easier.

Finally, standing up, she tiptoed across the hallway toward their bedroom. She leaned against the doorway, looking at Tina. Illuminated by the dimmed hallway light, Bette could see her clearly: lying still as a corpse, her lips downturned and eyes unblinking, fixed to the ceiling.

Tina felt her presence, and she knew that Bette could see that she was awake, but neither said anything.

Finally, Bette offered, "I can't sleep."

Tina sat up, supporting herself by her arms. "I can't either."

Bette looked at her feet, unsure what to say.

Compartmentalizing her irritation, Tina gently offered: "We don't have to talk about it."

Bette lifted her head, meeting her gaze.

Tina held out her hand, inviting her closer and—compartmentalizing her hurt—Bette strode over to the other side of the bed and tucked herself under the duvet. Turning onto her side to face Tina straight-on, she bit the inside of her cheek.

Her eyes never straying from Bette's, Tina lifted her arm, reaching toward her. "Come here."

Without hesitation, Bette snuggled in close. She wrapped her arm around Tina and burrowed her nose into feathery blonde hair, breathing her in.

Tightening her grip around Bette's back, Tina buried her face in a bronze neck, lips puckering against warm skin.

Bette's breath shuddered out at the sensation. She felt her eyes sting, her vision blurring.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Tina pressed a kiss to Bette's jaw. She tucked her hand beneath her pajama top, palm splaying over hot skin. "I love you."

Bette pulled Tina impossibly closer, bodies pressed tight, feeling a heart beating hard against hers. "I love you."

The following morning, after Tina had gone to work, Bette was still thinking about their conversation from the night before and dialed their therapist's number.

"Hey," she offered when the receptionist answered. "It's Bette Porter. Can you transfer me to Dr. Coleman, please?"

A minute later, the therapist greeted her. "Bette. Are you okay?"

Bette nodded. "I'm looking for your level-headed perspective, if you have a minute."

"I have an appointment in fifteen. Is that enough time?"

"Yeah. Thank you." Bette was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to summarize what had happened. Then: "I asked Tina whether I could go with her to Vancouver last night, and she said no and then, when I seemed disappointed, she got mad."

"'Mad' how?"

"She said that it was only three days and that I was being insane."

"Ah."

"What?"

"It sounds like Tina was feeling really protective of her independence," the therapist observed.

Bette frowned. That was one way of putting it.

"As we know, there may be a reason for that."

"Right," Bette exhaled. "Because, last time, I took up too much space."

"Tina has made it clear to you that you're not at fault—not any more than she is," the therapist reminded her. "Before the divorce, she didn't know how to advocate for what she needed. Now, she's learning to."

Bette nodded.

Dr. Coleman smiled. "There's a learning curve. Perhaps she could have communicated her desire to travel alone with a little more kindness."

"Maybe I was too sensitive," Bette regretted.

"It's normal to feel uncomfortable. You've both grown and continue growing, and there will be growing pains. But you're building something strong enough to withstand them—you're building something you can sustain, with no one feeling stifled or unhappy. And that takes effort."

"Right."

"We haven't talked about this yet," the therapist continued, "although maybe we should: couples can struggle as much from spending too much time together as they can from spending too little. At the height of Covid, when everyone was stuck working from home in the same room as their spouse, my business was booming more than ever."

"I guess that makes sense," Bette accepted.

"When partners spend time apart, it gives them opportunities to have their own experiences to bring back and share with each other. It also gives them the chance to feel fulfilled and whole themselves rather than just a component part of a couple." Dr. Coleman paused. "Maybe it's worth planning meaningful ways to spend those three days alone while Tina's gone."

"Sure. I'll do that. And I'll keep in mind the rest of what you said," Bette vowed. "Thank you."

After grabbing lunch from catering that afternoon and finding a solitary place to sit in the sun, Tina found herself thinking back to her and Bette's conversation.

She was pissed off—at Bette, for asking to come along and then making that face when she had said no—and at herself, for reacting the way she had, and for being pissed off at all.

Reaching for her phone, she tapped on Dr. Coleman's number.

After the receptionist transferred her, the therapist greeted, "Hi, Tina. Are you doing okay?"

"Yeah," Tina assured her. "I just . . . I was hoping you might have a minute to check in."

"Sure. What's going on?"

"Bette and I had a little tiff last night. I'm sure we'll talk about it when I get home, so I was hoping to get your perspective first."

"Certainly."

"She wanted to come with me to Vancouver, and I said no because, I don't know . . . I was scared of feeling stifled," Tina summarized. "And, then, I don't know what happened, but she got sad and I got mad, and now I don't know where we stand."

"Hmm."

Tina frowned, sensing the therapist's judgment. "What?"

"Why do you think Bette got upset?"

"I don't know. I mean, I'm only going for three days. It's not a big deal."

"Can you think of any reason why it might have felt like a big deal to Bette?"

That time, Tina took a minute to actually think about it. Thoughtfully, she realized, "Maybe she got scared that I was pulling away. Maybe she was thinking back to me leaving."

"From what I've seen, historically, Bette has been terrified of being abandoned," Dr. Coleman noted. "And, as you know, that's something she's working on—but it takes time. That fear doesn't just disappear, no matter how much you both may want it to."

Still irritated, Tina squared her jaw.

"I recognize where your frustration is coming from: you want your partner to recognize and embrace your independence, and you want to live your life as you want without worrying about hurting anyone's feelings. But . . ."

Tina sighed, sensing something was coming.

"In a partnership, you'll always be accountable to each other," the therapist continued. "There's often compromise and, even when there isn't, there's always conversation when desires differ." She was quiet for a moment, waiting for her words to sink in. "Do you love Bette?"

Tina's eyes widened. "More than anything."

"And do you plan on abandoning her?"

"No. Never."

"Then it might bear repeating," Dr. Coleman decided. "Because you love her, and you don't want her to feel scared—even if her fear isn't logical, and even if you've already tried to assuage it."

Tina looked down. "You think I was too hard on her."

Not answering directly, the therapist offered, "We've spoken a lot about reacting versus responding. Last night, I think you reacted. Maybe, now, you try responding instead."

"Yeah. You're right. Thank you."

After hanging up, Tina drafted a text to Bette: Thinking of you. I'll be home around 9. Let's talk then?

That evening, hearing Tina's key in the door, Bette stood up, ambling toward the foyer.

Striding in and hanging up her coat in the front closet, Tina looked up to see her a few feet away. "Hey," she greeted in a whisper.

"Hey," Bette gulped. "Are you still pissed at me?"

"Yes," Tina asserted definitively, even as she moved closer, reaching out and wrapping her arms around the taller woman's shoulders.

Immediately, Bette paralleled the action, arms enveloping Tina's waist and pulling her close.

Tina's grip on her back tightened. Ducking her face into dark hair, she exhaled a shaky breath, already feeling better.

Like always, Bette felt her nervous system settle in Tina's embrace. She let her eyes fall shut, her breathing turning even.

Tina lifted her hand to the back of Bette's head. "I brought you something."

"Show me later," Bette murmured against the side of Tina's neck, not ready to pull away quite yet.

Lip quirking up, Tina's fingers carded through curls, and she let herself revel in Bette's warmth for another minute.

Then, finally, their grips loosened, and they pulled back a few inches.

"You shouldn't have gotten me anything," Bette frowned, feeling guilty.

Tina reached for the small bakery box on the entryway table, admitting, "Well, it's for both of us." She handed it to Bette. "Red velvet—your favorite."

Walking into the kitchen together to grab two forks, Bette asked, "Did you eat dinner? There's some soup in the fridge, if you want."

Tina shook her head. "I ate. Thanks."

"Sure." Bette tried to smile, feeling a little awkward.

They made their way into the living room. Sitting down, Tina accepted the fork Bette offered. She looked over at her. "Are you ready to talk now?"

"Are you?" Bette countered, remembering how angry Tina had been the night before.

Tina nodded.

Bette took a bite of cake, pleasuring in the mouthfeel as frosting dissolved on her tongue. Then, she offered, "I guess, mostly, I was just wrong."

Tina looked at her, eyes softening.

"I felt insecure and scared and hurt," Bette explained. "I shouldn't have gotten upset. Of course you can always go on your business trips alone. I want you to have space. I don't want to smother you."

Caught off-guard by Bette's self-flagellation, Tina's head immediately started shaking. "You don't smother me."

"And I never want to. I want you to have all the space you need." Bette looked down. "I just mean that you don't owe me anything."

"Yes, I do," Tina insisted, reaching out to brush her palm over Bette's upper arm. "I owe you an apology, first of all, for not being kinder to you."

Bette met her eyes.

"And we're a couple," Tina continued, "so, when we disagree about something, at the very least, we owe each other a conversation about it. That's all you really wanted last night."

Bette nodded.

They each took another bite of cake and sat in thoughtful silence for a minute.

"Dr. Coleman said I was too hard on you," Tina revealed.

Bette's brows flew up. "You talked to her today?"

"I called her." Tina sighed. "I don't know what happened last night—I just suddenly felt really protective of my own space and forgot everything else. It wasn't fair to you."

"I called her, too."

"What did she say?"

"She said that you had a point, and that it's good to spend time apart, sometimes," Bette recalled. "And, I mean, logically, I understood that last night. But fear isn't always logical."

Tina drew a spiral on Bette's palm with her fingertip, the touch feather-light. "I don't want you to be scared."

"Me neither," Bette agreed. "I'm working on it." She reached for Tina's hand. "Will you forgive me?"

Tina smiled. "I already have." She looked into Bette's expressive eyes, trying to read her. "Do you forgive me?"

Bette nodded. "I do."

Tina leaned in, and Bette met her in the middle for a soft kiss.

As they pulled back, Tina's eyes caressed Bette's face. "I'm still just so glad that we found our way back to each other."

"I am, too." Bette thumbed a line down Tina's jaw, then down the side of her neck.

Resting her hand on Bette's knee, thumbing her skin through her pants, Tina's gaze fell to full lips. "Do you want to go upstairs?"

Bette reclaimed her hand, dropping it onto her own lap, and looked over at her open laptop sitting on the coffee table. "I, um." She cleared her throat. "Actually, I have some work I should finish tonight."

"Oh." Taken aback by that response, far from the enthusiastic Yes, please! she was accustomed to getting from Bette when she initiated sex, Tina hurried to cover. "Right. Yeah." Standing up, she felt suddenly self-conscious and, not knowing what to do with her hands, she awkwardly shoved them into the back pockets of her jeans. "I'll let you work and just . . . see you when you come up."

The following morning, by the time Bette woke up, Tina was already downstairs, doing some last-minute packing before her flight.

"Good morning," Bette greeted as she strode into the kitchen.

Tina brightened at the sight of her. "Good morning."

Bette yawned.

"Did I wake you up?" Tina worried. "You went to bed late."

Bette shook her head. "Do you want a ride to the airport? I know you have to go soon."

"I'll just drive myself there. I fly back in the middle of the night on Thursday. It's not worth the hassle." Tina looked over at the oven clock and then offered Bette an apologetic look as she realized, "I should go."

They walked into the foyer, Bette holding Tina's thermos, Tina pulling her suitcase behind her.

There was still some lingering awkwardness from the night before and, at the door, they stood mutely in front of each other for a second, neither woman knowing how to say goodbye.

Finally, Bette leaned in for a quick goodbye kiss. "I hope you have a good trip."

And, instinctively, Tina's lips puckered against hers, her hand coming up to cup Bette's cheek. "I'll see you on Friday."

Bette worked up a smile. "Text me when you land."

"I will." Tina leaned in once more before turning to go.

After getting into bed that night, Tina tried giving Bette a call.

Bette picked up on the first ring. "Hey."

"Hi," Tina greeted. "Sorry—I know it's kind of late. I just . . . wanted to hear your voice."

Bette waved off her worry. "No, no, I was up already. I'm glad you called."

"What did you do today?"

"Worked, mostly. Oh," Bette suddenly perked up, "and I went to lunch with a local art history student. She reached out by email a few weeks ago asking for an informational interview, and I thought meeting in person might be nicer than a phone call."

Tina's brows furrowed. "I didn't know you were doing that."

Bette nodded. "She was great. Really bright. I gave her some advice about the job market."

They were silent for a minute, nothing but the sound of each other's quiet breaths on the line.

Then, gently, Tina asked, "Bette, are you still upset with me?"

Bette felt shame flare within her. She knew she should be over it. She wanted so badly to be over it. "I'm not upset," she lied, really trying to believe that.

But, as always, Tina could see right through her. "It's okay if you are. You can be angry, too. If you need to yell about it, you can."

Bette paused before answering. "I don't want to fight."

"I don't, either." Tina thought back to her conversation with their therapist—to that reminder that Bette was terrified of being abandoned. She thought back to what happened when she had gotten home—how quickly Bette had taken responsibility and apologized, even though it hadn't even really been her fault, as if eager to put an end to any conflict as quickly as possible. "I just don't want you to be scared of fighting with me. We've known each other for a long time. We've changed, and we keep changing. We're going to fight whether we like it or not."

"That's true," Bette accepted.

Still, Tina sensed her reticence. She exhaled a long breath and then vowed, "I'm not going to leave you."

Bette blinked. "What?"

"I need you to know that I'm not going anywhere." Tina kept her voice soft. "You can be angry with me, and we can fight, and I'll still be head-over-heels for you the whole time."

Bette felt her lips curl up. "'Head-over-heels,' huh?"

"Yes," Tina swore. "Always. So . . . you can be honest with me."

Bette thought for a minute, taking stock of her feelings before ultimately determining, "I don't need to fight about this anymore."

Tina waited, unconvinced.

"Really," Bette assured her. "And, anyway, I don't want to fight the way we used to." She paused. "I know how . . . reactive I can be and how much you don't like it. The other night, I was trying to take some time instead of doing what I historically do."

Tina's eyes widened with recognition at Bette's word-choice. Reactive, she'd said. "You saw my list?"

"Just that one word." Bette's expression darkened. "I don't even want to know what else you wrote."

"Bette," Tina intoned, "almost everything I wrote ended up on the love list."

Instinctively, Bette offered a look of disbelief.

"Really," Tina promised, knowing her well enough to imagine her expression. "Whenever I thought about the things about you that can drive me crazy—and there aren't many—I immediately wanted to come to your defense."

Bette waited.

"Because I know why you're reactive," Tina continued. "It's because you care so much. It's because you're protective of the people and things you love—and I'm so glad that extends to yourself."

Slowly, Bette felt her stomach begin unknotting.

"Same with you being stubborn," Tina continued. "It's because you have this fierce passion and stand bold in your convictions, without fail. I love that about you. I'd take that over wishy-washy any day."

Bette smiled a little. "You know, I wrote 'stubborn' for you, too."

Tina chuckled. "Yeah. I'm just as stubborn and reactive as you are—that's why we've always had fair fights." She looked down. "It's something I need to work on, though. Clearly. I really should've been kinder to you the other night."

"It's okay."

Tina shook her head regretfully. "I'm still thinking about it."

"We're both works in progress," Bette reminded her. "Next time, we'll just both take a minute or a day to think instead of getting into things when tensions are high."

"Deal."

They were quiet for a minute but, this time, the silence was comfortable.

Bette smiled softly. "I finally feel better."

Tina smiled with her. "Good."

The following night, after a long day, Tina finally collapsed onto the hotel mattress with a sigh. As glad as she was to have a little time to herself to recharge, after lying beside Bette for almost three months, their limbs entwined, sleeping alone was kind of a bummer.

Picking up her phone, she snapped a quick photo of herself and texted it to Bette. She stared at her screen, waiting for a text back, hoping she was still awake.

Not even a minute later, her phone vibrated with an incoming call, and she grinned as she accepted it. "Hey."

"You're so pretty," Bette responded in lieu of a "Hi," her voice adoring.

Tina felt herself redden. "So are you."

"I mean it. This is my new favorite photo," Bette decided, putting Tina on speaker so that she could hold her phone away from her ear and stare at it some more. "Truly, you're the hottest woman alive."

"I'm glad that you still think so," Tina responded, a hint of insecurity slipping out.

Bette's brows furrowed. "Of course I do. I'll always think that."

"Yeah. I know."

When Tina didn't say anything else, and didn't explain her comment, Bette tried to help her along, prompting, "What did you mean, then?"

"It's just that, the other night . . ." A little self-conscious, Tina looked down. "You didn't want to have sex. I don't think that's ever happened before."

"Ti . . ." Bette began, tone gentle.

"It's okay. Obviously," Tina hurried to say. "Of course we don't always have to be in the mood at the same time, and I want you to feel comfortable and to be honest about that without worrying that I'll take it personally."

"I know. And I do. But . . . ?" Bette prompted, sensing a but was coming.

"But, historically, we fight, we make up, and then—when we have sex—that's how I know we're okay," Tina explained. "The other night, I thought we were okay, but then . . . I wasn't so sure."

"I just needed another day to re-regulate my nervous system."

Tina nodded. "I know that now. And I know that we ultimately needed to talk through it more. It just . . . tripped me up in the moment."

"As long as you know that it had nothing to do with your sex appeal."

Tina rolled her eyes—at herself, mostly—feeling a little embarrassed. "It was dumb of me to be self-conscious. I know it's not a big deal."

"It wasn't dumb," Bette vowed. "But, just so we're clear: I would almost always rather be having sex with you than doing just about anything else."

Tina's lips curled up, belly filling with butterflies. "Yeah?"

"Of course."

"Even now?" Tina pressed.

Bette paused for a second and she felt their conversation take on a new tenor. Then, with total certainty, she replied, "Oh, absolutely."

"Tell me more."

"Really?" Bette asked.

"Where are you right now?" Tina prompted, urging her on.

"I'm lying on your side of the bed."

Tina's lips curled up. "You are?"

"I slept here last night, too." Bette's cheeks flushed. "It smells like you."

"What do I smell like?"

"Home," Bette responded without hesitation.

"I think you smell better than anything," Tina divulged. "Especially when you're turned on." Her voice dropped, teeming with desire. "You have no idea how hot it is to me—the way you smell when we start having sex. It just makes me want to taste you."

Suddenly aware of her clit, swelling with arousal, Bette squeezed her thighs together. "Tina," she tried again, "do you really want to do this now?"

"Well . . . it's been five days," Tina noted shyly. "That's the longest we've gone since we got back together."

Realizing she was right, Bette blinked in disbelief.

"Do you not want to?" Tina checked.

"It's not that. It's just been so many years since we've done this. I think I forgot how," Bette worried.

Tina pursed her lips. "If we hang up now, will you do it on your own?"

"Yes," Bette admitted.

Picturing Bette touching herself to thoughts of her, Tina's pupils dilated.

"I can't believe it's been five days." Bette shook her head. "That feels criminal. What have we been doing with our nights?"

Tina smiled, seeing the retrospective irony. "Missing each other, mostly."

"Right."

They fell into silence for a minute, and then Tina prompted, "Tell me what you're thinking about."

Bette smirked a little. "Five days ago." She shut her eyes as she worked to visualize it and, instinctively, her hand made its way between her thighs, fingers brushing over her clit. "I still think that's the hottest thing I've ever seen—the way you shook beneath me for a full minute with my fingers still inside you."

Tina bit her lip. "I couldn't help it. You always know exactly what to do."

Bette nodded. "That's why I rolled you over onto your stomach. I know how much it turns you on to feel me behind you."

Tina shivered at the memory of hardened nipples against her back, lips making their way down the valley of her spine, the way she had been rendered submissive by Bette's weight and strength above her.

"After seeing that, I was desperate to feel your mouth on me. I would've begged you if I had to."

"I would never make you beg," Tina vowed. Feeling arousal pool between her legs, she slipped her hand under her shorts and underwear, sweeping her finger over her slit and bringing some arousal up to circle her clit. She shut her eyes, recalling the taste of Bette on her tongue. "I couldn't believe how wet you were before I even touched you."

"That's what you do to me."

"It still thrills me—knowing I can turn you on like that, even after all these years."

"You should feel me now," Bette flirted.

Tina's center clenched with desire. "Are you touching yourself?"

Keeping pressure against her clit, Bette pushed down her pajama pants and underwear with her other hand, pulling them down her legs. "Maybe."

Tina bit her bottom lip. "Are you wet?"

Bette's breath shuddered out. "Very."

Tina stifled a groan.

"Tell me again how you touch yourself," Bette instructed, taking charge. "Start to finish."

"It's been a while since I have," Tina reminded her. "But, last year, I'd always start by thinking about you."

And—even though Tina had told her that before—Bette felt her lips curl into a smile, delighting, again, in the knowledge that their pining had been mutual. "What about me, specifically?" she asked.

"Different things," Tina offered vaguely. "Sometimes I'd think about your arms, or your legs wrapping around me and pulling me down. I'd think about the way your back always arched when I sucked on your neck. And how soft you were."

Bette chuckled quietly.

Amused, Tina asked, "What's so funny?"

"You're just so gay."

Tina laughed. "I know."

"Then what?"

"Then . . ."

Bette heard rustling for a moment, and then Tina's voice again, from a greater distance this time.

"Then, I'd take off my clothes."

Mirroring the description, Bette removed her shirt and then lay back against the warm sheets.

Tina traced her own jawline, the bow of her lips. "And then I'd move my hand down my neck and over my chest."

"Did you imagine that was me, too?" Bette asked, picturing Tina as she parroted the movement.

Tina blushed. "Usually."

Bette smiled. "It's really no surprise that we were so ravenous for each other after Tess's fundraiser—and that we came so quickly that first time. We had both been picturing it for a year already."

"More than a year," Tina admitted.

"Right. More than a year," Bette confirmed. Their longing had lasted far longer.

"Then, I'd start playing with my nipples a little."

"Playing how?" Bette pressed, forcing further specificity.

"Mmm. Just kind of . . . running my fingers around them at first. And then squeezing them once they start getting hard." Tina shut her eyes, thinking of Bette.

"Are they hard now?"

Tina nodded. "Yes. Are yours?"

"Everything's hard," Bette confessed.

Tina smiled.

"What next?"

"Then I'd lower my other hand—"

"Finally." Bette brought her hand back down to her clit, running over it.

". . . to my thigh," Tina finished.

Bette growled. "You're torturing me on purpose."

Tina grinned devilishly. "Maybe a little."

Bette rested her palm on her thigh, wanting to move at Tina's pace, excruciatingly slow as it was.

"Do you want to touch yourself?" Tina asked, already well-aware of the answer.

Bette's voice came out tight, taut with need. "So badly." Arching her back, she pushed down against the mattress in search of a little pressure. "I feel like I did with you the other night. My whole body's tingling. I just want to feel you against me."

Unable to help herself, Tina pushed a single finger inside herself, her thumb teasing her clit, her other hand still moving over her thigh.

"Ti, I can't even tell you how hot your mouth is," Bette intoned, index finger beginning to circle her clit. "You always know just how much pressure to use, just how much to suck me in."

"It's because I know you so well."

Bette shook her head. "You knew exactly what to do from the start. Every time, it feels so good that I forget to breathe."

"Bette . . ."

Bette shivered. "God, when you say my name like that."

With intention, Tina said her name again, then added a little moan for emphasis. "Bette."

Bette whimpered. "Tina . . ."

Tina pushed a second finger inside herself and added a little more pleasure against her clit.

Listening to Tina's breathing quicken on the other side of the line, Bette asked, "Are you touching yourself?"

"I am."

"What does it feel like?"

"It feels so good," Tina husked. Circling her swollen clit with slick fingers, she brought her other hand down, pushing two fingers in.

"I'm getting close already." Bette's eyes fell shut, all her focus on rubbing her bundle of nerves, a long finger pushing in and out of her dripping center.

Soon, they were unable to maintain any semblance of conversation, attention solely on their pleasure, listening to each other's quiet moans and panting breaths as they each edged toward a release.

Tina's mouth fell open. "Fuck."

"Oh, my god . . ." Bette gasped, hips bucking against her own hand.

"I'm so close." Tina felt her body begin to lose control, breath catching in her throat.

Bette let out a low groan.

Right on the edge, Tina's whole body started to thrum.

Her breaths coming out as gasps, Bette tried to form words. "Tina—I'm—"

"I'm with you," Tina vowed, her breathing ragged, her movements becoming faster, more desperate . . .

Bette thrust up against her hand a few more times and then was propelled into her climax, panting, her body convulsing, letting out a primal moan and hearing Tina crying out with her.

After a full minute of blinding pleasure, her body spasming, Tina collapsed back against the mattress, cheeks red with exertion, chest still heaving.

Feeling her heartbeat start to slow, Bette offered a disbelieving chuckle. "Fuck."

Tina grinned, her ears still ringing. "How was that for you?"

"Incredibly hot. God."

Tina pulled the blankets back around herself. "I'm going to fall asleep so quickly now. Yesterday, it took forever."

"How come?" Bette asked, suddenly concerned.

"Sleeping without you is a hardship," Tina complained, though there was some humor in her tone.

Bette turned onto her side, hugging Tina's pillow to her chest. "It really is."

Tina yawned. "Did you do anything fun today?"

Bette nodded. "I took Dr. Coleman's advice and kept myself busy. I'll tell you everything when you get home."

Tina smiled. "Can't wait."

The following night, on her way to the airport, Tina's phone vibrated with a text message from Bette.

It was a link to "Songbird" by Fleetwood Mac. The texts that followed read:

By the way: this is the song that makes me think of you.

Have a safe flight. I love you!

Walking through the living room, Tina spotted Bette lying on the sofa, curled up on her side, her reading glasses still on. Endeared, she unzipped her boots before tiptoeing over, gingerly pulling the frames off the brunette's face and then reaching for a blanket to spread over her.

She went upstairs to change into pajamas and get ready for bed and then made her way back into the living room, pulling back the blanket just enough to lie down in the strip of available space. Pushing back against Bette's pelvis, she pulled the blanket around them again.

Feeling the sofa shift beneath her, Bette stirred awake. She stretched a little, her knee hitting the back of Tina's thigh, then blinked open her eyes, making out blonde hair through the darkness. "You're home."

Tina turned around slowly, careful not to fall off the edge of the couch.

Eager to help, Bette wrapped an arm around her to hold her close, legs braiding between them. She pouted out her lower lip. "I wanted to wait up for you."

Tina leaned in, pressing her lips to a bronze cheek. "It's the thought that counts."

"How was the trip?" Bette asked.

"It was good. And now we're officially wrapped for the season."

"Congratulations." Bette lifted her hand, brushing back blonde hair, eyes feasting on Tina's face. Cautiously—not wanting to seem as though she was guilt-tripping her, because she really didn't mean it that way—she offered, "I'm glad you're back."

Tina's fingertips traced Bette's temple, then her cheek, then her jaw.

"Are you ready to go up to bed?"

Tina shook her head. "I'm too tired."

"I just don't want you to fall off," Bette chuckled, pulling Tina closer, their whole bodies pressed against each other.

"I trust you not to let me," Tina smiled, her eyes falling shut, her whole body relaxing. "I'm really happy to be home."

"Me, too," Bette smiled as she nuzzled her nose into her neck, breathing in her scent.