Miriam cut her eyes over. “Could it be the framed commemorative Melissa Ferrick poster I can see peeking out from behind your door? The well-loved copies of Rubyfruit Jungle and Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit on your office bookshelf? The fact that you dress like the December cover girl for Dapper Butches Monthly? I’m a queer from Arizona, one of the reddest states in the nation.” Miriam shook her head and the swing moved underneath her. “I am a finely tuned divining rod for subtle clues and low-key signals that a lady might like other ladies. Also,” she pointed out, “literally no one has ever met you and not known you’re a lesbian.”

Noelle snorted. It was very annoying that Miriam was funny.

“Good to know my queer coding is working as intended. Is Dapper Butches Monthly real, because I need to fire every gay on Earth for not telling me about it.”

Miriam giggled.

She turned toward Miriam before quickly looking away again. No one should be that beautiful.

“I’m not the only one,” she explained, getting back to Miriam’s question. “Elijah and his husband have been amazing about building a crew and have graciously let me in. But it’s true that there’s a distinct lack of sapphic companionship. Which is fine.” She kicked Miriam’s feet with her boots, when Miriam looked skeptical, and rubbed her hands along her thighs.

“My love life hasn’t existed for a long time, and that’s my preference. I decided to stop dating years ago, and it’s worked out for the best.”

To change the subject, Noelle said, “So uh…what do you do for a living? I know you’re famous on Instagram, and you do something with antiques? I probably should have checked your account. I maybe made some assumptions based on wanting to dislike you.” She cleared her throat around that admission. “Cass made it sound like you were an international jet-setting antiques dealer, but that’s probably not a thing.”

The night was deepening. The world had dropped twenty degrees, it felt, in the span of a few sentences. The farm was quiet. It made the porch feel like a miniature world that only the two of them occupied.

Miriam sipped her cocoa before she answered. “It’s probably a thing. But not my thing. I do some restoration for clients with specific needs, who trust me. Most of what I do is using discarded, damaged, or low-value antiques as the basis for art pieces. And you should not feel bad about not looking at my Instagram,” Miriam assured her. “I’m not even famous, I’m…well-known in a very small circle. Although I’m kind of famous by Pinterest standards.” The wind whistled through the trees, and Miriam burrowed further into her blanket.