Brittany couldn't wipe the smile off her face. She closed her door slowly, still feeling the tingle from Santana's lips on her hand. Santana hadn't really given her an answer about where they stood, but that kiss had to mean something, right?

Brittany walked over to the end table by the couch, turned the lamp on, and let herself fall into the comfortable cushions. She kicked her shoes off and swung her legs up, laying down lengthwise. Adjusting herself to get comfortable, she felt something protruding into the base of her back. As she felt around underneath with her hand, she found the journal and remembered she had hastily stuffed it there earlier.

For a brief moment, she thought about writing about her walk with Santana, but she hadn't gathered her thoughts and probably couldn't even write a complete sentence that made any sense.

Finally giving in to temptation, she adjusted the pillow behind her head and opened the journal to the first page.

From a quick glance, Brittany noticed the writing was in cursive and had a subtle elegance about it. She couldn't quite put her finger on what made it look so...different. Looking up at the right corner of the page, she blinked at the date written there.

May 16, 1941

Old indeed. She felt her guilt ease a little when she decided that a journal from the 40s probably wasn't being missed all that much. Opening it up a little more to let more of the lamplight shine on the pages, she began to read.

Dear diary,

I've never owned a diary before. But mother says every young woman should have one, and she gave it to me as a gift. I suppose it won't hurt to write in it.

Today is my 18th birthday. My parents threw a lovely party for me, with lots of guests and gifts and my friends. It really was nice of them. But then that Benjamin Prescott arrived, surely because my parents invited him. They say Benjamin is a "fine boy," because he's going off to school in the fall instead of joining the army. I wish they'd let me decide that for myself. In my opinion, he's awfully full of himself.

After the party was over, Grace and I walked down to the lake. Pretty soon it will be warm enough to get in, but it was nice to just walk around it. Eventually, we found our usual spot and sat down by the bank. The fireflies were already out by then. We were just sitting there, not really talking about anything important, except that I was getting sick of Benjamin Prescott. And then she just took my hand and held it.

I guess at first I didn't really think mattered. We hold hands all the time. Butit's usually when we're going somewhere, like walking through Main Street or the drive-in. Not sitting alone by the lake.

Is it weird that it felt...nice? What does that even mean? We didn't talk about it. We just sat and watched the fireflies.

After a little while, it started to get dark, and I knew we both needed to get back home. I told her good night, and she hugged me as usual. But then she leaned in again. She ended up kissing my cheek, but for a split second, I thought she was going to kiss my lips.

God, I sincerely hope my mother never finds this.

Diary, my first kiss almost just came from another girl tonight. And I think I'm okay with that. And I think no one else would be if I told them, so it'll have to be our secret.

Thanks for listening.

Love,

Maggie

Brittany finished reading the entry and felt slightly overwhelmed. She flipped through the pages quickly once again. The same subtly elegant handwriting filled almost half of it, and she caught the name "Grace" several more times. Did Brittany really just read the beginning of a story about forbidden love? Between two women, nonetheless? Thinking briefly of Santana and their own story, Brittany turned the page and continued to read.

May 18, 1941

Dear diary,

Yesterday was interesting. I suppose that is the best word for it. After doing a few chores, I met Grace at her house, and we went into town. It's so odd now. A lot of shops are finally starting to reopen, but everything is so tense. It's as if the war is here too, though we haven't even properly joined it. Well, not yet.

We didn't stay in town long...Grace didn't seem to be in the mood to shop. We didn't talk about the night of my birthday, either. I'm starting to think maybe I imagined something that night. I don't know if I feel relieved or disappointed...

This morning at breakfast, mother asked me about Benjamin again. I guess I didn't "socialize" with him as much as I should have at my party. I guess the fact that I didn't want to means little. When we left for church, I thought I was done talking about him. But then, of course he was there too. He's everywhere all the time. How annoying.

I'm afraid it won't be long until he asks me to go out with him. I don't know what my parents will say if I say no. Turning 18 sure did complicate things.

Mother's calling me down for lunch. Sorry I whine so much.

Love,

Maggie

Brittany turned the page hastily, feeling intrigued. She was already invested in Maggie's story after only two entries. The next time Maggie had written in the journal was over two weeks later.

June 5, 1941

Dear diary,

I know I haven't written in a while. There really hasn't been much to say. Until now, anyway. Grace and I went to the lake again today. We left our shoes by the grass and walked along the edge of the water. It's really warming up now. We were talking about what we're going to do after summer is over. I'm starting school again. I think I'd like to be a teacher, maybe. Who knows? She's off to school too, and she says she wants to be a nurse. Personally, I think that's what her parents want, but what do I know?

We're not going to the same school. It'll be the first time we've been separated. Ever. It makes me sad when I think about it. She said she'd miss me.

When we reached our spot, we lay down and watched the clouds. They were the big puffy kind you can make shapes out of. The sun felt really good on my face.

After a few minutes, she pointed up at one of the clouds. I can't remember what shape she said it was. When she dropped her hand, she let it fall on mine, and she held it again. We both just kept looking up for a few seconds, but then she asked me if it was okay to hold my hand.

I told her it was. And she smiled when I said it.

Now I know I wasn't imagining things before. She held my hand today, and it made me feel really excited. She didn't say anything else...we just lay there pointing at the clouds. I still don't really know what any of it means, but I suppose I don't really mind that.

I'm seeing her again tomorrow night. I'm so glad we have the summer to spend together.

Love,

Maggie

Brittany turned the page again. Sure enough, the next entry in the journal was from the very next day. Before she could start reading though, her stomach gave a rumble, and she remembered she hadn't eaten dinner yet.

Closing the old book, she got up from the couch and made her way to the kitchen. She made herself a quick dinner and poured a glass of wine. After she finished eating, she sat at her kitchen counter, tracing her finger around the base of her glass and looking into the dark red liquid, lost in thought.

As was becoming usual, her first thoughts went to Santana. Brittany wondered if she was home yet. She thought back to the tingly feeling of Santana's lips on her hand, their linked fingers as they walked down the street. She wondered what was so big in Santana's life that it was holding her back. What could have possibly happened that made Santana so shut off to the possibility of feelings and love? Ideas ran rampant in Brittany's mind, but none of them quite fit. Her curiosity nagged at her, and she wished so much that Santana had said more.

Lifting her glass, she drained the rest of her wine in one shot. She sat the glass back down and looked over at her coffee table where the journal lay. Her thoughts shifted to Maggie's story. This perfect stranger, from an era well before Brittany's time, had already captivated her. How different it must have been then, in a time when what Maggie was writing about was not at all acceptable.

Brittany hoped the journal contained the entire story. She hoped Maggie had had a happy ending. Before returning to the couch to continue reading, Brittany poured herself another glass of wine. What would it hurt? She sat at the counter sipping slowly, shifting her thoughts between Maggie's 1940s reality and Santana's current mystery. After she finished her second glass, she made her way back into the living room. Just as she sat back down on the couch, her phone buzzed. She reached for it instead of Maggie's journal.

Seeing that it was a text from Santana made her instantly smile, and she hastily opened the message.

Santana: i don't really know where we stand either. but i think i'd be alright if i stood next to you.

Brittany read it over and over. It was one of the sweetest things Santana had ever said, and it made the butterflies swim happily in her stomach. She thought for a few minutes about how to respond. Nothing seemed quite good enough. She really wanted to know if that meant Santana was done with all her defenses, but now wasn't the time to ask. She read the text another time, wondering what exactly the implications of it were. She knew she liked it either way. Finally, Brittany typed out a response she was happy with.

Brittany: i think i'd be alright with that too.

She waited a few moments, wondering if Santana would respond. She was very happy when her phone lit up again about a minute later.

Santana: good night brittany. sweet dreams.

Brittany smiled down at the screen. How far they'd come since the text messages of the afternoon. She sent her response before putting her phone back down on the coffee table.

Brittany: good night and sweet dreams santana.

She really hoped Santana would get some sleep tonight. Thinking of sleep, Brittany realized her two glasses of wine must be taking some kind of effect, as she was beginning to feel drowsy. She stifled a yawn but decided to take the journal to her bedroom anyway.