CHAPTER 3
CHARLOTTE
Bianca Figueroa had forearms that could probably bench-press a small car.
Rolled-up shirtsleeves, the confident sprawl of her posture, the easy grin when she spotted Charlotte by the bar. She was tall. Taller than Charlotte in her heels, which was rare. Dark hair cropped short, a strong jaw, the kind of presence that made people look twice.
This was what Charlotte was supposed to want. Someone with presence. Someone who filled up a room.
"Charlotte?" Bianca extended her hand. Her grip was firm. "Nice to finally meet in person. You're even prettier than your photos."
"Thank you. You're taller than I expected."
Bianca laughed. "I get that a lot. People see 'firefighter' and expect some six-foot muscle-bound dude."
"And instead they get...?"
"A five-ten muscle-bound woman." She grinned. "Can I get you a drink?"
The wine bar smelled like aged oak and warm bread. Exposed brick walls, candles guttering on every table, a chalkboard menu of small plates designed for sharing. Charlotte let Bianca order a bottle, a Malbec, which was acceptable if uninspired, and they settled into a corner booth.
"So," Bianca said. "Architect. That's cool. What kind?"
"Historical preservation. Brownstones, pre-war buildings, landmark restoration."
"Ah, so you're the one making sure the pretty old buildings stay pretty."
"More or less."
"I like that. Most people want to tear everything down and start fresh. It's nice to meet someone who wants to keep the good stuff."
Charlotte's mouth softened. It was a good line. And Bianca delivered it with such easy sincerity, none of the try-hard energy Charlotte usually encountered on first dates.
Her phone buzzed in her purse. She ignored it.
"What about you?" Charlotte asked. "How long have you been a firefighter?"
"Eight years. Started right out of training, never looked back." Bianca poured them each a glass. "It's the only job where you can be a hero and get paid for it."
"Modest."
"I'm kidding. Mostly. I just like helping people. The running into burning buildings part is just a bonus."
"The adrenaline?"
"The purpose." Bianca's eyes were warm. "Knowing you're doing something that matters. Every day, work that actually makes a difference. You know?"
Charlotte did know. She thought about her own work, the careful restoration of cornices and moldings, the preservation of details that most people never noticed. It mattered. Just not in the same visceral, life-or-death way.
"I can see the appeal," Charlotte said.
Her phone buzzed again. She didn't reach for it.
The conversation flowed. Bianca was easy to talk to, funny and direct, with the kind of confidence that came from knowing exactly who she was.
She told stories about her firehouse, about the characters she worked with, about the time they'd rescued a cat from a tree and it had turned out to be a raccoon.
"The thing's still living in our engine bay," Bianca said. "We named him Steve."
"You have a pet raccoon."
"We have a feral mascot. Big difference."
Charlotte laughed. A real laugh, not the polite performative one she usually deployed on dates. Bianca noticed, her grin widening.
"There it is," she said. "I was wondering if you ever smiled for real."
"Excuse me?"
"You've got a very controlled smile. The architect smile. This one's different." Bianca leaned back, studying her. "You're interesting, Charlotte."
"Interesting good or interesting serial-killer?"
"Interesting good. Definitely good."
Her face warmed. She reached for her wine, took a longer sip than necessary. When was the last time someone had called her interesting and meant it as a compliment?
Jo. Jo always said she was interesting. But that was different.
Her phone buzzed again. Three times now.
"You can check that," Bianca said. "I don't mind."
"It's not important."
"It might be. I've watched you not-check it three times. That takes willpower."
Charlotte hesitated. Then she pulled out her phone.
Jo: how's it going??
Jo: is she actually hot
Jo: charlotte come on don't leave me hanging
Charlotte's lips curved at the screen.
"Good news?" Bianca asked.
"My friend. She's... persistent."
"The plus-one in your photos?"
Charlotte looked up sharply. "What?"
"Your profile. You have a few photos with this woman. Short hair, big smile. She looks like the kind of person who makes you smile like that."
"Jo. She's my best friend."
"Right." Bianca's tone was carefully neutral. "Best friend."
Bianca's tone made Charlotte's spine stiffen. She typed a quick response to Jo, murmuring the words under her breath without noticing she'd done it.
Charlotte: She's nice.
Charlotte: Good stories. Terrible taste in wine.
Then she put the phone away.
"She has opinions about wine?" Bianca asked, amused. "You just said that out loud."
"Jo? God, no. She drinks beer. The cheap kind."
"The best kind."
"That's debatable."
Bianca laughed. "You're very loyal to your wine."
"I'm loyal to quality."
"I can tell." Bianca leaned forward, elbows on the table. "So tell me. What are you looking for, Charlotte? Out of this whole app thing?"
The question caught Charlotte off guard. Most first dates stayed surface-level. Safe topics. Favorite movies. Travel destinations. Not what are you looking for in life.
"I'm not sure," Charlotte said honestly. "I've been... focused on other things. Work. Friends. I haven't dated seriously in a while."
"How long is a while?"
Years. Years of telling herself that Jo was enough. That the friendship was enough. That wanting more was greedy, foolish, doomed.
"A while," Charlotte repeated.
Bianca nodded slowly. "I get it. I was in a long-term thing for five years. When it ended, I didn't date for almost two years. Scared, I think. Easier to be alone than to risk getting hurt again."
"What changed?"
"I got tired of being scared." Bianca shrugged. "Realized I was letting fear make all my decisions. That's no way to live."
Fear making her decisions. Was that what she'd been doing? For years, staying safe, staying careful, staying within the boundaries of a friendship that would never be more?
"That's very self-aware," Charlotte said.
"Therapy." Bianca grinned. "Also my mother. She's terrifying. Told me if I didn't start dating again she was going to set me up with her dentist's daughter. The dentist's daughter is nineteen."
"Compelling motivation."
"I'm extremely motivated."
Her phone buzzed again. Charlotte didn't check it this time. Instead, she let herself settle into the conversation. Let herself be here, on this date, with this interesting, attractive woman who seemed genuinely interested in her.
It was nice. Bianca was nice.
It wasn't Jo, but maybe that was the point. Maybe she needed to stop comparing every woman to Jo.
The second glass of wine helped. So did the third. They shared a cheese plate and talked about their families, Bianca's loud, sprawling Puerto Rican clan versus Charlotte's estranged British parents, and found common ground in having complicated relationships with where they came from.
"You don't talk to them at all?" Bianca asked.
"Not since I came out. They made it clear I wasn't welcome."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I found a better family." Charlotte thought of Sunday dinner. Of Lucy's handstands and Grandma Ruth's soup and Jo's easy our family. "It just took a while."
"That's the good ending, then."
"The better ending. Still working on the best one."
Bianca smiled. "I like that. Still working on it." She raised her glass. "To better endings."
Charlotte clinked her glass against Bianca's. "To better endings."
They walked out together at eleven. The night was cool, the street quiet. Bianca hailed them a cab, since she was headed to the Bronx and Charlotte farther into Brooklyn, and then turned to face her.
"I had a good time," Bianca said.
"So did I."
"Can I see you again?"
Charlotte hesitated. This was the moment she usually made her excuses. Invented a busy schedule, a demanding project, a need to focus on herself. Let the conversation fade until the other person stopped texting.
But Bianca was nice. Genuinely nice, not just acceptable. And Charlotte was tired of being scared.
"Yes," she said. "I'd like that."
Bianca's face lit up. "Friday? There's this new place in Williamsburg my buddy keeps telling me about. Great cocktails, apparently."
"I can do Friday."
"It's a date." Bianca leaned in, hesitated. "Is this okay?"
Charlotte nodded. Bianca kissed her cheek, soft and brief and respectful, and stepped back.
"Get home safe," Bianca said. "Text me when you're there."
"I will."
The cab pulled away. Charlotte stood on the sidewalk for a moment, watching the taillights disappear.
Her phone buzzed.
Jo: ?????
Jo: charlotte it's been HOURS
Jo: did you die
Jo: did she murder you with her firefighter muscles
Jo: should i call the police
Charlotte smiled at her phone.
Charlotte: Second glass. She ordered a Malbec.
Jo: is that good or bad
Charlotte: The wine itself is fine. It's the pairing I'm concerned about.
Jo: you're such a snob
Charlotte: I prefer "discerning."
Jo's response came with a laughing emoji. Charlotte stood on the sidewalk, texting her best friend about a date with someone else, and felt a knot twist in her chest.
This was good. This was progress. Bianca was kind and funny and interested, and Charlotte was going to see her again on Friday.
This was moving on.
She hailed her own cab and gave the driver her address. The city slid past the windows, all lights and shadows, and Charlotte thought about better endings.
About what it might mean to have one.
Jo: so. scale of 1-10. how hot is the firefighter?
Charlotte considered lying. But Jo would see through it anyway.
Charlotte: 8.5.
Jo: CHARLOTTE
Jo: and she has MUSCLES???
Charlotte: Forearms that could bench-press a small car.
Jo: oh my god
Jo: i'm so proud of you
Jo: i mean that sincerely
Charlotte stared at the message. I'm so proud of you. Like Jo was her cheerleader, her support system, the person who wanted good things for her even when those good things were someone else.
She typed back: Thank you.
Then, impulsively: I'm trying something new.
Jo: what do you mean?
Charlotte: I'm going to see her again. Friday.
A pause. Longer than Jo's usual instant responses. Then:
Jo: that's great, lottie! you should! she sounds amazing!
The exclamation points felt slightly manic. Charlotte was probably imagining it.
Charlotte: We'll see.
Jo: text me after?
Charlotte: Always.
She put her phone away and let her head fall back against the seat. Outside, Brooklyn came into view, familiar and welcoming.
This was good. This was moving forward.
She didn't let herself think about why Jo's manic exclamation points felt like a crack in the foundation of everything.