Chapter Text
Michaela had been staring at her screen for the last thirty minutes.
Her eyes were glazing over and the words jumbled across the monitor as she attempted to make sense of the flurry of emails chiming into her inbox. It was mostly nonsense so far, but she still needed to reply to it, because she was in charge of said nonsense.
She rolled forward in her chair and rested her elbows on the oak desk in front of her. With a sigh, she glanced at the clock: 12:30. Still about four hours before she was free.
Leaning over to rest her chin in her hands, her eyes started to drift closed. The lack of sleep from the night before was catching up to her, but she couldn't find it in herself to regret it. A small smile played at her lips as the memories hit her.
But as some kind of karmic punishment for an evening well spent, she was ridiculously busy today. Working at a museum wasn't as glamorous as one might think. There was quite a bit of administrative work—especially now, in the midst of planning the opening of a fairly important exhibit.
Usually, she was fine with this. Sometimes she even found it soothing. But today, it made her want to jump off the building.
A sudden buzz from her desk drawer startled her into opening her eyes. She pulled it open and retrieved her phone, swiping to the new notification.
John: Can I stop by your office? :)
Her thumbs moved quickly.
Michaela: you're nearby? i thought you had a job
John: Business lunch in the neighborhood. Can I stop by???
Michaela exhaled in amusement and quickly typed out a response.
Michaela: yes yes. use the back entrance i beg of you
The last time he visited her at work, he got so distracted by a painting in the main gallery that he completely lost track of time. He was thirty minutes late to lunch, and Michaela had to go and retrieve him.
He hearted the message but she could feel him rolling his eyes at her through the phone. Michaela's attention shifted back to her screen, her fingers moving rapidly as she gave someone a piece of her mind in the email box.
"Miss Stirling?"
The voice and a light knock on the door caused her to flinch against the keyboard, leaving a jumbled smash of letters in her drafted reply.
She looked up at the sound and saw the department's intern—Emily, she's pretty sure—hovering in her doorway. Michaela beckoned her closer and Emily launched into a series of updates—none of them particularly important. She nodded along anyway and jotted her thoughts down in a notepad for later.
"Oh," Emily added, "there's also an update from the installation company. They have a quote ready for the exhibit preparation."
Michaela stared at her, waiting. "Okay. And do you have it with you?"
Emily jolted and took the few steps over to Michaela's desk, producing a small stack of documents from behind her back. "Sorry, here you go. I can also email them to you, but I know how you like physical copies, so."
Michaela shook her head and reached her hands out, making semi-unprofessional grabby motions at the documents. "No, this is perfect. Thanks."
The new exhibit was scheduled to open soon with the work of a particularly talented local artist. The pieces themself were beautiful and intricate, especially the sculptures. Michaela's breath caught in her throat when she first saw them in person; they were strange and wholly original and a huge win for the museum. It was also the first major opening Michaela was in charge of since she started working here, so it really had to go well.
And because of the details, there was quite a bit of necessary prep work. Walls to be repainted, pedestals and hanging wire to be installed, plus about a million other tiny things Michaela didn't even bother wrapping her head around because they were below her pay grade.
Her eyes dropped to the documents in front of her and she began scanning the figures, underlining the important bits. She was still exhausted, but this small update at least gave her something to run out the clock with.
A squeak of heels against the wood floor forced her to look up again. Her hand paused over the stack of paper, the grip of her pen loosening.
Emily was still standing there. Hovering. Bouncing on her feet nervously.
Michaela had to stop herself from massaging her temples. She noticed this habit on Emily's first day and it had driven her slightly crazy ever since then. She did try to be patient about it, though. After all, she started as an intern in this field too, and it was daunting at first. Emily could definitely learn to break the habit.
Wait—Emily? No, that can't be right. Her eyebrows furrowed and she squinted at the young woman across from her. She had a hard time keeping everyone's names straight unless their work wowed her, and hers definitely did not.
No, she thought, Emily is from a different department. Her pen pushed against her bottom lip as she pondered. People really needed to start wearing name tags around here.
"Miss Stirling?" the intern repeated.
"Hmm? Something else?"
"Yeah. Someone's here for you. Your cousin, I think."
Michaela blinked at her. "Oh, that was quick," she said. She gave a vague wave of her hand. "Send him in."
Unknown intern nodded and shuffled away. Michaela watched her go with her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, still mulling it over.
With a small sigh, she settled back into her chair. Her legs stretched out and draped over the top of her desk, crossing at the ankles. Black heels clicked together at the movement.
She didn't have to wait long, and soon John was breezing into her office.
"Hey," he greeted her with a loud exhale, dropping his briefcase onto the couch near the door.
Clearly dressed for work, he looked far too professional to be her cousin. A black short sleeve was tucked into matching tailored pants and a sleek brown belt sat on his waist. He also had an iced coffee in one hand, which Michaela was very jealous of.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," he said. "Emma told me you weren't too busy."
"Emma!" Michaela exclaimed, louder than she meant to. Her hands flew up in excitement and John flinched violently. The coffee in his hand jostled.
"What?" he winced, his head whipping around.
"Sorry," Michaela said, laughing. "I couldn't remember her name for the life of me. You just saved my ass. She's been here way too long for it to be acceptable to ask." Her voice was hushed and leaking with amusement. "Can you close the door?"
John shook his head in disbelief and leaned back to swing the door shut before settling into the lounge chair in front of her, the fabric dipping underneath his weight.
"Hasn't she been here for a couple weeks now?" he asked, voice stern.
Michaela shrugged. "I have no idea," she answered honestly.
They stared at each other, and then the corners of John's mouth twitched up. They both laughed, and he held up the iced coffee.
"For me?"
"Clearly."
Michaela could've cried. She grinned and reached out to accept it. "Have I mentioned you're my favorite cousin?"
His head tipped up in thought. "Honestly, no," he said, "you've never said that."
"Damn," Michaela's laugh came out full and easy. "I've thought it a couple times, I swear."
She swirled the straw around in her cup and brought it to her lips. The latte was perfectly made, not too sweet but frothy and slightly nutty.
"Anyway," John continued, "I was just here to see if you wanted to go to happy hour tonight."
"So the coffee is a bribe," she mused, bringing the straw to her lips.
"Kind of. But it was on my way," he said, "and I figured you could use a pick me up. How's the exhibit coming?"
She groaned and took another swig of her latte before answering, relishing how she could literally feel her body coming back online. "It's actually better," she said. "It's mostly just busy work now. But the artist is so excited. I am too, I think it'll be popular. It's just the getting there that's tricky."
John nodded his understanding. "When is it again?"
"In a few months. It's right before Halloween."
"Will I be invited to the opening or is that only for important people?"
Michaela laughed and set her coffee down. "It's ticketed. So if you can spare fifty quid, you're in. It'll sell out though."
"I think I can manage that," John said, grinning. He then kicked his shoes—slightly scuffed—up onto her desk, lounging like he lived here.
Michaela's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Um," she leaned forward and tapped his foot twice with her pen, "get off my desk."
"Hello?" John reeled back and gestured aggressively to her own legs, clearly perched on the desk.
"I'm allowed, and these are clean. Who knows where you've been."
"I've been at work. At my very clean office."
"Move your feet or no happy hour."
John stared at her. "You are very bossy," he said. But his shoes lifted off the desk anyway. "So that's a yes for tonight then?"
"Yeah, I'll stop by," Michaela said. "But I can't stay too long, I have plans later." She added that part in a rush, so as not to invite questions. "Is it just us?"
He shook his head. "No, Francesca too."
That made her freeze. She didn't even have to look at herself to know that she visibly brightened at the name, and she subtly pinched her own thigh to keep herself from reacting too much.
"Oh, okay. Fun. Good."
She was going for a neutral tone, but it came out so flat and monotone that she inwardly cringed at herself. Holy over correction.
John must have taken it as a sort of disappointment, because he tilted his head in confusion.
"Hey, that's what you get for befriending my best friend. Now we all hang out together. As a group," he said, lifting his arms and making circular motions with his hands in some sort of demonstration. "Those are the rules."
Michaela recovered quickly. "I wasn't aware there were rules," she said, matching his head tilt.
He grinned. "I'm making them up. I'll let you know as we go."
They talked for a while longer, but Michaela was only half listening. The thought of seeing Francesca tonight distracted her, as did her plans for afterward. Her knee bounced in anticipation but if John noticed the movement, he didn't say anything.
Eventually, he had to leave—his work phone had been buzzing incessantly in his pocket the whole time and he couldn't ignore it any longer.
They exchanged a quick goodbye, and Michaela settled back into her work.
Emma poked her head in shortly after. "Hey, I'm heading to lunch," she said. "Do you need anything before I go?"
Michaela glanced up with a smile. "No, I'm good. Thanks, Emma."
"Oh—it—um—it's actually Anna," was her response.
Michaela's fingers froze at her keyboard. Her eyes widened and she swallowed down whatever laughter was bubbling in her throat.
"Right," she said quickly, "I'm so sorry about that. Enjoy your lunch."
Anna pushed off the door frame and Michaela watched her go with her mouth pressed into a thin line.
At least she was brave enough to correct her. That was something. With an amused exhale, she fished her phone out of her pocket and scrolled to John's contact.
Michaela: her name is anna im going to kill u
John: oops :D
Michaela arrived at the restaurant first, which was unusual.
Francesca was typically there at least ten minutes before five, sipping a drink—usually something way too sweet that Michaela couldn't stand—and scribbling guesses into a crossword puzzle while she waited.
She sat at their usual table outside and perused the menu, though she already knew what she would order. A light hum of conversation filled the air from the passersby walking down the street and a warm early summer breeze caressed her skin. The air was sweet with the smell of fresh bread from a nearby bakery. Her shoulders sagged, stress oozing out of her body.
"You're early," a familiar voice chimed in front of her.
Her eyes lifted from the menu. Francesca was weaving her way through the tables, looking slightly more flustered than usual.
She was wearing a loose pair of jeans and a gray short sleeve cardigan, complete with simple white trainers. A messy braid of brown hair trailed over her shoulder. Her face was bare of any makeup and her pale skin shone with recently applied moisturizer. Thin, wire framed glasses were perched on the bridge of her nose. It was all so casual and effortless and yet, she looked annoyingly radiant. A smile tugged at Michaela's lips.
"And you're late," she responded. "Should I be concerned? I almost sent out a search party."
Francesca tossed her purse unceremoniously onto the table and pulled her chair out, falling into it with a deep, dramatic sigh. "You're hilarious," she said dryly, "but no." She scanned the table. "You couldn't have ordered for me?"
"Does it look like I've ordered yet?" Michaela asked, gesturing to the tablecloth between them, empty except for the complimentary bread basket. "I just got here."
"Oh."
"You're kind of cranky. And here I was thinking you'd be happy to see me."
"I am, sorry," Francesca said quickly. She paused, then added, "I just woke up."
Michaela's eyes screwed together. "It is," she glanced at her watch, "five pm."
"I know."
When Michaela just stared expectantly, she added, sheepishly, "I was taking a nap."
That was also unlike her. Francesca was one of those freakishly chipper morning people that somehow stayed energized all day. It was an incredibly foreign concept to Michaela, who usually needed at least three cups of coffee to feel like a functioning human being.
"Oh my god," Michaela gasped, "are you well?" She leaned forward to press her hand against Francesca's forehead. "You feel warm."
"Stop," Francesca laughed, batting her hand away. "I'm not sick, just exhausted. I had breakfast plans with Eloise this morning, so I had to get up early. I was basically falling over. And then she was talking my ear off about a movie she saw last weekend and how bad it was compared to the book."
"And she's very valid for that. Book accuracy matters."
"I know," Francesca sighed. "It was just very intense for someone so sleepy. At least I got pancakes out of it."
"Did you go to Granger and Co?
"Of course," Francesca said, her face brightening like the sun peeking through a cloud. "They're the only—"
"—pancakes worth having, I know," Michaela finished with a knowing smirk. Francesca took breakfast food very seriously, and she had waxed poetic about this restaurant enough times for it to be burned into Michaela's brain.
A small smile spread across Francesca's face and the corners of her eyes crinkled, the way they always do when she's genuinely touched by something.
Michaela grinned and leaned in closer, peering at her. Sure enough, there was faint pink mark on her cheek from where her face was pressed against something in her sleep. Her eyes were still a bit hazy, too, like she hadn't fully woken up yet. She looked softer this way. Inviting.
Her throat dried up. She cleared it as quietly as possible.
"Why so tired, anyway?" she asked. "Long night?"
Francesca shot her an amused look and fiddled with the end of her braid, but she didn't answer. Michaela opened her mouth to keep pushing, and then was rudely interrupted.
"Sorry I'm late," John addressed both of them in a rush. His briefcase tumbled to the ground with the soft thud of leather on concrete. "The tube was delayed."
He sat down across from Michaela and immediately reached forward to snatch a piece of bread.
Francesca watched him slather butter onto it with her head tilted and a slightly perturbed look plastered onto her face. "Late," she muttered, "and you're the first one eating."
"I'm starving," John said, muffled. Crumbs flew out of his mouth.
Michaela crinkled her nose, but looked at Francesca. "You say that like you were on time," she pointed out.
"He didn't know that. Couldn't you have just let me have that one?"
"No," Michaela laughed. She turned to John and pointed at Francesca accusingly. "This one desperately needs a drink before she bites my head off."
Their usual waitress appeared serendipitously at her side. "Hi, friends," she said happily. "Welcome back. Can I get any drinks started?"
Michaela ordered two old-fashioneds for herself and John, which made Francesca curl her lip in disgust and proceed to order the sweetest drink on the menu. John added on a few appetizers, and the night commenced.
Francesca spoke in depth about a piece she was composing and every single thing she thought was wrong with it. She was usually so secretive about her work, so this felt like a treat that Michaela took in greedily. Her drink was cradled in her hand protectively as she spoke and the liquid sloshed around the glass when she performed piano-like gestures in demonstration. Michaela followed it with her eyes, clenching her entire body. Francesca was a bit clumsy once she started drinking, and she had spilled more drinks here than Michaela could count.
She finally set it back down on, only spilling a tiny drop onto the tablecloth. Michaela exhaled.
"Do you want to try?" Francesca asked, pushing it closer. Michaela hesitated but leaned forward to take a small sip. The flavor was an assault, to say the least. Her mouth twisted and her eyes watered.
"Christ," she choked, "is that not just pure sugar?"
"And also gin," Francesca nodded proudly. "The perfect combination." She reached over into Michaela's space and nabbed her glass, bringing the old fashioned to her lips without asking permission.
"Oh, Fran," Michaela tried, "you're not going to—"
It was too late.
Francesca's cheeks reddened and her eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as she coughed, sputtering into her sleeve. She passed it back like it offended her. "Why would you do that to yourself?" she wheezed.
"I tried to warn you," Michaela giggled, passing her a glass of water. "It grows on you. You just need to mature your palette. You coddle it too much with—" she pointed to Francesca's bright pink concoction " —whatever that is."
"I don't want a mature palette. I want to like myself," Francesca shot back, her voice still hoarse.
Michaela held her hands up defensively. She was laughing harder now and her head tipped forward against the table.
John ping-ponged between the two of them with amusement. "Anyway," he said, "back to me."
He told them about the antics his coworkers got up to today, which Michaela and Francesca shared secret glances about while he wasn't looking. He liked to complain about them, yet he still invited them everywhere. It was confusing, to say the least.
When the attention turned to Michaela, she felt so drained from her day that she banned them from any museum conversation—Francesca protested vehemently—but she had plenty to talk about regardless.
At one point, Michaela was mercilessly teasing John about flirting with their waitress and Francesca laughed so hard she spit pink cocktail all over the table. Michaela sighed, but it turned into uncontrollable laughter when Francesca's eyes widened in horror and she reached for the napkins, knocking over a water glass in the process. John doubled over with his head in between his knees.
It was about that time they decided to start wrapping things up.
"Do either of you want to come over tonight? Or both of you?" John asked, wiping tears from his eyes. "I'm having an impromptu game night."
Michaela responded first, too quickly. "I can't," she said, reaching forward to help Francesca mop up the table. "I told you I have plans, remember."
"But you always say you can cancel plans if something more interesting comes up," John pressed. His voice was unbearably whiny for a grown man.
There were a few different responses rattling around in Michaela's head, and she didn't know how honest she wanted to be. She stared at him for a moment. Eventually, she settled on, "Right, but your game night is not more interesting than what I have going on."
Francesca snorted and immediately tried to smother the sound with her palm. She did a terrible job, and John side-eyed her, but then he leaned forward. His eyes were bright with excitement.
"Wait," he asked quickly, "do you have a date?"
That question should have been expected, but Michaela rolled her eyes to the back of her head regardless. The waitress came around to refill their water glasses and she lowered her voice. "It is not a date," she said, her voice hushed. "Just a friend." She tried to avoid Francesca's eyes as she said it.
"What friend?" John asked, eyes narrowing. "I know all your friends."
"Not this one," she replied. Her voice was clipped and if John was smart, he would let it go.
"Okay, so who is this mystery woman?" he continued, oblivious. He sounded so unreasonably happy it made Michaela regret even mentioning it.
"Can you not?" she asked, groaning a little. "It isn't a big deal."
John doubled down, letting out a low whistle. "Friday night hookup," he said, "that's very on brand for you."
"I said a friend," she continued, though it was pointless. "And I saw her last night, too."
Mistake. Big mistake. Her eyes widened and she wanted to snatch the words back as soon as they were out.
John slapped his hand on the table and his face morphed into something so animated it was actually a bit frightening.
"Two nights in a row! That," he pointed to her, "is a Michaela Stirling record."
Francesca snorted into her water cup, and Michaela shot her a weak glare.
"Okay, enough," Michaela said, her voice firm. "Can't a girl have a bit of mystery anymore? And I don't want my cousin knowing about my escapades. It's weird."
"That seems fair to me," Francesca cut in, watching the two of them with a delighted smile.
John leaned back in defeat, sighing loudly. "Fine, fine," he said, "I hope you enjoy your not date. But I expect to hear more about her eventually."
Unlikely, Michaela thought.
John's head swiveled over to Francesca. "What about you? Game night?" he asked hopefully.
Francesca grimaced and she shook her head. Her braid swished behind her at the movement and Michaela followed it with her eyes. "I can't either," she said, "I have to work."
John groaned dramatically before the words were even all the way out of her mouth and she had to pitch her voice higher to be heard over him. "It's Friday night," she continued loudly. "Those drinks aren't going to make themselves."
"Your poor customers," Michaela muttered under her breath.
Francesca was good at many things, but she made quite possibly the worst cocktail Michaela had ever had in her life. It was honestly shocking she had such steady employment at the bar.
Across from her, Francesca's eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry, what was that?"
"Apology accepted. But you heard me."
"I'm getting better!"
"No deaths to report?"
"Not even a single one. I'm getting very professional," Francesca said. Her eyes sparkled. "Actually, I made my boss a drink the other day that she said was 'almost serviceable.'"
A laugh bubbled out of Michaela's throat. "Wow, I'll have to stop by then," she said, "I want to see what all the fuss is about."
They smiled at each other for a long moment, until John cleared his throat and slapped his hands on his knees. "Well," he said, "since you've both rejected me, I suppose I should just head home. There's a deck of cards burning a hole in my pocket."
He got up to pay, leaving them alone at the table. There was a comfortable silence as Michaela watched him walk away. And when her eyes flicked back to Francesca, she found she was already being watched. Her stomach flipped.
"Are you excited for your date?" Francesca asked slowly, her voice low and private. The street lamps were on now, and the warm light was bouncing off the reflection of her glasses. Her eyes looked greener this way.
"Not a date," Michaela reminded her. "But yeah, I'm excited."
Francesca leaned back in her chair. Her stare was intense and scrutinizing. "Have you been seeing her long?"
Michaela smiled freely now. She wasn't sure what Francesca was doing, but what was the harm in entertaining it? She took a sip of water before she replied.
"Mm," she hummed, "three months."
"That seems significant for you."
"Ouch. What are you implying?"
Francesca's laugh came out light and unhurried. "Only that it's longer than usual."
"I'm full of surprises."
"She must be special," Francesca added.
"She—"
Michaela was once again cut off by John returning to the table. "All set," he said. "By the way, are you two ever going to pay? It's been my turn for the last three Fridays."
Michaela met Francesca's eyes and they both shrugged, completely unbothered.
"No," Francesca said.
"Obviously not," Michaela finished.
They really were lucky John was such a pushov—kind man—because he just rolled his eyes good-naturedly and tucked his wallet into his back pocket. Besides, he worked in finance, this was spare change to him.
"Let's go," he said, "I've had enough of the bullying."
Michaela said her goodbyes outside the restaurant. She was headed in the opposite direction as them, since John had asked Francesca to take the tube with him.
Michaela gave them both a brief hug, lingering for longer than necessary when Francesca's arms wrapped around her waist.
"Enjoy your evening, womanizer," John said, saluting her.
Francesca didn't say anything, she only lifted her hand in a small wave before tucking it into her pocket. They smiled softly at each other before Michaela turned around.
The street lamps illuminated the sidewalk in front of her, and she couldn't keep the spring out of her step as she made her way home.
Once Michaela got home, she immediately launched into action. She had about an hour before her mystery woman arrived, and she liked her flat to look a certain way. Not that her guest would really care about the state of it—that's not what she was here for—but it was mostly for Michaela's benefit anyway.
Their activities usually ended up knocking her things over, most often the coat rack by the door. She should probably bolt it to the floor, at this point. Clothes strewn across the floor was also common, and she had only recently found her favorite bra after two weeks of it hanging off the curtain rod in her bedroom, so it was just easier to start off with a clean baseline before everything went to hell.
She tidied as quickly as possible, then briefly considered the fact that she was doing way too much. Having women over wasn't new for her by any means, but she had never cared this much about how they perceived her. Shaking her head, she pushed that thought away. Then she vacuumed. That was definitely overkill. Maybe she was a bit nervous.
The area sufficiently clean, she took a quick shower. With five minutes to spare, she was sprawled over the couch cushions, clean and excited. She changed into her favorite pajamas—cotton lilac shorts that hugged her hips snugly and a matching tank top that landed just above her belly button, leaving just a sliver of the dark plane of her stomach visible. The fabric was soft against her freshly lotioned skin and she fiddled with the waistband on her shorts as she lounged, trying not to be too impatient.
It was a quarter past nine—their usual meeting time—so Michaela was expecting her any minute now. Her knee bounced excitedly and she cringed at herself in genuine self-disgust. She was really not doing casual very well.
After a few more minutes, there was a light knock on her front door.
Michaela jumped up quickly, but she hovered for a few moments. Looking too eager was her worst fear. She ran a hand over her tank top, smoothing it down and schooling her face into what she hoped was a neutral expression.
Get it together, she thought to herself.
And then she reached forward and wrenched the door open.
"You're late, again" she said, assessing the woman in front of her.
From the doorway, Francesca smiled apologetically.
"I know, I'm sorry. I had to lose John. He wouldn't stop trying to convince me to come over," she explained. Her hair was pulled out of her braid, falling in loose waves over her shoulders.
Michaela leaned against the doorframe, watching as Francesca's eyes raked appreciatively down her body. "I almost thought you were going to cancel," she said, tilting her head.
"Have I ever cancelled?"
Michaela sighed and shook her head. "I guess not. You know better."
"Are you planning on letting me in?" Francesca asked, her eyebrows scrunching. Her lips pursed into a small pout, which was a cruel combination to use when Michaela was trying to be annoyed.
Her shoulders dropped in defeat and despite her best efforts at looking irritated, her mouth curved.
Taking that as an invitation, Francesca stepped inside. Her hand slid over Michaela's waist, seeking the sliver of exposed skin there. Fingers tightened and pulled her closer. Michaela's body lit up like it had been waiting for this all day, and a small sigh escaped her lips.
Francesca dipped her head down and Michaela tilted up, their eyes locking intensely somewhere in the middle.
"Are you really mad?" Francesca asked, her breath ghosting against Michaela's face.
Michaela's mouth twitched in amusement. She leaned up on her tippy toes, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Francesca's ear.
"Yes," she whispered, "make it up to me."
Francesca grinned and leaned down to kiss her, and the door swung closed behind them.