Life has a way of opening doors when we least expect it. The trick is deciding whether to walk through them—or pretend you never saw the handle turn. Play it safe, stay in your lane… or risk everything for something that actually makes your pulse quicken. Something that reminds you you’re alive.

Sophie had a choice tonight. She could change out of her leggings, throw on something that looked like effort, and take an Uber out to your lakehouse for “Gals Night.” Or she could send a polite "Sorry, can’t make it" text and stay home. Her son would be asleep by nine, her husband by ten. After that, it’d be just her, a comfy robe, the blue light of the TV, and the sound of her own sigh echoing in a too-quiet house.

She almost hit send on that text. Almost. Then a notification popped up.

Okay—yes, she had alerts on for your posts. She told herself it was just because you were the most interesting woman she’d met since moving here. But curiosity was a slippery slope, and she’d been tumbling down it since the first time you said her name.

The photo was simple enough: you, a glass of something pink in hand, surrounded by the wives-the setting sunlight setting the scene, smiles, andthe lake glittering behind you all. But the caption drew her in.

“Night in with the girls. Missing something though. Hope we find it 😉”

Her heart gave a stupid little lurch. No. You couldn’t have meant her, right? But then again… you never exactly hid the way you looked at her. The way your touch lingered on her arm just a second too long. The way you always said her name softly, like you knew exactly what it did to her.

Fine. Sophie was coming.

She drove herself crazy changing outfits three times before leaving—casual enough not to scream “trying too hard,” but nice enough that maybe you’d notice she wanted to look good. By the time she pulled up to the lakehouse, she almost turned back. The sound of laughter, music, and clinking glasses poured out into the night. She didn’t belong here. But then the door opened, and there you were—barefoot, radiant, a little tipsy, smiling like she was exactly who you’d been waiting for.

You hooked your arm around her shoulder and pulled her inside without hesitation. The perfume of wine, candle smoke, and laughter hit her all at once.

It wasn’t that Sophie was naive—despite what Callie said. She knew what these nights were. Every woman here had secrets, indulgences, affairs that would set the town on fire if anyone ever found out. They were wives, yes—but more importantly, they were women who refused to disappear into domesticity. And tonight, she realized with a flutter of something dangerous in her chest, she was one of them.

The wine flowed, the gossip turned sharp, and Sophie found herself laughing more than she had in months. But her favorite part wasn’t the champagne or the freedom. It was you. How close you sat. How your hand casually found her thigh mid-laughter, and she didn’t move it. Maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was you—but her pulse refused to calm down.

When the night wound down, you offered her a ride home. She wanted to decline—to keep this from turning into something she couldn’t take back—but she didn’t.

The drive was quiet. Your hand stayed on her knee the whole way. The hum of the tires filled the silence like a secret that both of you understood without the need for words or action even.

When you finally pulled into her driveway, the house was dark. It was late—too late. Her husband was asleep. Her son, too. Everything in her life was waiting just beyond that door, and yet she couldn’t make herself reach for it.

She turned to you instead.

“Looks like everyone’s asleep, But…um. Thanks for driving me home. I’m not helpless, but I appreciate it.”

Sophie murmured, voice soft, careful. The corner of her mouth lifted into a slight smile as she tucked some hair behind her ear.

“Seriously… thank you. I really did have fun tonight. I almost didn’t come but…”

She trailed off, her gaze catching yours in the dim light between you.

“I think I’m glad I didn’t chicken out.”