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She had grown to love this part of Erin’s work. The products interested her too, and she had developed informed opinions about several of them. More than anything, she loved watching Erin give a stranger permission to want. Whenever a customer’s voice stammered, Erin leaned forward and listened. She gave each woman time to find her words.
Claire knew the rest of her now, the parts no customer would ever see. She knew Erin at two in the morning, standing in the kitchen doorway in boxer shorts and a faded Mets shirt, eating cold Thai noodles from the container because she had stayed up editing a class recording and forgotten dinner. Other nights, Claire found her asleep on the sofa, her laptop still open and one hand tangled in her hair.
The consultation ended. The customer emerged carrying a matte-black bag and a look of quiet triumph. Erin walked her to the door, wished her a merry Christmas, and turned to find Claire waiting beside the wood stove.
Her professional expression dissolved. The shift happened every time, and Claire never tired of watching Erin’s entire face brighten before she crossed the shop floor and kissed her.
“I missed you,” Erin said.
“We spoke this morning.”
“I know, but I didn’t have you right here in person.”
Claire smiled and kissed her again. “I missed you too.”
Erin kept her close for another moment before glancing toward the counter. “Maren, leave the rest for me. Go home and enjoy Christmas Eve. Tell your mother I said Merry Christmas.”
Maren pulled on her coat, wished them both a merry Christmas, and left through the back. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Erin and Claire alone in the boutique.
Erin turned the deadbolt and flipped the sign. She leaned against the door and looked at Claire across the empty shop.
“Happy one-year anniversary.”
“One year.” Claire crossed the floor and kissed her again, slower this time.
That woman from a year ago felt distant now, the one who’d sat in this parking lot rehearsing the word vibrator. Claire still dressed carefully and kept her private life private. She no longer needed a night of persuasion and a parking-lot pep talk to buy something for herself.
She had a key to Erin’s house on her ring, beside her Denver office key and the fob for her townhouse. Five of her business suits hung in Erin’s closet. One of her laptop chargers lived permanently on the desk in Erin’s second bedroom. They had started calling it Claire’s office in March, after enough of her clothes, chargers, and legal files accumulated there to make “guest room” ridiculous. When a client investigation forced Claire to cancel one of their visits, Erin had driven to Denver instead, arriving at eleven on a Wednesday night carrying takeout and wearing the clothes she had worked in because her packed suitcase remained forgotten on her porch in Ouray.
Working through the challenges of a long-distance relationship, they had learned what made the distance manageable.
Erin switched off the display lights and retrieved her coat from the back. Claire waited near the door, watching her move through the closing routine she’d witnessed dozens of times.
“Ready?”
Claire held the door open. Cold air rushed past them as they stepped into the parking lot, and Erin locked the boutique behind her.
Claire’s phone buzzed in her coat pocket. She pulled it out and read the notification. A text from Diana Sanchez, their realtor: Call me when you can. News on the house.
She turned the screen toward Erin.
Erin grabbed Claire’s arm before she could dial. “Put it on speaker.”
They sat in Claire’s SUV with the engine running and the heater blowing against their knees. Diana picked up on the second ring. “Merry Christmas Eve to my favorite clients. They accepted your offer. Congratulations! You’re scheduled to close on your new house in forty-five days.”
Claire pressed her forehead against Erin’s shoulder. Erin’s hand found the back of her neck and held on.
The house had four bedrooms. Claire’s office faced the mountains, and Erin’s studio offered enough wall space for her lighting setup and product shelves. The internet connection could handle her livestreams without the buffering that had once crashed a joint session with Mia Bennett from Mia Talks Dirty mid-sentence. The guest rooms would give Camille, Julien, and their partners a comfortable place to stay whenever they visited. Ingrid had studied photographs of the kitchen and declared it acceptable. Erin assured Claire that this was Ingrid’s highest form of praise.
After Diana hung up, Claire’s face lit up with an even bigger smile. “I have more good news. Marcus signed the partnership agreement last week. We’ll file the LLC in January, and our practice will launch from Ouray the first week of March.” Claire turned Erin’s hand over and traced the gold ring on her index finger. The timing couldn’t have worked out any better. “I’ll keep the conference suite in Denver for depositions and client meetings. Everything else comes home.”
Erin kissed her palm. “Home.”
Erin kissed Claire once before climbing out of the SUV and crossing the parking lot to her own car. They drove separately to the same Airbnb where they had spent the previous Christmas. Claire had stocked the kitchen that morning.
Fresh snow had gathered along the wide porch railing since Claire left that morning. She unlocked the front door and stepped aside, smiling as Erin carried her overnight bag into the house where they had fallen in love.
They kept dinner simple and set out cheese, bread, cold roasted salmon, and a green salad. Claire opened a bottle of the same champagne they had shared in the boutique a year earlier. They ate at the kitchen island and talked about paint colors, closing costs, and whether the sun porch needed two reading chairs or one oversized chair that they would inevitably share. Claire’s phone lit steadily throughout dinner. Camille confirmed their morning arrival time, Julien sent a photograph of his girlfriend asleep against his shoulder at the airport, and Ingrid warned them both to leave the turkey untouched until she arrived.
