CHAPTER 6: THE DATE
The next morning, a soft hum filtered through the Nudge Engine loft, and light poured in through the high windows, casting tangled shadows across Harper’s desk. She sat with her chin in her hand, glasses slipping down her nose, eyes unfocused on a spreadsheet she hadn’t touched in twenty minutes. Her fingers tapped absently at the keyboard, not typing, just fidgeting. There was a subtle glow to her; it was warm. She looked like someone who hadn’t slept much, but for once, didn’t seem to mind at all. And then Jules entered like a caffeine-fueled truth bomb, sliding into the room with purpose and a half-drunk iced espresso in one hand.
“So,” she began without preamble, “how did it go? And also, sidebar, you are now officially so into girls!”
Harper flinched. “What?”
Jules leaned against her desk, sipping with calculated drama. “You called her a goddess on Slack.”
Harper blinked. “I… what?”
Jules had her phone out. “Timestamp: 1:42 a.m. You called her a goddess. With a cat gif.”
Harper covered her face with both hands, glasses skewing even more. “Okay, first of all, that’s not proof of anything. Second, that’s a metaphor.”
“A gay metaphor.”
Harper groaned. “You’re the one who said she was a goddess, first.”
“Sure, but I wasn’t whispering it into the company Slack like a love confession to the void.”
Harper dropped her hands and leaned back in her chair, eyes wide, helpless. “I don’t know if I’m into girls, okay? I don’t. I’m just—” She paused, then shrugged in quiet defeat. “I just know I’m into her. Mira.” The name landed like a pebble in water. Something gentle but rippling.
Jules’ face softened for exactly two seconds, then sharpened again. “Okay, but let’s rewind to the part where you called her from the bath. Like a scene from a Euro-indie film.”
Harper groaned. “It wasn’t like that.”
“But you were naked. You were talking, and she knew you were naked.”
“Well, yes. That’s how you bathe. And I might’ve confirmed it for her.”
Jules nearly dropped her espresso. “Oh my God!”
Harper flushed to the tips of her ears. “I wasn’t thinking. I panicked. I called, and she answered, and then she was… she was Mira.”
Jules tilted her head, observing Harper the way one might study a delicate scientific anomaly. “You’ve got it bad.”
Harper nodded, defeated. “I really do.”
“You’ve got it bath-call bad.”
She buried her face in her hands again. “Stop.”
Jules smirked, taking a long, slow sip. “I will, after one more question: When are you going out with her?”
Harper didn’t answer, and Jules just grinned wider.
=====
The Calridge office building was full of whispers and the sound of decisive heels on marble. No one loiters there, and the receptionists don’t smile unless you’re a client. The café downstairs serves espresso with your name etched into the foam, if they know you belong.
Mira sat at her desk reviewing a proposal with practiced precision. Her posture, as always, was impeccable: shoulders relaxed but regal, spine long, fingers deft as they turned each page. The Calridge logo gleamed in the corner of the folder, sharp against the white.
But her eyes weren’t quite on the words. Her red pen hovered just above the margin of a paragraph she hadn’t read. Her lips, rarely without their deliberate poise, were curved in the faintest ghost of a smile, something quiet and warm. She traced the edge of the paper with her nail and thought of a voice, bright, breathless, and amused. “I mean, I am naked, but only by routine.”
Mira exhaled softly, like the memory was made of silk. Then the door opened with a polite knock that didn’t wait for permission, and Camille stepped in, composed in slate grey, hair pinned, and her eyes like twin scalpels. She was carrying a slim portfolio of updates.
“Internal revisions from Munich. And a new draft from the Southbridge team. It’s already marked for your tone adjustments.”
Mira nodded, but didn’t look up. Camille watched her for a second. Then another. Her voice shifted—cooler, sharper. Then she spoke in French, “Are you thinking about Nudge Engine… or its founder?”
Mira’s pen stilled, and she let the silence settle just long enough. Then, “Both,” she said, without looking up.
Camille tilted her head, lips parting as she might press further, but she didn’t. She only moved forward, laying the folder gently on the edge of the desk.
“Fais attention,” she said quietly. “Le chevauchement professionnel comporte des risques.” Be careful, professional overlap carries risks.
Mira finally looked up, her green eyes clear, unbothered, but undeniably… they softened. “Ana aʿlam,” I know, she said. “I’ll be careful.”
Camille didn’t answer right away. She simply turned to leave, steps quiet against the polished floor. Just as she reached the door, she said over her shoulder, “You never are, when it matters.”
Mira didn’t flinch. “I heard that.”
Camille closed the door behind her without a sound, and Mira looked back at the untouched proposal. Then down at her phone.
=====
Harper was in the kitchen nook of Nudge Engine’s loft, staring into a chipped ceramic mug of coffee that said “I brake for existential dread.” She wore a soft sweater with a stretched neckline and looked halfway between focused and fried.
Her phone rang, and without looking at it, she answered on instinct. “Hello?”
A deep, feminine voice that made her melt: “Are you free tonight?”
Harper blinked. A breath. “Yes.” Beat. “I mean—probably. I mean—yes, absolutely, very free.”
She winced, closed her eyes, and bit her lip. Somewhere inside her brain, neurons collapsed into each other and spontaneously combusted. On the other end of the line, Mira’s laugh drifted across the wire, smooth and low, like the first sip of good wine.
“Good,” she said. “I’ll text you the details now, and I’ll see you tonight.”
Harper: “Okay. Great. I’ll… probably change outfits six times and forget how to breathe, but yeah. I’ll be ready.”
There was another soft laugh, then the call ended with a chime that sounded suspiciously like doom. Harper stood there, phone in hand, melting into the kitchen counter. Behind her, Jules walked in with a junior developer holding a protein bar. She clocked the expression instantly.
“Was that the date I told you was coming?” She raised an eyebrow. “Or did she just buy you as a pet?”
Harper, dazed: “I think both?” A pause. “I’d be fine with both.”
=====
The restaurant was a hidden fragment of some other time, tucked into a quiet corner of the West Village, between ivy-strewn brownstones on a street barely lit by amber sconces and the glow of flowering window boxes. Once a greenhouse, maybe, or a conservatory for someone who believed in beauty more than profit. Now, it breathed slowly and warmly, filled with lantern light and the scent of jasmine, basil, and something gently sweet, drifting through the vines that curled along the glass ceiling.
At the far end, tucked in a corner framed by a low wall of greenery, Mira sat alone at a candlelit table. She was still and composed, her dark braid pinned in a low twist, the silk of her dress pooling gently over crossed legs. She wore subtle gold details at her collar and ears that caught the light when she tilted her head. Her posture was relaxed but elegant, one hand curved around a half-full wine glass, the other resting lightly near the menu she had no intention of reading again.
She was waiting and hoping. She’d done complicated negotiations, and she’d stood before billionaires and business dictators with a steadier pulse. But tonight, she was unsettled in a way that had nothing to do with power, and everything to do with the girl who, she worried, just might have the power to change everything.
And then came the sound of footsteps, a soft scuffle of heels on tile, and a burst of air through the open doorway. Mira lifted her gaze just as Harper appeared, half-shouldered by the maître d’, slightly out of breath, and her eyes scanning the room. The dress she wore was simple and tasteful, a soft green that clung where it was meant to and suggested in places it didn’t. Her curls had been coaxed into semi-submission, though one tendril had already rebelled near her cheek. She looked radiant, and slightly flushed. And as her eyes found Mira’s, something inside her visibly stuttered.
Oh no, Harper thought, stopping dead. Oh no, she’s unreal.
She hadn’t expected this, not really. Not the kind of stunned that left her suddenly unsure of her own limbs. Not the warmth in her stomach. And, not the heat she could feel rising in her cheeks just from the way Mira was looking at her.
For her part, Mira rose slowly, not out of etiquette, but out of instinct. Her smile was quiet but genuine, almost amused by the way Harper froze in place, caught in some unspoken awareness that she had never, not once, shown up to a date that felt like this. Mira really enjoyed that.
Harper breathed: “You’re—wow…” She didn’t finish.
Mira’s smile stayed as she spoke gently: “You came.”
Harper swallowed, then nodded and stepped forward. Recognising another greeting repeated. “I didn’t even hesitate.”
She winced. Why did I say that? she thought to herself. And why did it sound like I’m already too far in?
Their table felt both enclosed and exposed, private in its position, but strung with the electricity of everything unsaid between them. The jazz was low, just barely audible beneath the hush of warm conversation and clinking glassware. Shadows played across Mira’s cheekbones as she settled again into her chair, her every movement unhurried and deliberate. Her eyes never leaving Harper for more than a moment.
The waitress brought water, and Harper immediately knocked hers slightly off-center. But Mira just smiled, the lighting turning everything golden. Harper’s curls caught it like they were made for it. So did the slope of her collarbone, visible beneath the soft dress she wore, and Mira couldn’t stop imagining sliding the thin straps from her shoulders.
They talked, and at first, it was just about safe things: work-adjacent, with a few teasing mentions of the conference. But then Mira set her glass down and said. “I’m glad you called last night. That you didn’t wait.”
Harper looked down at her hands, then back up, her blue eyes unsure and open. “Waiting… who would do that, right?” An awkward half giggle. “No, I just… knew I wanted to hear your voice.”
Mira’s mouth softened at that. Not into a smile, but into something slower, more intimate. A little later, over wine and shared olives, Harper recounted a recent debugging nightmare.
“I basically bribed the code into working. I gave it compliments. I said things like, ‘Wow, what a strong and valid function you are.’”
Mira tilted her head, intrigued. “You negotiate with your software?”
Harper grinned, slightly embarrassed. “Only when I care about it.”
Mira held her gaze across the table. “Then I hope your software knows how lucky it is.”
Their fingertips brushed once, Mira reaching to pass the wine, Harper reaching to steady it. It would’ve been nothing, except neither of them pulled away. Mira kept noticing little things that threatened to distract her from the conversation, like how Harper’s throat moved when she laughed, or how she kept shifting in her seat every few moments, crossing and uncrossing her legs. It didn’t bother her; it just meant that Harper’s thighs were continually on her mind.
And Harper could feel it too — Mira’s focus on her. God, could she feel it. Her panties had been damp from the moment Mira had stood to greet her, all tall, tailored elegance and warm cheek kiss, and her perfume laced with cardamom and heat. The slide of Mira’s voice across the wine list hadn’t helped.
Now, under the tablecloth, Harper’s thighs pressed together again, trying to keep her own rhythm contained. It didn’t work. Nothing was working. And Mira was watching her— no, devouring her calmly, intently, as if she was already imagining Harper’s scent on her fingers.
“I’m sorry,” Harper said, blinking. “I just spaced out for a second; what were you saying?”
Mira smiled faintly, tipped her wine glass to her lips, and took a slow sip before replying.
“I didn’t say anything.”
Oh. Heat flashed across Harper’s chest, up her neck and bloomed fully in her cheeks. She looked down, and then back up. Mira’s gaze didn’t waver.
“Are you always like this?” Harper asked, voice lower now. “So… elegant? It’s very intimidating.”
Mira let out a soft exhale. “I assure you, I am not.”
Harper cocked her head. “Liar.”
Mira only smiled, the kind that answers nothing and invites everything. The courses came slowly and the wine settled into warmth in their chests.
=====
Outside the glass, the city glowed, and inside the lantern-lit garden, two women leaned slightly toward each other, caught somewhere between conversation and something far deeper. Around them, the restaurant hummed with quiet laughter, the occasional clink of cutlery, and the low thread of warm music winding lazily through the lantern-lit air.
Harper leaned forward slightly before taking a breath and speaking like a secret had been curled in her mouth for weeks. “I’ve been trying to figure out your accent since the gallery.”
Mira lifted a brow, amused. Her smile came easily this time, subtle but real. “Have you?” she asked, clearly entertained.
Harper grinned, “It’s been haunting me,” she admitted. “Like… it just shows up in my head sometimes and makes everything else sound flat. It’s not just French, though. There’s something softer underneath. Warmer…”
Harper sighed, frustrated with how express herself properly here. “I know you’re French. Or at least partly. And I thought maybe something else, too? Especially when you said goodnight last night in another language.”
There was a pause. Not hesitation, exactly, just weight. Like Mira was choosing what not to say before she chose what to share.
“Aḥlām Saʿīda,” Mira said again quietly. “It means, ‘sweet dreams.’”
She paused before continuing, “My mother was Egyptian,” she said. “My father was French. I grew up between Cairo and Lyon, later Paris.”
Harper nodded slowly, her gaze never leaving Mira’s. “Well,” she said, softer now, “that explains it.”
“Explains what?”
Harper exhaled through her nose. “The accent. The exotic presence. The… impossible elegance.”
Mira’s smile sharpened, not with mockery, but with something else. Curiosity, maybe, and amusement touched with something gentler. “You are very strange,” she said, not unkindly.
“I get that a lot.”
“It’s not a flaw.”
Harper lifted her wine glass like a toast. “Good, because it’s definitely not going away. I’ve tried everything.”
Mira’s eyes glinted before lifting her own glass, a soft clink between them.
Eventually, Mira set her glass down; the subject of conversation shifting again. “Do you ever get away from work?”
Harper straightened slightly, “Sometimes,” she said, “I drive, mostly. Long ones. I’ll head south with no plan, pick a highway and just… go. I look for some sleepy town with a bakery and a lake and pretend it’s enough. I’ll choose a weird little inn with bad wallpaper and try their local specialty, no matter how sketchy. I like the water: lakes, oceans, rivers, whatever. Anything that reflects light.”
Mira watched her, eyes soft. “You’re a wanderer.”
Harper shrugged. “Maybe. But a deliberate one.”
Mira’s lips curved. “I like that.”
Harper, emboldened by the warmth in Mira’s gaze kept the conversation going: “What about you? Do you have hobbies? Or are you too busy being devastatingly elegant all the time?”
“Contrary to popular belief,” Mira replied, dry but playful, “I do have a life outside of Calridge.”
“Please say it’s underground fencing or illegal street racing.”
Mira giggled—actually giggled, before replying, “Would it ruin it if I said classical piano?”
Harper paused. Then smiled, wide and genuine. “That actually… fits perfectly.”
“Mmm?”
“You have ‘grand piano in a minimalist apartment’ energy.”
“I do have both of those,” Mira murmured, amused. “Though I rarely play when anyone can hear.”
Harper tilted her head. “That’s a shame. I bet it sounds like your accent.”
Mira’s gaze sharpened again. “How’s that?”
Harper didn’t look away. “Your music would probably stay with me.”
There was a quiet between them now. Not awkward, but charged. As though the room had narrowed and drawn itself, exclusively, around the two of them.
=====
Harper leaned back in her chair, swirling the last of her wine, watching Mira with a look that hovered between awe and disbelief. Her curls had started to fray slightly from the humidity—she could feel them starting to revolt—but Mira was still perfect, damn her. Regal and molten in the same breath.
“I know somewhere,” Harper said, tone a little conspiratorial. “A place.”
Mira tilted her head, amused. “A place?”
“A gelato place,” Harper said, eyes lighting up. “It’s nearby. It’s small, and a little ridiculous. But, I think you’d love it.”
“Do you now?”
“I do. It has lavender honey and cardamom and probably illegal amounts of whipped cream. Also, you’ve made me nervous all night and I need sugar.”
Mira’s laugh was quiet but undeniable. She reached for her clutch. “Then I believe it’s my responsibility to ensure you recover,” she said, rising with elegant ease. “Let’s go.”
Mira’s tone made it clear that the matter of the check wasn’t up for debate. Harper gave in with a halfhearted pout and followed her out into the night. Mira’s tailored coat fell neatly over her mid-thigh dress. Beside her, Harper shrugged into her cropped leather jacket—warm, worn, and unmistakably hers—and they began to walk.
The city air was cooler now, velvet on the skin. Lantern light pooled softly along the cobbled edges of the quiet street. Mira’s heels clicked in an even, elegant rhythm, and Harper, beside her, felt like her own movements had to recalibrate just to keep up. She wasn’t used to walking next to someone so effortlessly graceful, or so quietly magnetic.
God, Harper thought. She’s the kind of woman you try to describe to your friends later and end up sounding insane. Like, no, you don’t get it. She’s actually made of something else.
“So,” is what Harper actually said out loud, attempting casual. “Do you like New York?”
Mira’s gaze swept the old stone facades, the ivy-curled windows, the distant sound of a saxophone carried on a rooftop breeze.
“At times. It can be… performative,” she said. “But there are moments of stillness I find exquisite.”
Harper grinned. “I like the guy who sings ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ on the subway. That’s my New York.”
Mira laughed again, fuller this time. “Of course it is.”
They rounded a corner, and the space between them suddenly felt colder than the air. Harper hesitated, the absence of contact tugging at her. Then, she took a breath, and grasped the flicker of courage that she had, and she slipped her arm through Mira’s. Mira glanced sideways, lips parting in soft surprise.
“I—sorry, I just—” Harper stammered, about to pull back.
But Mira didn’t let her. Instead, she gently brought her arm in, folding Harper’s close against her side, fingers brushing Harper’s wrist with elegant finality.
“No,” she said. “Stay.”
Harper blinked. Then smiled and obeyed. She could feel Mira’s warmth, the flex of muscle beneath silk, the brush of jewelry against her skin. The friction of Mira’s body against hers—the solid elegance of it—was like flipping a switch. Her breath hitched, and she tried to focus on the sidewalk, but failed completely.
Mira’s coat brushed Harper’s bare skin with every step. Harper’s hand rested against the inside of Mira’s arm, just above the curve of her elbow, and all she could think about was how it would feel if her hand kept moving. If she pressed her palm flat against Mira’s ribs. If she curled her fingers into the softness beneath her coat.
Her panties clung to her as they walked. She could feel the ache, the press, and the pulse. And Mira’s scent—warm and dark, something expensive and ancient—was making it all worse.
Mira, meanwhile, was utterly composed. At least on the surface. But inside, she was quietly unraveling, too. Harper was incandescent in motion—warm-skinned, bright-eyed, hair tousled by the night breeze. Her joy radiated outward, and Mira could feel it pressing against her, charging the air. She looked down briefly to where their arms touched and found she didn’t want the moment to end. This was already more than a date. It was… something she didn’t want to define.
The gelato place was still open, just—and it twinkled like something out of a dream. A tangle of plants hung from trellises above, and mismatched string lights glowed golden and low. Inside, the counter was crowded with jars of brittle and crushed meringue and sauces in cut-glass bowls. It smelled like waffle cones and all things sweet and comforting.
They ordered, and Harper insisted Mira try the fig and burnt sugar swirl, and she made sure she paid this time, raising her arms in triumph as they walked away from the register.
“You’ll like it,” she said, handing Mira the cup with a smug tilt of her head. “It tastes like good secrets.”
Outside, the patio was quiet, with just a few couples scattered at tables. The vines hummed with quiet life, and the bench along the back wall beckoned. They sat close. Too close. Perfectly close. Their arms touched first, then hips, then legs, and neither moved. Mira took a slow spoonful of the ice cream and smiled. It really did taste like secrets.
“I love this place,” Harper said softly, her voice laced with breathless relief. “It’s like… Wes Anderson accidentally seduced a pastry chef.”
=====
They tasted each other’s gelato, murmuring praise for the flavors. Harper licked the edge of her spoon and dared a glance sideways. Mira was watching her, and her pulse jumped in response. She adjusted her seat and felt it, unmistakably: the way her panties clung. She started to worry. It was going to be hard to stand without betraying something.
Instead, she ran her spoon along the inside of her cup, savoring the last of the lavender cream. “That’s ridiculous,” she muttered. “I think I’m ruined for regular ice cream.”
Mira hummed beside her. “Ruined with taste. That’s the best kind of ruin.”
Harper turned slightly, studying Mira in the fairy-lit shadows. Her profile was all grace—clean lines, soft mouth, the faintest sheen of warmth on her skin.
“Can I ask…?” Harper paused. “What was it like? Growing up where you did?”
Mira lifted her eyes toward the vines above them, then let her head tip against the wall gently. “Hot, ancient, loud, and very beautiful.”
Harper watched her, the way her eyes go somewhere else, somewhere deeper.
“In Cairo,” Mira continued, voice low, “the air in summer hums like a cello string. Everything moves—the laundry lines, the old fans, the dust on the floor. There’s always jasmine—always. My mother used to keep bowls of orange blossom water in the corners of the flat. I thought that’s how all homes smelled.”
Harper held her breath. “That sounds like a movie.”
“It was,” Mira said. “One with broken elevators and gold-tipped tea glasses. I hated the noise then, but I miss it now.”
She paused. “Lyon isn’t like Paris. It doesn’t flirt with you. It doesn’t care if you’re impressed. It’s older, prouder… slower, in a way that makes you listen.”
She glanced at Harper then, a hint of nostalgia in her gaze. “My mother preferred the quieter rhythm. Summers smelled like stone and river, like ripe apricots and old books. I used to read in the traboules—these little hidden passageways between buildings. Cool in the heat, always echoing. I liked the secrecy of them.”
A pause, before giving something softer. “There’s a silkiness to the city. Not just because of the history, but because it folds around you. It teaches you to notice things, and to sit longer at the table. To eat well, speak well, and keep certain things unsaid.”
She let the silence stretch, then added, lightly, “It’s a city with a spine. And very good espresso.”
Harper swallowed, her own voice turning soft. “God. You must’ve had the most romantic childhood.”
Mira smiled, but there was something wry in it. “Romantic, perhaps. But, not always gentle.”
They sat with that quiet honesty for a little while before Harper finally spoke again, “I’ve never been to either Egypt or France.”
Mira looked at her without saying anything, but the way she blinked, the way her lips parted slightly, and the way her gaze lingered on Harper’s face like it was being memorized—said it all. She tucked it away, carefully, as something she’d like to change. One day.
Harper shifted slightly beside her, their legs pressing closer. Mira doesn’t move.
“Do you miss it?” Harper asked quietly.
Mira thought for a moment. “I miss the way it made me. The fragments it left behind. There are parts of me that still speak in French. That still count in Arabic. That still expect the world to taste of cumin and coffee and wild mint.”
Harper let out a soft breath. “God, I could listen to you talk forever.”
Mira glanced over, amused. “I’m glad you like my accent.”
“I like your everything,” Harper blurted, then clamped her mouth shut, mortified. “I mean—I—I—sorry—”
But Mira smiled, slow and feline. Her voice dropped a note, amused: “I know what you meant.”
The air shifted then, a faint breeze danced through the vines, and Mira closed her eyes briefly, savoring it. When she opened them again, Harper was watching her with a look so open, so unguarded, Mira felt it catch in her throat.
“I don’t go on dates like this,” Mira said softly.
Harper’s voice matched hers. “Me neither.”
“I wanted this one to work.”
Harper’s chest rose with a deep, quiet breath. “It’s working.”
=====
The night had begun to take on that surreal, amber-toned glow that only New York could conjure—when the air felt just warm enough to be touched, and the city softened around the edges like it knew something was happening.
Their hips were still touching—barely, but undeniably. Harper’s curls had loosened in the evening air, falling around her face in a way that struck Mira as achingly beautiful. Her cheeks were flushed—from the walk, the wine, and the way Mira watched her.
And, that dress—Mira couldn’t stop looking. The way it shifted when Harper laughed, the way it clung to her thighs when she crossed her legs. And the way Mira’s own heart responded—its rhythm faltering, just slightly, just enough.
Harper shifted a little, her voice lower now, almost reverent. “This whole night… I keep thinking it can’t be real. Like, at some point you’re going to say ‘Thanks for your time, Miss Quinn’ and vanish into a cloud of rose-scented fog.”
Mira laughed quietly at that, a soft, amused hum that vibrated in her throat. “I don’t vanish,” she said, her voice velvet-dark. “I linger longer than I should.”
Harper laughed reflexively, nervously. She looked down at her lap, visibly flustered.
Mira watched her—watched the line of her jaw, the way her lips parted slightly. She could see Harper’s pulse flutter at her neck. She’d spent the entire evening holding herself in check, letting her gaze settle just long enough to warm the air, but not burn.
She’d listened to Harper’s stories like they were music. Watched her eat, talk, laugh, and god, the way she moved—all that restless, bright energy folded inside a body that made Mira want to sit closer. Let their legs slide against each other—just… stay longer.
Harper, for her part, was quietly panicking. Her mind was a chaotic mess of half-formed thoughts: Don’t screw this up. Be cool. Be normal. Don’t say anything weird. Okay, but maybe kiss her. Kiss her. Please kiss her.
And yet she didn’t move. Not until the spoon clattered from her lap to the ground. They both reached down instinctively, and their fingers touched. Harper laughed again—high, breathy, all nerves.
Mira didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile. She just looked at her—really looked. Their faces were close now. The air changed, charged and sacred.
Mira looked into her eyes first, slow and searching, then let her gaze fall to her lips. When she spoke, it was soft and deliberate, as though the answer was already known. “May I?”
Harper forgot how breathing worked. Every neuron in her body screamed YES, but all she could manage was a single, stunned nod.
Mira leaned in slowly, deliberately, as if she were waiting for any final sign to stop. None came. Her hand lifted gently to Harper’s jaw, not to hold or claim… just to anchor. To ask again, wordlessly.
And then their lips touched.
It wasn’t a kiss—not yet. It was just the faintest meeting, mouth to mouth, a brush so light it felt almost like a vow. Harper’s breath caught immediately, her lips parting without permission, without thought, while something deep in Mira’s chest settled into a low, steady hum.
They stayed there, suspended. Close enough to feel warmth, close enough to share breath, close enough to know—without words—that this was already changing them. That this kiss was going to change everything.
Mira smiled wickedly, and then she moved. Slowly and deliberately. She pressed in as though crossing a threshold, sealing her mouth to Harper’s with a control that bordered on restraint—and then, unmistakably, on intent. The kiss deepened in measured degrees, unhurried and consuming, as if Mira were allowing herself what she could no longer deny.
The kiss was long, deep, and inevitable. It was a kiss that burned beneath its composure. A kiss that said this is happening now.
Mira led like someone who knew exactly what she wanted and had chosen this moment to take it—like someone who understood the weight of it and knowingly, intentionally stepped forward into it.
And, Harper dissolved. Her lips opened wider, yielding fully, her breath stuttering as the kiss claimed more of her than she’d meant to give. Her hand lifted, trembling with indecision before settling against the curve of Mira’s arm, light and reverent, as though touching her carried consequence—as though it mattered because it could not be undone.
And it was everything. Everything she’d imagined in the quiet of the last weeks. Everything she’d feared might undo her. Everything she hadn’t dared name.
Harper’s tongue slid into Mira’s mouth—tentative only for a heartbeat before certainty took over. Mira met her with devastating calm, her mouth moving slowly, generously, with a precision that felt intentional enough to be dangerous. She tasted faintly of citrus and cardamom and something darker, something unmistakably her own.
Mira kissed her like time had bent—not rushed, not stolen, but claimed. And Harper answered as though her body had already chosen, as though something in her had crossed a line long before her mind could follow.
They slowly broke apart only when air demanded it, breath tangled and warm between them. Their foreheads touched, and for a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then Mira’s fingers trailed a final, featherlight touch along Harper’s cheek. They sat there—two women caught in a moment they were still having trouble understanding, but couldn’t stop reliving already. And somewhere above them, fairy lights flickered like stars learning how to hold their breath.
=====
Eventually, Mira glanced at her watch. Not impatient, or rushed, but aware of the moment’s edge. She looked at Harper, her gaze unreadable but full.
“Come,” she said gently. “I’ll drop you home.”
Harper blinked. “Oh… right. Yeah. Okay.”
There was something in Mira’s voice that made refusal impossible—not only because it was commanding, but because it was kind and deliberate.
She lifted her phone, murmured something in French, and within minutes, a long black car pulled to the curb. Something European and luxurious. All clean lines, tinted windows and silent arrival.
Mira’s driver, Allen, opened the door for them. Mira nodded for Harper to go first. She did, sliding in, her dress tugging softly at her thighs, cheeks flushed from ice cream, from wine, and from Mira.
Mira followed, removing her coat and settling beside her like she belonged there. Allen shut the car door with a gentle click, and the city outside softened into motion.
The interior was sleek: black leather seats, ambient gold lighting, classical music murmuring low from the speakers. Mira’s perfume lingered in the enclosed space—warm and rich. It was surprisingly wide inside, and the seats were deep. And to add to the difficulty, there was a wide center console that ran between them. But they sat close, ignoring the limitations the car tried to set.
Streetlights slipped across their faces as the car eased downtown, crossing onto the FDR. Outside the window, the East River shimmered darkly. The skyline fell behind them, replaced by the elegant skeleton of the Manhattan Bridge—its glowing cables strung like harp strings against the night.
Harper’s thigh brushed Mira’s, and stayed there. Her heart was pounding loud enough that she was sure Allen could hear it.
“This is weird, right?” Harper said suddenly, voice light, a little breathless. “Like… weird in a cinematic kind of way?”
Mira tilted her head slightly toward her. “Do you want it to be?”
Harper’s reply was quieter, truer. “No.”
A few heartbeats passed, then Mira shifted, just enough, and reached up, brushing a stray curl behind Harper’s ear. Her fingers grazed her cheek, reverent and soft. Harper inhaled, but she didn’t exhale.
And Mira kissed her, again.
Her mouth opened over Harper’s, picking up from where their first kiss had ended. Harper melted into it instantly, lips parting, her hand rising to Mira’s neck, fingertips slipping into the edge of her hair.
Below them, the lights of DUMBO began to emerge—cobbled streets, shadowed warehouses, the steel curve of the carousel dome near the water.
Mira’s palm found Harper’s thigh—bare, warm, firm—and stayed. That one touch sent a jolt through Harper’s whole body. Her knee lifted slightly, turning in toward Mira’s side. Mira’s hand moved with aching control, gliding upward.
They kissed like people who’d waited too long. Tongues meeting, mouths opening wider, hunger rising.
Harper’s fingers slipped down to Mira’s collarbone. Mira’s hand traced the shape of her thigh, following the shift where soft muscle became curve, where thigh became ass. She loved that change—the sculpted grace of it. And Harper? She was silently pleading for her touch to go higher still, to move inward.
Their breath tangled, and their clothes shifted under eager hands. Heat gathered everywhere.
And then Harper pulled back, flushed, dazed, and breathing hard.
“Do you want to…” she began, her voice a ghost of itself, “come up?”
The car turned onto a quiet DUMBO side street, the kind with slick brick and faded signage, the East River just beyond the buildings.
Mira paused. Her eyes searching Harper’s, not for doubt, but for permission to say what she needed to say. Her fingers stroked lightly at the base of Harper’s ass.
“Not tonight,” she said, low and soft.
“Oh,” Harper whispered.
Mira smiled gently. She tucked a lock of hair behind Harper’s ear again, this time lingering at the curve of her jaw.
“Not because I don’t want to,” she said. “Because I really do.”
⸻
The car pulled up in front of Harper’s loft—the street quiet now, scattered lamplight falling in pools across the sidewalk. Mira stepped out first and helped Harper out, letting her gaze wander up her long legs as she stepped onto the curb. Then she walked Harper to her door like they were in another decade, a slower one.
They stopped just before the stairs. The street was empty. But the air between them pulsed with every word they hadn’t said.
Mira turned to face her, standing just close enough that Harper could feel her heat. Then, softly, she lifted her hand—not to kiss, not to pull—just to trace the curve of Harper’s cheek with the backs of her fingers.
Harper tried to smile but was a little too overwhelmed. “I should probably say something cool or mysterious right now. Like—‘See you around, beautiful.’ But I’m pretty sure my brain’s just playing whale noises.”
Harper regretted her comment instantly. Eyes closing in dread. But, Mira’s mouth twitched. Far from being put off, she leaned in even closer, fingers gently tracing the collar of Harper’s dress and replied, “Then I suppose I’ll have to learn whale.”
Harper’s whole body relaxed at that. Mira noticed and smiled, brushing her thumb softly along Harper’s cheekbone.
“Goodnight, ya Amar,” she murmured in Arabic.
“Bonne nuit, ma belle,” she added in French.
Then finally, in English, “Goodnight, beautiful.”
Harper was still trying to breathe. “You stole my line…”
Mira didn’t kiss her again. She just smiled—a secret tucked behind her eyes—and turned.
The car door closed behind her with a hush. And then she was gone, the taillights disappearing down the street like a held breath finally released.
Harper stood there in the doorway, hand still hovering where Mira’s fingers had touched her.
She couldn’t move.
=====
