Annie turned on her side again, trying to find a position in which nothing hurt, but even if she did manage to find some form of physical comfort, her ego would still be sore. There had been no exhilaration attached to having to tell Kristin how she felt, only humiliation. Her timing might have been off, and she should have waited until she and Jane agreed it was the best course of action, but life didn’t always allow for conveniences like that. In this case, the only convenience was Jane’s fragile sense of self.

How could she even consider the notion that, even if Annie’s feelings for Kristin had been reciprocated, she would allow anything to happen? Besides, wasn’t the very nature of a crush that it was intensified by the longing created by unavailability? Jane wrote about romance and infatuation and all its traps and nuances every single day—well, most of the time, anyway. For her work, she had turned the concept of love inside out. So why couldn’t she just see this for what it was?

Annie turned on her back and linked her fingers behind her neck. She was exhausted after today, but sleep would not come any time soon. She stared at the ceiling and tried to come up with ways to apologize for being silly. Inadvertently, her mind drifted to Beth Walsh. That instant of acute anger and fear when she spotted her talking to Jane a few weeks earlier, which echoed the despair she’d felt seven years ago. Because then, their relationship had been in actual danger. This was nothing compared to the whole Beth thing. And sure, Annie shouldn’t compare, but she was doing it anyway.

She wondered whether Jane was getting any sleep. She hoped so. Two exhausted people in one house could only lead to more friction tomorrow. Maybe Annie should have bit the bullet and taken Jane up on her offer to go on holiday to New Zealand. Maybe she had let the shop become too much a part of her. And perhaps she had made the mistake of putting it ahead of their marriage. Maybe. Perhaps. What if. Well, Annie wasn’t perfect. She didn’t always make the best choices—nor did Jane for that matter. No one did.

Exasperated, because even the notion of sleep seemed miles away, Annie pushed herself up and swung her legs over the edge of the couch. She tiptoed to the bedroom door and pushed it ajar. It was darker than in the living room and her eyes had to adjust. It took a moment before she could make out Jane.

She was of half a mind to just crawl into bed with her wife. Push her body against Jane’s warm, sleepy one, and hug their differences away. But this wasn’t an offense to their relationship that could just be hugged away.