If Isabelle had one conviction, it was that there was nothing better in life than sitting at an outdoor café and getting lost in a good book.

Her mug had long since run dry. She was at the best part of any romance novel; after the highs of fledgling love, everything comes to ruin, and it’s up to the lovebirds to realise that their feelings are worth more than whatever is holding them back.

“Hey, gorgeous,” came a voice she didn’t recognise, followed by the sound of a chair leg scraping against stone. “Reading something good?”

Isabelle tilted her ear toward the sound before her eyes followed suit.

The culprit couldn’t have looked any more like Isabelle’s diametric opposite—a lanky woman, taller than her by a head, decked out in flannel and a tank top with a mane of scruffy, feathered hair framing her face. Most infuriatingly, she wore the sort of smirk that said she thought she was the hottest shit around. 

Isabelle knew what this was. It wasn’t the first time it’d happened. She was, for some reason, a lesbian magnet, and had often wondered if something about her sense of style gave mixed signals. Did lesbians specifically like blondes? Was that a thing? She could hardly believe it when the woman sat down across from her and relaxed into the chair like she owned the place. Maybe the vocal fry and devil-may-care attitude worked on some, but not on her. Even if she wasn’t straight, she’d have better taste in women.

“I was,” Isabelle said, marking her page with her thumb and setting it down in front of her. It was time to get frosty. “Can I help you?”

The stranger lifted her head to peer at the book, followed by a bark of derisive laughter. “Oh, you’re reading some hetslop ass romance, huh?”

Isabelle’s jaw set tight. “I’ll read whatever I want, and for your information, ‘hetslop’ is an incredibly offensive—”

“You don’t even like that crap.” There was no suggestion in her low, rasping voice. “Why’re you putting yourself through that?”

“I—” Isabelle started as though she meant to contradict her, but stopped as the thought slipped away. She looked down at the book in her hand with a puzzled expression. Why was she reading some third-rate romance novel? Sure, the male lead was charming, but the plot was predictable as hell.

“Well, I don’t know, I guess I just think it’s good to give things a chance,” she tried, uncertain laughter tumbling from her before she suddenly remembered—frosty! “Why’re you so interested in me and what I’m reading, anyway?”

The stranger offered an easy shrug. “Can you really blame me for stopping to talk to such a pretty femme?”

“A femme?” She supposed she was quite feminine, but the term femme was specifically for gay women, wasn’t it? She wasn’t the most knowledgeable about stuff like that, but it’d certainly explain why she seemed to draw so much attention, if she was coming across as being a femme. “W-Well, maybe so, but I’m not actually gay. Sorry to disappoint, so, you can just go now—”

The stranger wore a wolfish smirk. “You are.”

“I am what?”

“You’re a femme lesbian.”

Isabelle clicked her tongue. Of course she was a lesbian, so long as you weren’t one of those silly people who believed in gold stars. Her first boyfriend had been her only boyfriend—she distinctly remembered how upset he was, thinking he was so bad at sex he’d turned her gay. After that, most of her friends—and girlfriends, many of which were the same people, seeing as her relationship history was tumultuous and full of u-hauling—were met at book stores and her university’s queer club.

Something didn’t sit right, though. Isabelle narrowed her eyes at the stranger seated across from her, anxious flutters rising in her chest; yes, the mystery woman was a hot masc, but there was a question burning the tip of her tongue and begging to be spoken.

“Who… are you?” Isabelle breathed.

It seemed as though the stranger tried to look concerned but couldn’t hide her amusement, and it only served to twist her expression into something cruel. “What’re you talkin’ about, silly? It’s me, Remy.”

“Remy.” The name seemed familiar, but the pieces were stubbornly refusing to fall into place. “Okay, but… how do I…?”

“Because you’re my girlfriend, Goldie.”

“O-Oh.” 

Her brow furrowed for a fleeting moment, but the statement sunk in, rewriting the passages of her history too quickly for her to even try to resist, much less know that something was changing at all. Inconsistencies were brushed under the carpet as reality contorted itself to fit Remy’s words.

Goldie blinked, and in just a second, her confusion melted into a contended smile. After all, she had a lot to smile about. Was there anything better in life than sitting at an outdoor café with her girlfriend and a good book? Then again, there was definitely something missing from that equation, and it wasn’t the girlfriend!

“Babe, can I be totally honest with you right now?”

“Always.”

Goldie peered down at the book and sucked in air through her teeth. “I’m pretty sure I’m gonna have to stop taking book suggestions from Vanessa. I really don’t know why she thought I’d enjoy a cliché romance book for wine moms.”

Remy leaned in, clasping Goldie’s hand in her own and setting her heart aflutter. “Then how about I treat my beautiful princess to a new book that’s more to her taste, hm?”

“Really?” Goldie flushed. “You’re too good to me.”

“I’m only as good to you as you deserve.”

Remy led Goldie up by her hand, and Goldie playfully pirouetted her way into Remy’s side before leaning up on her tippy-toes to plant a kiss on her beloved girlfriend’s cheek. “I love you, Remy. I’m really glad we met.”

Oh, how that smirk made Goldie melt. “Me too, babe.”