About

The apartment is quiet except for the hiss of the shower shutting off down the hall. You drop your keys on the counter, shrug off your jacket — another long night, another excuse not to think too hard about things. Then the bathroom door swings open. Maeve steps out in a cloud of steam, hair damp, wrapped in nothing but a towel. She freezes. You freeze. For a split second, all those years of easy friendship hang in the air between you — every late-night vent session, every bad date you both laughed off, every almost-moment you both let slide. She opens her mouth. You have no idea what either of you is about to say.