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Maeve froze, the playful rhythm of her tapping fingers against the top of her thigh halting mid-beat. Dylan’s question hit with the precision of someone who knew her too well, and for a moment, she couldn’t meet his eyes. She’d prepared for this conversation countless times in her head, running through all the ways she could spin the truth or soften the edges. But now, with Dylan sitting there, looking at her with that steady, curious gaze, all of her rehearsed words fell apart.
She let out a shaky breath, “Yeah, Dylan,” she said finally, her voice quieter than usual but firm enough to carry the weight of the truth. “Stella’s mine. My daughter.” The words felt heavy, and final, but there was also a strange sense of relief in saying them aloud. Maeve glanced up, gauging his reaction before continuing. “That’s why I left Hawaii. I didn’t know how to tell you—or anyone, really. I found out, and everything just… changed. It was the night that you and Azra announced your engagement.”
She exhaled sharply, her grip tightening on the mug. “I didn’t think I could do it, you know? Be a mom. Hell, I’m still not sure I can. But the second I knew she existed, there was no question in my mind that I’d do whatever it took to give her a shot at a life that wasn’t defined by my mistakes. That’s the risk I was talking about, Dylan. The risk of loving her so much it terrifies me. Of stepping into a role I never thought I’d have and knowing I’m going to screw it up sometimes but doing it anyway because she deserves someone who’s going to show up for her, no matter what.”
Her voice cracked on the last few words, and she quickly wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, forcing a wry smile. “So, there it is. The big reveal. I know I should’ve told you sooner, but… I didn’t know how.” And she braced herself for the question that she was certain would follow even though she knew neither of them were ready for that answer. "I'm sorry."
"Don't you worry, I'm getting my daily intake of fruits and veggies as well," he said. His meals lately consisted of a large meal at dinner that helped offset the fact that he was running on fumes for most of the day. Dylan knew that once they felt fully settled—hopefully within a week or two—he'd be back in his routine. He wasn't too worried, but he appreciated Maeve's genuine concern for his well-being. It was something that remained unchanged, despite the time that had passed between them.
He couldn't help but chuckle when she asked him for words of wisdom for the little babe. However, as she continued discussing her role in Stella's life, her comment about raising the young girl raised alarms in his mind. Did he hear her correctly? Dylan had thought that Maeve was just assisting Stella and her mother until the woman could regain her footing after giving birth to the newborn. As far as he knew, even the caregivers he had growing up never referred to raising him in any way.
The pros and cons that Maeve was listing about napping brought a grin to his face. It did sound like a tempting offer, but then his mind returned to thoughts of Azra. How would he explain that he had spent the night at Maeve's? It sounded completely ridiculous, but the idea of napping in a pillow fort was undeniably appealing. However, he couldn't shake off something she had said earlier, and he felt compelled to ask. Considering the timeline of events, was it really so far-fetched to think that she might have left because she was pregnant? "Maeve... is Stella yours?" he asked curiously. "Your daughter, I mean... you mentioned that you don't want to raise someone who is afraid to take risks." More importantly, what risk was she referring to?
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Maeve’s smile faltered, a small crack in the mask she wore so well. For a moment, she didn’t speak, her gaze dropping to where Keziah’s thumb brushed over her hand. The steady, grounding gesture was almost enough to make her believe she deserved it. Almost. When she looked back up, her eyes held that familiar storm — part defiance, part fear, part something she couldn’t quite name. Vulnerability wasn’t something Maeve did. It wasn’t armor she could slip into when things got messy; it was the thing she spent her life dodging, avoiding, outrunning. And now, here was Keziah, looking at her like she could see straight through the cracks Maeve tried so hard to hide.
“You make it sound so easy,” Maeve said softly, her voice steady but carrying the weight of everything she wasn’t saying. “Like all I have to do is… stop. Stop running. Stop holding everything so damn tightly. But what if I don’t know how to let go? What if… what if the second I stop, it all falls apart?” Her words hung in the air for a moment before she shook her head, letting out a short, humorless laugh. “You say there’s strength in vulnerability, but I just don't see how. I mean I do but that scared part of me doesn't, you know?" Maeve exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening briefly around Keziah’s. “But you’re right. This isn’t about me. It’s about Stella. And maybe… maybe you’re right about him, too. Maybe he deserves to see the parts of me I’m still too afraid to face.”
Her voice cracked on the last word, and she cleared her throat quickly, glancing back at Keziah with a half-hearted smirk. “You’re annoying, you know that? Always saying the things I don’t want to hear but probably need to.” The smirk faded, replaced by something softer, something closer to gratitude. “Thanks for not letting me off the hook,” Maeve said, her tone quiet but sincere. “I don’t know if I can do this… but if I do, it’ll be because of friends like you who don’t let me hide forever.”
This likely wasn’t the conversation Maeve was hoping to have with Keziah. It’s uncomfortable having to tell a friend that they didn’t agree with their decisions — and she could have done that. She could have told the other exactly what she wanted to hear, but this didn’t feel like the situation where she could lie. It didn’t feel right. Watching her friend for a reaction, she kept her gaze steady, but gentle. She hoped Maeve could read in her eyes that she had her best interests at heart; that she only wanted what was best for her and Stella.
Keziah didn’t know what it was like to have somebody see every part of her; to know her so intimately. She never let anybody close enough to peek through. Maeve, on the other hand, deserved better than that. “This is something you need to do for you and Stella,” she reassured, giving an unyielding look, “You might not get it now, but there’s strength in vulnerability, Maeve. I promise. And if there’s anybody that should see that, it should be the father of your child. Because even if you aren’t… together, you need to be able to understand each other to raise a living, growing person.”
She wore a similar expression, returning Maeve’s smile with her own, gently rubbing her thumb over her friend’s hand. This hadn’t been the conversation Keziah anticipated sharing with somebody today, but — if she could do something… anything for Maeve and Stella, this would be it. “Stop running,” she agreed, nodding her head as her brows furrowed for the briefest of moments. The question was complicated, and she didn’t know Stella’s father from the doorman of her apartment building, but she could give her opinion. “I’d be mad… yeah, but if my connection with you is as deep as I think yours and his would be, I wouldn’t hate you. It wouldn’t even be a possibility.”
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Maeve’s grin widened, sharp and wolfish, as she tilted her head, letting Max’s words settle like embers catching dry wood. For a moment, she said nothing, her eyes flickering with that dark, unreadable light that always danced there when she was turning thoughts over in her head. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and measured, each word slipping free like the blade of a knife unsheathing. “Wired different,” she echoed, her tone laced with something that could have been amusement or something far darker. “That’s what they always say when they can’t figure out how to deal with you, right? Like it’s some kind of consolation prize. ‘You’re not broken, you’re special.’” Her grin twisted, a little bitter now. “Sounds nice. Doesn’t make it less lonely.” Her fingers curled around her glass, but she didn’t drink. Instead, she leaned back, mirroring Max’s earlier posture, her shoulders loose but her gaze sharp and assessing. “But you’re not wrong about the numbness. It’s a trap. Makes you think it’s easier to stay in the cold, to let it bury everything until you forget what it even feels like to burn. I’ve been there. Hell, I’ve built a damn palace there.” Maeve’s grin softened, but the edge in her voice didn’t dull. “But you?” She tipped her glass toward Max, her eyes narrowing slightly, not in suspicion but in something closer to curiosity. “You talk about chasing fire like it’s a choice. Like it’s something you can control. But fire’s wild. It doesn’t give a damn what you want or what you think you’re ready for. It’ll burn you clean through if you let it.” She leaned forward again, matching Max’s earlier intensity, her voice dropping into something quieter, but no less dangerous. “So, here’s my truth for yours, since we’re playing that game. I don’t know what more looks like for me. I don’t know if it’s out there or if it’s just some pretty lie people tell themselves to make the cold feel less permanent. But I do know one thing.” She raised her glass, her eyes locked on Max’s with an intensity that could have shattered glass. “If I’m going to burn, I want it to mean something.” Maeve clinked her glass lightly against Max’s in a toast, her grin returning, sharp and fearless. “No ghosts allowed, huh? Fine. But don’t expect me to go easy on you. Fire’s fire, Max. Are you sure you’re ready to discover how bright it can get?”
her grin didn’t falter, but there was a shift — a subtle darkening in her gaze as maeve’s words sliced through the air between them. she listened, still and quiet in a way that was almost unsettling, like the stillness before a storm. when maeve finished, max let the silence stretch again, but this time it wasn’t about control. it was something heavier, something raw. “you’re not broken,” she said finally, her voice softer now, but no less electric. “you’re just… wired different. doesn’t mean you don’t deserve more. just means you’ve got to figure out what more looks like for you.” she leaned back slightly, one hand still wrapped loosely around her glass while the other tapped a slow rhythm against the bar. “and trust me, numbness might feel safe, but it’s a liar. it’ll keep you locked in place, make you think it’s all you’ve got, all you’re ever gonna have. but the thing about fire — ” she paused, her grin sharpening again as she tipped her glass toward maeve in a silent toast, “ — is it doesn’t give a damn about what’s safe.” she took another sip, letting the liquor burn its way down before setting the glass aside. her eyes, still locked on maeve’s, gleamed with a mix of challenge and understanding. “you say you’ve never felt anything the way other people do. maybe that’s not a curse. maybe it’s a gift. you’ve got a clean slate. you can define what real feels like for you. and yeah, it might hurt like hell. it might wreck you. but at least you’ll know it’s yours. not borrowed. not faked.” max leaned forward again, closing the space between them just enough to make her presence impossible to ignore. her voice dropped, turning low and intimate, the kind of tone that made secrets feel safer than they were. “truth for truth, yeah? i used to think feeling too much was the problem. like if i could just turn it off, the noise in my head would stop, and i could breathe. but when i finally found the switch, when everything went quiet… i hated it. it wasn’t peace. it was emptiness. and it scared the hell out of me. so, now?” she gave a small, sharp laugh, more self-deprecating than amused. “now i chase the noise. the fire. because i’d rather be burned alive than spend another second in the dark.” her grin softened at the edges, but her eyes still burned with that dangerous spark. “so here’s the deal: we drink, we dive, and we see what burns brighter — the fire or the cold. but whatever happens…” she raised her glass in a slow, deliberate toast, her gaze holding maeve’s like a promise. “no ghosts allowed.”
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Maeve hesitated for a moment just inside the door, letting the warmth of the bakery wash over her, the scent of cardamom and sugar wrapping around her like a hug she wasn't sure she deserved. Her eyes landed on Azra immediately—she could always spot her anywhere. Even now, frazzled and fidgeting, Azra still looked like home.
"Hey," Maeve said softly, the word carrying more weight than it should. She stepped closer, her boots tapping softly against the wooden floor. "You look… good," she added, her voice careful, almost hesitant, as if testing the waters of a conversation she'd replayed in her head a hundred times on the way over.
Her eyes flicked down to the table—coffees, pastries meticulously arranged like offerings to some invisible force that might dictate how this would all go. Maeve smiled faintly, the corners of her mouth pulling upward in a way that felt almost foreign. "You remembered the börek," she said, her tone somewhere between impressed and wistful.
Sliding into the chair opposite Azra, she placed her bag on the floor and folded her hands in her lap, suddenly feeling like she didn’t know what to do with herself. "I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me," Maeve admitted, her gaze dropping to the coffee cups. "I’ve missed you, Az." The words came out quieter than she intended, but they hung between them, undeniable. "How is everything?"
—Starter for @maevepeters Location: Aleria Bakery
Aleria Bakery had been one of the first places Azra found in Woodside, with pastries that almost rivaled the ones she remembered her grandmother making. Maybe it was a bad idea suggesting meeting Maeve here, when if this all went terribly wrong, her favorite spot in town would be ruined with it. Or maybe it was perfect, because whatever terrible thing Maeve might have to say, whatever reason she might give for abandoning her, Azra would have to forgive her — or risk losing the best börek she'd found in ages.
She had come straight from the hospital, knowing if she went home and saw Dylan, she wouldn't be able to stop herself from telling him everything. For now, she wanted Maeve to be her secret — her sister in the way she'd been long before Dylan ever entered the picture.
Adorned in her scrubs and a messy bun, Azra had spent the last five minutes fidgeting with the table, making sure the two coffees and assortment of pastries were set out just right. Like if everything was set up perfectly, it would all go according to plan. She turned around each time the bell above the door chimed, taking a second to register when finally her person walked through. "I- Hi," she said with a wide smile, hoping it hid her nerves. She had never been nervous around Maeve before, but there was a first for everything.
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Maeve's jaw tightened, her dark eyes flickering with a mix of vulnerability and defiance. She held Keziah’s gaze for a moment before dropping it, focusing instead on the hand covering hers. The weight of her friend’s words settled heavy in her chest, making it harder to breathe.
“I know,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her. “I know you’re right. I’ve been telling myself it’s better this way—that I’m protecting her, protecting him. But maybe…” She paused, her free hand curling into a fist on her lap as she wrestled with the truth she didn’t want to admit. “Maybe I’ve just been protecting myself. Because letting him in? It’s not just about Stella. It means letting him see me. The messy, scared version of me that I’ve been really running from for years.”
She looked up then, her expression raw but resolved, her voice softening. “But you’re right. He deserves to know her. And maybe… maybe I deserve to stop running.” Maeve’s lips quirked into a weak, self-deprecating smile as she added, “Even if it scares the hell out of me.” She paused, a sigh escaping her lips. “If you were in his shoes, would you hate me?”
In comparison to Maeve’s life, Keziah’s was reasonably boring. Which, technically, wasn’t a bad thing, and she wasn’t sure how she would feel if somebody as significant as her child’s father that she’d moved to get as far away as possible from, suddenly rocked up in town. Especially with a fiancé, and that fiancé being her best friend. It was all so complicated. But she felt like she was missing some excitement in her life — she never had something to whisper about over coffee with a friend. Again… not a bad thing. She often needed to remind herself of these things, or she’d actively seek out something that was bound to cause trouble — things would happen like a self-fulfilling prophecy of sabotage and heartbreak. Keziah really didn’t need that.
“Then focus on being here and dealing with it all.” Keziah knew it was easier said than done, and she wondered if she would even follow her own advice. Her first instinct would be to run too — to go somewhere new, and start fresh. Again. If that’s what it took; but she wasn’t Maeve. Her friend was stronger than her. Dark eyes roam over the other’s face, reading every quirk like they would reveal their secrets to her. Though she anticipated the answer, she still found her eyes widening, and her brows raising. “I say this with love, okay? I think,” taking a pause to level her friend with a steadfast look, reaching out across the table to take her hand, “I think that’s so selfless, but also… really selfish. Neither Dylan nor you deserve to live a lie, and he should be given the choice to get to know Stella — to know his daughter.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, inhaling deep, “I’d want to know.”
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Maeve was intelligent, but museums and art had never captured her attention the way they seemed to others. She found beauty in nature, in the untamed world, but the curated exhibits and the stories behind these museum walls felt distant, like something she was never meant to grasp. Yet, after the tour, something shifted. She found herself drawn in, her curiosity sparked by the way the guide spoke, weaving meaning into every piece. “The sculptures in the last room,” she began, her tone thoughtful but tinged with genuine intrigue. “Could you tell me more about their background? I couldn’t stop thinking about them—they were fascinating.”
Lorelai found that doing a tour could yield complaining kids (and parents), or, if she’s very lucky, people who seemed to take in every piece of information she gave them with wide eyes and wonder, and that was her favorite part of any of her jobs. When she taught, there was a student who sat in the front and engaged and devoured every morsel of knowledge, or when she gave a tour and people asked questions, excited to learn more, she felt a surge of pride in her chest, like she was doing something right. Like all of this was for something, it gave way to the feelings of wanting more when she could have this. there's a young girl who approaches her, and the way she speaks about the tour learning, and escaping reminds her a lot of when she used to take the tours back home, a notebook tucked away in her pocket. "you don't know how high of a compliment that is, I'm so glad you enjoyed it. I've got about two more later today, if the numbers turn out right," she explains, smiling. "did you have questions about any of the exhibits? I don't go fully in depth so I'm happy to answer."
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Maeve didn’t flinch under Max’s gaze, but she felt the weight of it pressing against her, peeling back the layers she kept so carefully guarded. Her fingers tightened around the glass, but she didn’t lift it. Not yet. Instead, she stared into the dark liquid, her reflection distorted in the swirl of amber, and when she spoke, her voice was quiet, raw, and unvarnished “Deeper?” she murmured, her lips curving into the faintest, bitter smile. “Alright, here’s one for you.” She looked up then, her eyes locking with Max’s, no hesitation, no retreat. “I don’t just feel numb—I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything the way other people do. Not fully. Not love, not joy, not even grief. It’s like I’m always just... outside of it. Watching. Trying to figure out how everyone else does it.” She paused, her throat tightening, but she forced herself to continue, her voice dropping even lower. “I used to think something was wrong with me like maybe I was broken. And maybe I am. But the truth is, I’ve stopped trying to fix it. The numbness is safe, you know? It keeps me from wanting too much. From needing anyone too much. Because every time I’ve let myself believe in something or someone, it’s ended the same way—me, standing in the wreckage, wondering why I ever thought I deserved more.” Maeve leaned back slightly, her hand still cradling the glass but her eyes never leaving Max’s. “So, yeah. I’m here, looking for something to burn. Not because I think it’ll save me, but because I want to feel something real enough to hurt. Real enough to remind me that I’m not a ghost.” Her fingers tightened around the glass as she took another sip, letting the heat settle in her chest. “Your turn,” she said, voice softer now, almost daring. “Let’s see if your embers burn hotter than my cold.”
max's grin widened, a glint of something dangerous and electric sparking in her dark eyes as maeve’s words settled in the space between them. she didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch just long enough to keep maeve hooked. with a practiced ease, max twirled the empty bottle in her hand before setting it aside, her movements fluid and deliberate, every flick of her wrist and step she took more calculated than casual. “numb,” she repeated, her voice low and velvety, like the hum of a bassline you felt in your chest before you heard it. she leaned forward, her forearms resting lightly against the bar as she studied Maeve, head tilted slightly, her grin still in place but softened at the edges. “that’s a hell of a truth to lead with. a lot of people like to dance around it, act like the fire’s already there when they’re just striking the match.” her gaze flicked over maeve, sharp and assessing, before she gave a quiet laugh, the sound warm but with just enough bite to make it linger. “but you’re not here to fake it, are you? you’re looking for something to burn. something real enough to leave a mark.” her voice dropped slightly, her words taking on a conspiratorial edge. “i like that.” she grabbed a new bottle from beneath the bar, something richer, darker, and poured a generous measure into a two glasses. no theatrics this time, just a deliberate, steady pour as though every movement carried weight. sliding one toward maeve, she let her fingers linger on the edge of the counter, her grin sharpening again as she spoke. “truth for truth,” she began, her voice smooth as she straightened up, her eyes locking onto maeve’s without hesitation. “i know what it’s like to want to feel. to want something that’ll tear through the numbness like a storm and leave you standing in the wreckage, finally alive.” she leaned closer, her tone softening, turning razor-sharp and personal. “but here’s my truth: it’s not always the fire that burns you alive. sometimes, it’s the embers — the slow, steady heat that stays with you long after the fire’s gone out.” she took a quick swig from her glass the pushed the bottle aside, her grin turning playful again, though her eyes stayed locked on maeve's with an intensity that dared her to look away. “drink for drink. drink up and dive deeper.”
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Maeve smirked, leaning back. “Espresso shots and Nerds clusters? Bold choice. I respect it,” she teased, her voice light but tinged with warmth. “Though I don’t know if I should be impressed or concerned that’s your fuel for conquering the world.” Her smile softened as she caught the thread of exhaustion in Dylan’s words, the weight he carried just under the surface. “You’ve got a lot on your plate,” she said, her tone more thoughtful now. “It’s a lot to juggle—new town, new gig, trying to set roots and aim higher all at once. Not exactly a recipe for easy nights, huh?”
She laughed softly at his comment about the gig. “Long enough, I hope. And yeah, I’ll probably sneak in a few ‘stay away from the ones who run on sugar and caffeine’ warnings when she’s older,” she joked, her eyes glinting with amusement. “But for now, I’m more focused on making sure I don’t raise someone who’s afraid to take risks. Even if that means I have to remind myself of that lesson sometimes.”
Her gaze lingered on him for a beat, her expression more open than she realized. “As for naps… Well, maybe you should risk it,” Maeve said, her voice dipping just enough to carry a hint of playfulness. “Worst case? You sleep through a couple hours. Best case? You wake up with more energy to keep tackling whatever mountain you’ve got your sights on next.” She paused, her smile tilting. “And hey, if nothing else, it’s cheaper than more Nerds clusters. Plus, to sweeten the deal, I make great napping spots so you're more than welcome at my place anytime if you wanna just get away from your home and everything there."
"Espresso shots and those Nerds clusters? Surprisingly addictive." It was pure adrenaline and determination otherwise. This was supposed to be the launchpad—the job that would catapult him into a managerial and consulting role. While he could handle the day-to-day tasks, the architect within him yearned for more autonomy and a chance to truly shape the direction of his projects. Dragging Azra along on this whirlwind journey hadn’t been easy for her either. He was determined to make the transition as smooth as possible, which meant endless nights of unpacking, organizing, and setting everything into place.
Dylan couldn't help but smile as Maeve provided a highlight of her week. Simple and sweet. However, he could only imagine how time-consuming, nurturing a little one would be. "So, how long you gonna have this gig for? Long enough to tell her the kinds of people to stay away from when they're older?" he chuckled.
He appreciated her vote of confidence in him and his abilities. Dylan was trying to make the best of the situation, especially when it came to their town. This was uncharted territory for him, but he couldn't deny the resurgence of feelings he had pushed away regarding Maeve. "Thanks, I try." He certainly did try, and figuring out what to do next was all that occupied his mind. "A nap sounds nice, but I might not wake up from that. It sounds too cozy."
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Maeve chuckled, a sound low and warm, as she leaned her elbow against the edge of the table. “It wasn’t my finest moment and honestly I had too much to drink and couldn’t see exactly which lane that I needed to be in. Definitely do not recommend.” She glanced at the pins on the screen, then back at Aksel, her grin tilting crooked. “Keeping score feels overrated anyway. I’m more about the style points.” Her gaze softened at the mention of being done with loneliness, the admission lingering between them for a moment. “Well, you’ve got me now,” she said, her voice carrying an easy warmth. “No need to sit over here solo anymore. Plus, you can never have too many friends,” she said with a laugh. “As for being from around here…” Maeve let the question hang for a beat, her smile turning rueful. “Sort of. I’ve been around long enough to know the spots that feel like home, but not so long that it’s stuck. You know how it is—one foot in, one foot out. What about you?” She tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her blue eyes. “Lifelong local, or are we both just passing through?”
Brows lifted and so did her smile. She'd managed to hit the gutter for what felt like a record amount of times, but at least she'd somehow kept it in her lane. "Wait, you can actually throw it hard enough to end up in another lane?" Part of her wanted to see it done in practice, but for everyone's safety, she figured it was probably best that theory wasn't put to the test. Aksel glanced back at the bumpers in question and shrugged. "Good thing I'm not actually keeping score." The TV above her kept record of the pins knocked over and the ones missed, but she couldn't have cared less. She was competitive, sure, but this? "I'm okay with that suggestion," she assured with a grin. It was probably for the best that they avoided anything where real harm could be done. She was feeling adventurous, not like she wanted be a threat to society.
"Thanks. Your name is pretty too. I'm glad you agreed to join me. It was getting pretty lonely over here and I'm done being alone." It was probably more than the other bargained for in terms of information, but a part of her hoped a genuine friendship could bloom from the exchange. "So, are you from around here?"
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Maeve tilted her head, a slow smile unfurling like smoke. She took her time, letting the weight of Max’s words settle between them, the challenge unmistakable. The rim of her glass hovered near her lips as she studied Max, dark eyes flicking over the woman like she was reading the lines of a particularly enticing story. “Bold’s the first step, huh?” she murmured, voice smooth as silk but carrying the faintest rasp, a hint of mischief curling in the undertone. “Funny. I thought I skipped straight to reckless.” Her lips brushed the edge of the glass as she took another sip, deliberate and slow, her gaze never leaving Max’s. She let the taste linger, savoring it, before setting the glass down with a faint click. “Something real.” Maeve repeated the words, turning them over in her mouth like a puzzle piece. Her fingers traced the rim of her glass, her movements as languid as they were calculated, a study in contrasts. Her voice softened, just enough to draw Max in without breaking the tension. “Alright. You want truth? Here’s one: I want to feel.” She leaned forward just a fraction, her elbows resting on the counter, the hint of a grin ghosting over her lips. “I’ve been so numb for so long that I just want to bury myself into whatever - whoever - to make me feel alive again.” Maeve added, her voice dipping lower, laced with a challenge that matched Max’s. She nodded toward the drink Max had poured, her smile turning sharper, more wicked before quickly downing it. “Truth for truth, drink for drink. Show me what you’ve got. But fair warning—” she leaned back, crossing her arms, her grin now fully formed, playful and sharp as a blade. “I don’t wanna play safe.”
she leaned her hip against the counter, arms crossed loosely as she watched maeve take that first sip, the faintest curl of a grin playing on her lips. her dark eyes glimmered with something sharp and unrelenting, like she’d just seen the opening move of a chess game she couldn’t wait to play. “reckless with a plan and a taste for heat,” she said, her voice low and smooth, every word measured and deliberate. “you’re more my kind of trouble than i thought.” she pushed off the bar, her movements fluid, easy, as though the pulse of the club's music coursed through her veins. "keeping up isn’t the hard part, maeve,” max said, leaning in just enough for her words to carry over the din without effort. her grin softened at the edges, but her gaze stayed razor-sharp, pinning maeve in place with a mix of intrigue and challenge. “the question is whether you’re ready for someone who doesn’t stop at keeping up.” she gestured toward the glass in maeve’s hand, her tone shifting into something warmer, coaxing but laced with just enough edge to tease. “that drink? it’s just the beginning. bold’s only the first step.” max stepped back again, her grin sharpening as her hands moved with practiced precision, reaching for another bottle. “you don’t strike me as someone who backs down from a dare. so how about this?” she poured a second drink, the faintest touch of theater in the way she twisted her wrist, letting the liquid catch the light. “you tell me something real — something that makes you want to leap — and i’ll match it. drink for drink. truth for truth. no half-measures.” her gaze flicked back to maeve as she slid the second drink across the counter with a deliberate nudge, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “or you can play it safe, finish your drink, and walk out that door wondering what might’ve happened if you hadn’t.” her voice dipped lower, her grin turning almost conspiratorial as she added, “your move, reckless.”
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Maeve had just stepped into Capone’s, shrugging off the January chill and shaking out her scarf, when she saw him. At first, it was just a glance—a guy hunched over some papers at a window table, nursing a cocktail. Nothing unusual. But then something about him snagged her attention. Maybe it was the way his shoulders slumped, like he carried more weight than just a duffel bag. Or the way he stared at those papers, so focused he didn’t even notice the waitress set his pizza down. She paused mid-step, her stomach twisting with a strange mixture of curiosity and recognition. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she knew she had to find out. Adjusting the strap of her bag, Maeve took a steadying breath and made her way over to his table. “Hey,” she said, her voice warm but cautious, as if testing the waters. “You look like you’re either lost or working on something serious. Mind if I join you? I’m Maeve,” she added quickly, offering a small smile. “Sorry if I’m interrupting, but… you seem new around here.”
Location: Capones Speakeasy
Status: Open
Eddie got off the bus that brought him from the airport to Woodside. He knew the depot was a bit of a trek from where he was staying but he felt like walking. He had been on his ass for far too long and he needed to move. Slinging his duffel over his shoulder he began to walk in the direction his Waze was telling him to go. For a moment he thought about asking locals he passed about if anyone knew his half sister but decided against it. Although he was incredibly anxious about it he also wanted to wait. After all he probably stank to high heavens after travelling across the country pretty much non-stop, he was tired and as his stomach grumbled incredibly hungry. None of that was a recipe for a brilliant first impression. It took forty minutes but Eddie finally entered his motel room. He had stayed in better places but definitely also in worst places. After a shower and change of clothes he felt his stomach rumble again and knew that simple vending machine food wasn’t going to cut it. Walking into the office of the motel Eddie asked about places he could eat which he was given a pamphlet for locations around Woodside with a quick , “thank you,” stepped out of the office and flicked back and forth before settling on Capone’s Speakeasy, deciding a cocktail and a pizza sounded pretty good at that moment. this time, deciding to catch a ride, he made it there far quicker than the walk from earlier. He seemed to enter just before the dinner rush. There were a fair few tables so he took one in a small table by a window and ordered a cocktail and large chicken pizza. To try distract himself from yet another rumble, causing him to lick his lips in anticipation, Eddie reached into his pocket as he waited he read over the papers he had carried with him about his sister and wondered how difficult it was going to be to find her, if she indeed was still even in this town.
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Maeve adjusted the light blanket draped over Stella, who was nestled snugly in her arms, her tiny fingers clutching at Maeve's sweater. Maeve’s gaze softened as she rocked the baby gently, a small smile playing on her lips. “My week?” she echoed, letting out a quiet laugh so as not to disturb Stella. “Well, nothing as exhausting as yours sounds. Meetings, shipments, unpacking a new house… Dylan, how are you even upright right now?”
Her tone warmed as she looked over at him. “I spent most of my week with Stella. Her mom had a packed schedule, so it was just us. She’s at that stage where she’s starting to notice everything. We spent hours by the window watching the world outside—trees swaying, birds flitting around. And I’ll admit, I probably spent just as much time talking to her about the merits of naps, though she’s still skeptical.”
Maeve glanced down at Stella, who let out a soft coo, her tiny face scrunching before relaxing again. “You know,” Maeve said, her voice quieter now, “seeing you unwind a little today—it’s nice. I know you’ve had so much on your plate, but you’re handling it, Dylan. You always do.” She smiled, her eyes twinkling with a hint of playfulness. “Though maybe Stella here could give you a lesson in the art of a proper nap. She’s pretty much an expert. Also, I hope it was okay that I brought her along.”
WHO: @maevepeters
WHERE: Beachwood Park
It had been an exhausting week for Dylan. He had back-to-back meetings, coordinated shipments, overseen product deliveries, and ensured that every material was on track for the first groundbreaking project just days away. Amid all of this, he was still trying to make his new townhome feel less like a pile of boxes. Unpacking, arranging, and figuring out what belonged where consumed his thoughts. Dylan had planned to take a break, perhaps exploring the town with Azra. However, everything changed when he found out last night that her shift had been changed, and now she would be working a double at the hospital. The disappointment lingered for a moment but quickly faded.
It wasn’t long before Dylan decided to reach out to Maeve instead. It seemed like a decent way to spend the day, especially with the sun shining and the pleasant, perfect for a trip to the park. What Dylan hadn’t anticipated was that Maeve would bring Stella, along with her. He assumed Stella's mother must have had work or was busy with something else, but he didn’t mind the company of the little one. In fact, he enjoyed it. Watching Maeve care for Stella so effortlessly made the whole outing feel warmer and more grounded. "So, yeah, that was my week," Dylan chuckled, feeling the tension of the past few days lift slightly. Leaning back, he looked over at Maeve with a half-smile. "How about you? How was your week? Did you spend time with Stella?"
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When Addison greeted her with that warm, welcoming smile, Maeve felt some of her tension ease. “Thank you,” Maeve said softly, stepping further inside and taking in the cheerful, bustling atmosphere. “It’s been a bit of a whirlwind getting used to all of this—new schedules, new routines. I appreciate you taking the time to show me around, even on a busy day.” As Addison led her to the Infant room, Maeve’s eyes lit up at the sight of the cozy, well-organized space. “Oh, this is lovely,” she said, her voice carrying a note of relief. “It feels so... peaceful, even with all the activity. Stella’s just over a month old, so this is all very new for us.” She glanced down at her daughter with a soft smile before looking back at Addison. “I’m really excited to meet Miss Michelle and Miss Sydney. It’s reassuring to see how much care you’ve put into this place. How long have you been running the place?”
Tiny Toes Daycare was Addison's second home. She was still shocked even living in Woodside for eight years with how successful it had become. This was her dream, and to have a Daycare filled with children and teachers was something she could never wrap her head around. Addison was proud of herself and how far she had come from when Tiny Toes first opened it's doors. It was a busy day and Addison had almost forgotten that she had a tour sept up around noon. As the doors opened and the fresh air hit the entrance way, the brunette turned and smiled to the young blonde. By the looks of the blondes face Addison could tell she was a first time mom. A soft smiled appeared on Addison's face as she looked down at the one month old who was fast asleep all wrapped up in warm blankets. Nodding her head, the brunette waved her hand motioning for the young women to come in "Of course. We're a little busy today honestly that's why it's so noisy. Why don't you follow me." Addison said as she turned the corner, the Infant room titled "Tiny Toes" aging from 6 weeks to 12 months , Addison opened her mouth to speak "This is the Infant room, Miss Michelle and Miss Sydney are our Infant Teachers."
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Maeve laughed softly, adjusting her grip on the rented bowling ball. “Entertaining? Please, you should see me on a bad day—I’m convinced they’d turn the bumpers into a full-on cage to keep my ball in the lane.” Her grin was teasing, but the warmth in her tone softened the words. She set the ball down momentarily, crossing her arms as she tilted her head toward Aksel. “And don’t get your hopes up about me being better. I have a very special talent for making even the bumpers seem useless.” She gestured toward the lane, her excitement matching Aksel’s. “But, you know what? Why not both sound like the best plan I’ve heard all day. We’ll embarrass ourselves here first, then see where the day takes us. Maybe something that doesn’t involve heavy objects and targets?” She laughed again, her voice light. “It's nice to meet you. That's such a beautiful name. I’m Maeve. And I have to say, this is already shaping up to be a lot more fun than I expected. Let’s see if we can set some records—good or bad, doesn’t matter to me.”
"I'm convinced that they're only letting me stay because they find my attempts entertaining." Because that was exactly what she'd been doing before one of the workers had so kindly offered her bumpers, meaning that they'd watched her or her high hanging screen show her shortcomings. "Honestly, I'd prefer it if you were as bad as me," she teased, an element of truth within though. At least neither of them could possibly get a gutter ball with the bumpers in place. A bubble of excitement formed in her chest as the woman agreed to join her on the lane. She was right, strangers or not, it beat being alone. "Why not both? We can try a round of bowling and after, we see what we can get into. I'm always down for a little fun." That, and while she'd rented out the lane for the day, she couldn't possibly fathom spending another three hours rolling heavy balls down a bowling lane. "Aksel, by the way. It's nice to meet you."
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Maeve let the tension stretch, holding Max’s gaze like it was something fragile and precious—too dangerous to let drop. Her lips curved slowly, mirroring the hint of challenge she saw in Max’s dark eyes, though hers carried the faintest edge of something softer, curious. “Reckless with a plan,” she repeated, the words rolling off her tongue like they’d been made for her, her voice quiet but steady, with just enough steel to suggest she wasn’t bluffing. “Sounds like you’ve already got me figured out. Dangerous gamble.” Her fingers hovered over the glass Maxine had slid across the bar, tracing the condensation that glistened like liquid moonlight under the club’s low glow. For a moment, she just studied it, the layers of the drink mirroring the layers in Max’s grin, sharp and enigmatic. “Smoky, bitter, sweet… bold,” she mused. “A little on the nose, don’t you think?” But there was no real bite in her tone, just the faint flicker of amusement that hinted at something deeper, unspoken. She finally picked up the glass, the cool weight grounding her in the charged stillness between them. “Playing with fire’s kind of my thing,” Maeve said, her words sliding past the faintest smirk as she brought the drink to her lips. The first sip hit like a puzzle—complex, unexpected, and utterly arresting. She swallowed, letting the warmth of the mezcal linger before setting the glass back down with deliberate ease. Her eyes flicked back to Max, a spark catching. “You want proof?” Maeve tilted her head, that smirk growing just enough to tip into defiance. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”
max's grin widened, sharp and unshaken, like she'd just heard the opening line of a game she knew she was going to win. she let maeve's words hang in the air for a beat, savoring the shift in energy — the quiet confidence inching its way through the blonde’s hesitation, trading nervous for bold. "reckless with a plan," she mused, her voice dipping into something warmer, richer, as if she were testing the flavor of the idea on her tongue. "i like that. keeps things interesting." she stepped back slightly, reaching for another glass with an air of deliberate calm. "if you’re looking for halfway, you won’t find it here," she said over the soft clink of ice. "nirvana’s not built for half-measures. and neither am i." her hands worked quickly, crafting something new with an effortless precision that felt more like artistry than habit. "you want proof? let’s see if you can keep up." maxine slid the fresh drink across the bar — a layered concoction that shimmered under the club's dim, shifting lights. "mezcal negroni," she explained, her tone as smooth as the drink itself. "smoky, bitter, with just enough sweetness to keep you coming back for more. a leap in a glass, if you’re feeling bold." she leaned in again, her dark eyes catching the faint glint of challenge in maeve's. "consider it a test, maeve. see if you’re ready to play with fire... or just looking to feel its warmth." the corner of her mouth quirked into a grin that was equal parts daring and amused. "your move."
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Maeve let out a soft laugh, her hand wrapping around her own cup as she leaned back slightly in her chair. “You’re sweet, but no need to thank me,” she said with a grin, tilting her head. “If anything, I should be thanking you for squeezing me into your ridiculous schedule. And don’t worry, I’ll absolutely hold you to that ‘next drink’s on me’ thing. Just know I plan to order something overly complicated and unnecessarily expensive.” Her grin softened as Keziah reacted to her news, the shock on her friend’s face drawing a chuckle from Maeve despite the weight of the topic. “Yeah,” she said, almost sheepishly. “Big news is kind of an understatement, huh?”
Maeve’s gaze flickered down to her drink for a moment, her finger tracing the edge of the cup. “And skipping town? Trust me, I don’t want to. I’ve finally found something close to stability here—well, as close as I get, anyway. We have our routines, you know? I don’t want to rip that away from that just because of… all this.” At Keziah’s question, Maeve’s expression tightened, and she leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping. “No,” she admitted after a beat. “I mean they know about her in the sense that they think that she's the baby that I nanny." She shook her head, looking down at her hands. "I froze when Dylan basically asked if she was his and the lie slipped out before I could even stop it. I want him to know but also I'm just conflicted. It's like telling the truth will hurt everyone involved but keeping this lie is also hurting me so it's like I would much rather hurt, you know?" She looked back up at Keziah. "Is it wrong of me to keep it from him?"
The brief window between Christmas and New Year’s happened to be the only time Keziah had off — the firm had her working like a dog, unable to find a moment of reprieve from the never-ending pile of paperwork. Finding time to grab a coffee with a friend was a luxury, and it granted some fanfare, but it felt obnoxious to expect some gratitude for choosing to spend time with a friend. It was precious time, but some she would gladly dedicate to Maeve. “Thank you,” she admitted somewhat bashfully; evident in the manner in which she stared down at the bright green drink, shielding the smile that played against her lips. “Next drink’s on me.”
Keziah — a fully functioning adult? She’d laugh if the notion didn’t feel so ridiculous. Her choices, lately, hadn’t encouraged any confidence that she was capable of making real, adult decisions. “Still early days, babe,” she remarked, more-so to herself than her friend. The steam from her drink sifted its way through her, warming her from the inside out, and her gaze softened at Maeve’s reveal, “Whoa.” It’s not the most eloquent response, but felt warranted considering what she knew of said ‘reasons.�� A shocked, but sympathetic expression settled on her features, and a worn, yet affectionate smile on her lips, “Okay, so — big news. —— Obviously, I don’t think you should skip town, Maeve. Woodside is both yours and Stella’s home —” Almost on cue, Keziah’s face shifted, her brow rising as she leaned forward, her voice dropped to ensure they weren’t overheard, “Do those reasons know about Stella?”
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Maeve’s gaze lingered on Dylan, her expression calm but her eyes betraying the whirlpool of emotions beneath the surface. She hadn’t expected this conversation to feel so… raw. So real. She crossed her arms loosely, her thumb brushing absentmindedly over her sleeve as if grounding herself in the moment.
“You know,” she began softly, her voice steady but with an edge of vulnerability, “I used to think that kind of understanding—what you’re talking about—was just a dream people sold themselves. A kind of… fairy tale that always faded when life got too complicated.” Her lips curved into a faint smile, though her eyes glimmered with something deeper. “But hearing you talk about your moms, about how they’ve been that steady force… it makes me think maybe I was wrong.”
She glanced toward Stella, who was now dozing peacefully in her swing, before turning back to Dylan. There was a moment of quiet, her mind caught in the weight of what she wanted to say. “It’s rare, you’re right. But when you find it… it’s worth everything, isn’t it? Even if it’s messy. Even if it scares you.”
Her voice grew quieter, trembling with the weight of her words. “And you… you make it feel okay to want that. To believe in it again.” Her laugh came soft and shaky, almost breaking, as she glanced down, unable to meet his eyes for a moment. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so… exposed, Dylan. So completely seen. It scares me. But it’s… it’s also the only thing that feels real.”
When her gaze finally rose to his, her eyes shimmered with unspoken vulnerability. “Maybe the universe did have a plan,” she whispered, her voice cracking just slightly as her lips curved into a fragile smile. “And if it did… I’m so, so grateful for that.”
Before she could overthink it, she closed the space between them, wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug that felt like it had been building for years. Her breath hitched as she pressed herself closer, her eyes fluttering shut as emotion swelled in her chest, raw and overwhelming. God, she had missed this—missed him—more than she’d ever let herself admit. And now, being here, in his arms again, it felt like something broken inside her was finally beginning to heal.
Dylan's gaze softened as Maeve spoke. There was something about the way she communicated and perceived things that made him feel understood. This deep understanding was something he hadn’t realized he was looking for until now. Now that he had found it, he didn’t want to let it slip away again. Dylan was determined not to let her escape so easily this time.
"Yeah," he murmured, his voice quiet yet steady, as if he were carefully choosing his words. "Thirty years. It’s... it’s rare but real. They taught me that true love isn’t just present during the good times. It’s about the day-in, day-out moments, not just the big events." His gaze briefly followed hers, landing on Stella, as the soft cooing from the swing filled the space between them. Rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous gesture—he continued speaking with an even tone. "Honestly, I don’t think I’d be the person I am today without them. They’ve always been the steady part of my life, especially when things got messy." He paused to let that sink in before adding, with a softer smile, "I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
His gaze shifted back to Maeve, and his expression softened as she spoke about comfort and how she had always felt it with him. There was a flicker in his eyes, as if a thousand thoughts were suddenly colliding in his mind. He took a slow breath, allowing her words to settle in his chest. “Yeah,” he said quietly, as if he wanted the moment to linger. “I get that. I always feel… grounded when I’m around you. It’s like you don’t have to say anything, you know? You’re just… there, and it feels like everything’s okay. I never really knew how rare that was until now.” His smile softened, becoming more vulnerable than it had been since he encountered her. Dylan let out a slow breath, ran his fingers through his hair, and smiled at her with a mix of affection and something deeper—a quiet sincerity in his eyes. “You’re a good person, Maeve. I’m glad the universe has brought us back together again.”
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