They sat cross-legged on the giant floor cushion that served as a bed, passing the bottle back and forth. Daniella was a geologist, she learned. She studied caves. “Dark places where water takes thousands of years to make something beautiful,” she said. Anca laughed—a real laugh, the kind she’d forgotten she had.

Their first kiss tasted of merlot and risk. Then the sweater fell, then the city lights blurred through the rain-streaked glass, and the maps on the walls seemed to shiver. Anca learned the geography of Daniella’s shoulders, the valley of her spine, the tremor in her thigh when Anca whispered her name.

“Sorry,” Daniella said, her voice low and warm. “The hotel overbooked. They said we could either share the suite or sleep in the lobby. I figured… wine?”

“So,” Daniella murmured. “Was it a good trip?”