Chapter 7
Maggie
The Austin-Bergstrom airport was already humming, the low-grade chaos of people dragging wheeled bags and scanning departure boards like they were waiting for divine intervention.
The smell of burnt espresso from the coffee kiosk hung in the air, mixing with the faint tang of jet fuel drifting in from the gates.
Maggie stood in the security line beside Gwen, who looked like she’d dressed for a board meeting instead of a bachelorette weekend — crisp white button-up, navy slacks, leather shoes polished enough to catch the fluorescent glare.
Her carry-on was zipped tight, squared off like it had been measured with a ruler.
“Okay,” Maggie said, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder. “Ground rules for the weekend. What’s our stance on PDA?”
Gwen arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize we had a stance.”
“Of course we have a stance. We can’t exactly be holding hands or making heart eyes in front of everyone. Not unless you want the conversation to spiral into ‘why didn’t you tell us you separated’ before we’ve even had our first overpriced cocktail.”
“So… subtle?” Gwen asked.
“Subtle,” Maggie confirmed. “Like we tolerate each other’s presence but not in a ‘wow, they hate each other’ way. More in a ‘been married so long we barely notice the other person’s there’ way.”
“That sounds romantic,” Gwen said dryly.
“It’s not supposed to be romantic. It’s supposed to be believable.”
The line inched forward. Gwen leaned just close enough for her shoulder to brush Maggie’s — on purpose, Maggie was sure — and she ignored the urge to step away.
By the time they cleared security and found a pair of seats at their gate, the overhead announcement was calling final boarding for a flight to Denver. Gwen sat across from her instead of beside her, which Maggie appreciated, and pulled out her phone.
Maggie was digging through her tote for a granola bar when she noticed the typing. Not the lazy, single-thumb scroll of someone killing time, but the clipped, fast pace of someone firing off a work email.
“Are you seriously working right now?” she asked.
“It’ll take two minutes,” Gwen said, eyes still on her screen.
“Classic Gwen. You’re already buried in work before we’ve even taken off for vacation,” Maggie snapped. “How much work are you planning on doing this weekend?”
Gwen’s eyes flicked up, annoyance apparent in her expression. “If I don’t send this now, it’ll hang over me the whole flight. This is the last email, I promise.”
“God forbid you let something hang over you for a few hours,” Maggie muttered.
That made Gwen look up, her eyes cool but steady. “You think I like that my brain works this way?”
“I think you don’t try very hard to make it work differently.” Maggie rolled her eyes.
The boarding call for their flight echoed over the PA. Gwen slipped her phone into her bag without another word. When they stood, Maggie caught the faintest crease between Gwen’s brows — the one she got when she was choosing to bite back whatever she wanted to say.
They filed onto the plane in silence like strangers.
Half an hour later, the seat belt light was off and Maggie was flicking through her Kindle library offerings when Gwen shifted beside her.
The heat of their argument had cooled. They’d always been quick to resolve fights before… well, before the last few years had made everything feel so much more complicated. Maggie dared look up at Gwen, seeing Gwen’s calm and open expression.
“Should we practice?” Gwen asked.
Maggie blinked. “Practice what?”
“Holding hands.” Gwen’s expression was casual, like she was suggesting they split a bag of pretzels.
Maggie narrowed her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Better to look natural when we have to do it in front of everyone later.”
“This is stupid,” Maggie muttered.
Against her better judgment, Maggie let Gwen’s warm, steady palm slide into hers.
The heat of it seeped up her arm, settling somewhere in her chest. It felt achingly familiar, like muscle memory — like something her body had been waiting for without her permission.
Her thumb twitched, a ghost of the way she used to stroke Gwen’s knuckles.
She tried to tell herself it was nothing, that she was just playing along.
But the quiet press of Gwen’s hand in hers made her wonder what exactly she was trying to protect herself from.
Her eyes found Gwen’s, dark with meaning and intent.
When was the last time they’d held hands like this?
It was such an innocent gesture, and yet Maggie felt like she was being stripped bare.
“Anything to drink?” the flight attendant asked, making Maggie jolt and pull her hand free, fingers tingling from the loss of warmth.
“A ginger ale for me and a Diet Coke for her,” Gwen said, smiling up at the attendant. “And can we get an extra couple of cookies? My wife can’t resist them.”
Maggie couldn’t decide if being so known was annoying or sweet. Perhaps both. She glanced back down at their hands and forced a casual smile, leaning back like it hadn’t meant anything.
“And should we try kissing? Just to make sure we can sell it?” Gwen’s tone was quiet, though the quirk of her mouth held a hint of mischief.
Maggie rolled her eyes, leaning farther away. “Don’t push your luck.”
“Ah, you’re right. Gotta save some of that for Vegas,” Gwen said, turning to face out the window. Maggie could have sworn she saw the barest hint of a smile on Gwen’s face in the reflection.
The lobby of the hotel was a sensory overload — chandeliers dripping crystals, the sharp scent of cologne and floral arrangements, the clatter of wheeled suitcases across marble.
Maggie spotted the group clustered near the check-in desk, and before she knew it she was dashing toward them.
They collided in a tangle of arms and squeals, the kind of reunion that turned heads.
Everyone was talking at once, laughter ricocheting off the marble walls.
Gwen hung back, her steps deliberately slow. Pete suddenly noticed her across the lobby and bellowed, “GWYNETH!”
The entire group turned, grinning, waving her over like she’d been missing for years. Maggie’s heart gave a strange skip as Gwen finally crossed the distance, her calm presence sliding into the storm of affection and noise like it belonged there all along.
An elevator ride and an argument over hotel key tapping techniques later, the hotel suite door flew open.
The suite was somehow both massive and wildly inconvenient.
Two sunken living areas — one complete with a circular couch — a kitchenette, a dining nook, but only two bedrooms. Maggie surveyed the pullout couch before her.
Kiera stood in the middle of it all, blinking like she’d been personally betrayed.
“It said it slept eight,” Kiera exclaimed, waving her phone in the air like it might offer a better explanation.
“Technically, it does,” Izzy said, gesturing toward the pullout couch. “It just doesn’t sleep eight in any way that won’t make our friendships weird.”
“How do two bedrooms equal eight sleeping arrangements?” Maggie asked. “Is there some kind of bed in the pantry? A secret annex we haven’t found?” She hoped desperately for a secret sleeping nook situation.
The alternative? A bed in a public room shared with the woman she hadn’t shared a bed with in months.
“Do we think I should call down to the front desk?” Kiera asked, still naively hopeful. “Get it changed?”
“No need.” Gwen sat down on the sofa, patting the cushion. “Mags and I can take the pullout.”
Maggie’s head snapped toward her. “Can we?”
“We’re the boring married couple,” Gwen said with a smile, though Maggie recognized the strain beneath it. “We won’t need a door like all you new-relationship honeymooners.”
Izzy looked like she was going to argue, but then her eyes cut toward Danica and Pete — already setting their suitcases down in the bedroom farthest from the suite entrance — and nodded. “Let’s definitely keep that far room for the bachelorettes. Obviously.”
Kiera sighed, shuffling her suitcase toward the other private room. “That’s very kind.”
Maggie busied herself with finding the extra sheets in a closet, trying to keep her face neutral.
She could feel Gwen’s presence behind her like a heat source.
What would it be like to be in the same bed with Gwen again?
Would Gwen need to be reminded this was all pretend, all just an act to save her friends from the heartbreak of her own heartbreak?
“You didn’t have to be such a chivalrous martyr,” Maggie muttered.
“Yeah, well, I kind of did.” Gwen was already taking the decorative pillows off the couch. “Unless you’d rather share a room with Izzy and Kiera.”
Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Sounds cozy.”
Gwen smirked. “What was it you told me about how Kiera flosses in bed? Or was it toenail trimming?” She raised her voice toward Kiera and Izzy’s open door.
“I do not trim my toenails in bed,” Kiera yelled. “It was in the bathroom like a perfectly regular person.”
The corner of Maggie’s mouth twitched. Damn it.
They moved in parallel, setting up the pullout with the efficiency only long-married — or recently separated — people could manage.
Maggie tried not to notice how Gwen’s shirt clung to her toned back when she leaned down to tuck the sheet.
Good lord, would she need to be the one reminded of boundaries?
She shook her head and focused on the task.
“It’s like sleeping on a ravioli,” Maggie said, pressing the large lump in the middle of the mattress.
“We’ve weathered worse,” Gwen replied. “Remember that cabin in Santa Fe?”
“You mean the one with the wasps in the walls on our honeymoon?”
“They were bees.”
“Listen, I understand their importance and I will still never forgive their species for the childhood trauma of My Girl.”
There was a beat. Then Gwen asked quietly, “This is fine, right?”
Maggie smoothed a wrinkle from the top sheet, then stepped back. “It’s fine. It’s temporary,” she whispered, not daring to look Gwen in the eye as she said the words.