Bachelorette party

The valet took the keys without a glance, the hotel lobby soaked in soft amber light and the scent of overpolished wood. Emily stepped inside with a small overnight bag slung over one shoulder and her purse on the other, hair pinned back in a lazy twist that had already started to fall apart in the humidity. Her flats whispered across the marble tile, the rhythmic clack of distant heels behind her the only other sound.

It had been Nina’s idea. “It’ll be fun!” she’d texted with hearts and winky faces. “Like college again, but classy!” Emily hadn’t seen her in over four years—since before Chloe was born, even before she’d gotten married. They’d drifted. Work. Motherhood. Life. But Nina was always warm, always the ring-leader at parties, and when the invitation came through, something in Emily wanted to say yes before she even asked Jason.

Besides, she needed a night. Just one.

The front desk clerk barely looked up. “Name?”

“Reservation for Emily Davenport.”

Clicking keys, a quiet beep. “Room 504. Elevator’s down that hallway. Here’s your key. Wi-Fi’s on the sleeve.”

The card slid into her palm and she headed for the elevator, adjusting the strap on her shoulder. Her outfit was just a touch more daring than usual—a soft wrap blouse that hinted at cleavage without trying, and black jeans that hugged her thighs better than she remembered. She hadn’t dressed like this in months. Years. Not really. Chloe had spit up on most of her wardrobe.

The elevator was mercifully empty. She took a breath and looked at her reflection in the mirror: chestnut hair falling in lazy waves, hazel eyes with a touch of mascara, lips glossed and pink. She looked good. A little tired. A little soft. But good.

Room 504 was neat, cool, smelled faintly of lemon and linen. She tossed her bag on the bed without unpacking and stepped out onto the balcony, letting the breeze wash over her. Palm trees swayed beneath the streetlights. Somewhere below, someone shouted and music thumped faintly against the glass.

Classy. Right.

Her phone buzzed.

Nina
Bar downstairs. Already two drinks in. Get down here, bitch

Emily smiled to herself, thumb hovering. She started typing—paused—then just pocketed the phone and grabbed her clutch. One more check in the mirror. The blouse had shifted slightly, tugging lower where the wrap overlapped, the slight swell of her breasts catching the light just enough to make her blush. She adjusted it. Left it. Smiled faintly.

You’re not a mom tonight, she reminded herself. You’re Emily. Just Emily.

The bar was tucked behind the lobby like a secret, low-lit and flickering with candles, bottles lined in rows of backlit glass. Nina was already perched at a corner table in a strapless pink dress, waving with a manicured hand and two empty martini glasses in front of her.

“EMMY!” she squealed as Emily approached, standing to give her a tight hug.

“You look amazing,” Emily laughed, surprised at the warmth.

“You’re skinny again,” Nina whispered in her ear. “But your boobs are huge now. I’m so jealous.”

Emily flushed and sat, already reaching for the menu. Nina grinned, ordering another round before she could even speak.

“I seriously can’t believe you came. This whole weekend is going to be so fun—just like old times, but with better booze and no frat guys.”

Emily smiled, taking the first sip of her drink, sour and strong and just what she needed.

“Maybe just a little like old times,” she said.

And under the table, her legs crossed, bare skin brushing denim, a slow pulse beginning deep in her belly.