The launch was a success by any measure. They got thirty-two subscription orders, myriad social media coverage, and two restaurants that were interested in contracts for their lemonades to feature in cocktails. By the time Veronica and Helen stood on the bar to thank everyone for coming, they were out of drinks and the moon was high.

Veronica and Helen were elated and, after they cleaned up, left with some friends for another party. After they waved goodbye, Greta took Carys’ hand, and they strolled out into the night.

“I’m so proud of y’all,” Carys said. And for the second time that night, Greta felt something inside her grow toward the sun. “How do you feel?”

The air was redolent with jasmine and cigarette smoke and the river. Greta pressed her free hand to her heart and felt its steady thump.

“I feel fucking alive. I feel…I’m proud of myself.”

As she uttered the words, she realized it was the first time. She had been relieved to finish college, felt satisfaction at paying her own rent right out of school, but she had never known what it was to truly feel pride in herself until she moved here.

Greta stopped walking.

“Holy shit, this is where—”

Carys looked up at her and nodded. Her smile was radiant in the moonlight.

It was the spot over the river that they’d visited the day they met.

“You wanna?”

They both grinned and scrambled up the stairs, giddy with joy and sentiment.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe there was a time when I’d never met you!” Greta announced to the Mississippi.

“You were so cute when you came up to me. So awkward. I’d seen you through the bar window, you know.”

“What? No way. Tell me.”

Carys smiled and sat at the edge of the pier. Greta sat beside her.

“I was chatting with a friend, and I saw you coming down the street. I thought you were hot. When I came outside, it might have been because I was gonna talk to you.”

“What? And you just let me blather on like a doughnut?”

Carys grinned. “It was sweet,” she insisted. “You were so nervous and so not slick. I liked it.”

“And how ’bout now?” Greta asked.

“Now, you’re still sweet, you’re still occasionally nervous, and you’re almost never slick. And I still like it. I love it. I adore you.”

The lump in Greta’s throat made it hard to force out words.

“Fuck, I adore you too.”

“Listen,” Carys said, twining their fingers together. “What would you think about moving into Eleventh House with me when your lease—Truman’s lease—is up?”

“Really?”

“No, I’m playing a very mean and horrible prank. Of course really!”