Prelude to Another Dream

VP and BP Standings
Claire - 154 VP - 3100 BP - 3 Achievs
Sam - 139 VP - 5900 BP - 3 Achievs
Erin - 134 VP - 8100 BP - 3 Achievs
Emi - 125 VP - 9250 BP - 3 Achievs
Myra - 121 VP - 4000 BP - 3 Achievs
Chloe - 114 VP - 6250 BP - 2 Achievs
Marissa - 111 VP - 3000 BP - 3 Achievs
Emily - 106 VP - 7600 BP - 3 Achievs
Liesa - 104 VP - 4400 BP - 3 Achievs
Norah - 103 VP - 0 BP - 3 Achievs
Dawn - 102 VP - 7000 BP - 3 Achievs
Riley - 77 VP - 8800 BP - 3 Achievs
Laura - 0 BP - 2 Achievs

Andy woke to the rare, slow brightness of a room in no hurry to admit it was morning. The only sound was the faint hum of the Suite’s climate system, the usual melody of ocean outside replaced by an interior hush, as if the air itself was in on the secret: today, it could wait.

He was on his back, pillowless, the covers kicked somewhere below his knees. Dawn was draped over him in an impossible tangle, just as she’d fallen asleep the night before—her face mashed into his chest, bunny ears flopped over his collarbone, one arm across his ribs, the other curled up under her own chin. Her leg was still hooked over both of his, pinning him down like a warning to the universe not to try anything funny.

He didn’t move. Not at first. He let his own eyes adjust to the blue-grey of pre-dawn, watching the shapes on the ceiling as they edged from shadow to something softer, then tried to memorize the weight and warmth of her, the small breaths rising and falling against his skin. If he stayed perfectly still, maybe the rest of the world would, too.

The clock on the wall said 5:14. He knew Laura wanted to trigger her second Dream Date, but it didn’t matter when she did—it would be a full day anyway—so he had no real plans for hours. He had a strong suspicion Arabella would tell him the tale of when she used to be Amaterasu, but he knew she would wait. The room was perfect. But after a few minutes, Dawn made a little sound—a grunt or a sigh, he couldn’t tell—and shifted, nose wrinkling as if the air itself had gotten slightly less cozy. She blinked, once, then twice, the first time not even opening her eyes, the second a slow unfurling of lashes and the foggy, suspicious stare of a woman who was still two-thirds in a dream.

Her mouth was already half-open when she looked up at him, squinting. “What time is it?” she asked, voice pure gravel.

Andy checked. “A little after five.”

Dawn groaned, flopped her head back to his chest, and let out a sigh that was almost a whimper. “I want to just stay like this.”

He stroked her hair, slow, the way she seemed to like best. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

“That’s not true,” she said, muffled by his chest. “I actually have to get up today.”

“Why?” Andy asked. “The Hotel’s not going anywhere.”

She made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. “Because today is Riley’s day. And also, in forty minutes or so, Wake Up Call will trigger and I’ll be full of energy.” She stretched, her body warm and strong along his, then tucked herself in tighter. “I can have one more minute, though, right?”

Andy pretended to consider it. “One minute, thirty seconds.”

“Sold,” she said, and then was quiet for a long, soft spell, the only movement the trail of her fingertip tracing lazy, half-asleep shapes along his collarbone.

At the end of her “one more minute,” Dawn propped her chin up on his chest and looked him full in the face. There was no armor in her eyes, just the glassy, shy honesty she wore when she wasn’t sure what to do with her own feelings.

“Did yesterday really happen?” she asked, so soft he almost missed it.

He nodded. “It happened. All of it.”

She searched his face for a sign of sarcasm. “Even my abuela? Even the pasteles?”

Andy smiled, letting his own eyes close for a second to remember it. “Especially the pasteles. There’s no way I could invent that smell in a dream.”

Dawn laughed, low and a little shaky. “I thought I dreamed the whole thing,” she admitted. “I’m still not convinced it wasn’t just a really elaborate brain episode.”

He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, just once. “It was real.”

She made a small, affirmative sound, like a cat finding a warm spot, then went quiet again, letting her head rest against his heart. They could have stayed that way for an hour. Neither of them moved, neither of them in any hurry to let the world catch up.

Finally, Dawn tipped her head back so she could look up at him, her hair fanned out across his chest in a soft gold-brown wave. “Thank you,” she said, voice rich with sleep.

He brushed a strand behind her ear. “You don’t need to thank me.”

Dawn looked like she might argue, then just kissed him—slow, deep, nothing about it rushed. She stayed there, lips pressed to his for a second longer than usual, then pulled away, smiling with her whole face.

She propped herself up on an elbow, stretching until her spine popped, then slumped back down, splayed out half on top of him. “Okay,” she said, “if I don’t shower I will never be a functioning person today.” She squinted at him, calculating. “Are you coming with, or am I going to have to bribe you?”

Andy didn’t hesitate. “I’m coming.”

Dawn’s smile turned sly, a little bit of the old mischief returning. “Good. That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

She rolled off him, her limbs long and loose with satisfaction, and offered a hand to pull him up after. He let her. The day could start now.

---

The Suite’s bathroom was cathedral-bright compared to the bedroom, the lights coming up as they entered, catching on the chill silver of the fixtures and the haze of their breath. Dawn was already gathering her hair up, twisting it into a bun, while Andy dialed the shower to near-scalding and let the steam fill the glass enclosure. It wasn’t a ritual, exactly, but they moved with the kind of easy choreography that comes from knowing, exactly, where you fit around another person.

Dawn ducked her head in first, testing the spray. “That’s criminally hot,” she said, pretending to be offended.

“I like it that way,” Andy answered. He stepped in after, and the shower enveloped them in a blanket of vapor.

She turned into him immediately, arms up and around his neck, pressing every inch of herself against him. Her breasts, unbound and impossibly full, flattened against his chest in a way that was both deeply erotic and also, somehow, completely hilarious. She made a face. “There is no dignified way to hug someone with a rack this big,” she said.

Andy grinned, enjoying the way her body fit against his. “I’m not complaining.”

Dawn snorted, then—never one to waste a setup—exaggerated the press, deliberately dragging herself up and down his torso before reaching past him for the soap. She watched his reaction the entire time, eyes crinkling with delight.

She lathered her hands, then started working the soap into his shoulders and down his arms, taking her time with it. At one point, she slipped behind him and pressed her entire body, breasts and all, flat against his back, then peered around his arm just to see his face when she did it. She looked so pleased with herself he could only laugh, which made her do it again.

Andy turned, caught her by the waist, and pulled her back around. He squeezed a palmful of soap, and—slowly, deliberately—ran his hands down the sides of her torso, feeling the smooth slide of skin and water and the heat of her body under his hands. Dawn arched into it, eyes half-shut, humming with pleasure as the water sluiced off her collarbone.

She was halfway through teasing him again, her fingers plotting a slow, ticklish path down his stomach, when Andy caught her by the wrist. His hand closed gently around hers—not as a rebuff, but in a way that said he wanted her undistracted, fully there with him. There was no strength in his grip, and she could have slipped out of it easily, but instead she stilled, her eyes locking to his. The smirk she’d been wearing faded by degrees, the mischief in her gaze cooling suddenly to something else: a wary, almost wild curiosity, like an animal pausing mid-bound to sniff the air for a scent it didn’t recognize.

Andy didn’t let go. He just looked at her, and Dawn waited, as if she could see the words unfurling in his mind before he said them. The water was loud in the glassed-in shower, echoing off tile and skin, but it was silence that filled the space between them—a silence that ran deeper than the sum of its parts, the kind that came not from awkwardness but from the brittle, fragile anticipation that comes right before the truth finally gets said out loud.

He spoke quietly, voice gone rough at the edges. “I loved seeing you yesterday. The way you were with your family. The way you looked when you got to say goodbye to your abuela. The way you let yourself be… wanted. By everyone who matters to you.” His thumb brushed along the inside of her wrist in a slow, unconscious line, as if he could feel the pulse quickening there, or maybe just wanted to remind himself that she was real, and right here, and not going anywhere.

Dawn blinked, hard, as if surprised by where his words landed. For a moment she was totally without defense—no sarcasm, no jokes, none of the arch self-consciousness that usually guarded her face. It left her almost childlike in her transparency, as if emotion could move through her with no resistance at all. For one heartbeat she just stared up at him, eyes wide and blue and blinking, and then, without warning, her skin flared to life.

It started small: a blush at her collarbone, a premonition of heat, then a rush of gold that bled outward from her heart, moving down both arms and then up her neck in a slow, even tide. It wasn’t a flash—not this time. This time the light didn’t dart across her skin and vanish before you could be sure you’d seen it. It lingered, anchored and growing, the color deepening to a molten, sunrise amber that turned the water itself to honey in the steam. Every inch of her—the soft curve of her shoulders, the roundness of her cheeks, even the ends of her hair—caught the glow and amplified it, until it seemed like it wasn’t just her body lighting up, but something much bigger, something that filled the whole shower and then some.

Andy stood there, transfixed, still holding her hand in both of his, the heat of the water nothing compared to the sudden, impossible warmth coming off her skin. He didn’t say anything—didn’t want to break the spell—but the awe was plain on his face. In that moment he could have convinced himself he was dreaming, that this was the kind of impossible private magic your mind invented to fill the holes in reality, but it wasn’t. He could smell the soap, the heat and ozone in the mist, the cheap tile adhesive the Suite used. He could feel the slippery velvet drag of her skin under his palm, the tiny tremors that ran through her body as she realized she was glowing and that this time, someone was there to see it.

Dawn let go of his hands, only so she could stare at them, turning her palms up in the streaming water, watching the gold run from her fingertips to her elbows to her shoulders. Her face was flushed, not from embarrassment or arousal but from a kind of high-voltage wonder, like she was seeing a part of herself she’d never been allowed to look at directly before. She tilted her head, a little afraid, a little laughing at the absurdity of it, and then met Andy’s eyes across the handful of inches that separated them.

“It’s happening again,” she said, voice trembling with a kind of desperate glee. “This happened once, with Erin, a couple of days ago. But never like this. Never with it staying.” She lifted her arms, watching the gold shimmer in the spray, letting the light reflect off every surface that would take it, painting the fogged glass and the ceiling and Andy’s chest in shifting gradients of sunrise.

He reached up, slow, and touched her cheek as if half-expecting to get burned by it. “Does it hurt?”

Dawn shook her head, almost laughing through her teeth. “No. It’s the opposite. It’s like… like something in me finally got permission to come all the way to the surface.” She opened her hands, showing him the way her skin seemed to pulse with every beat of her heart. “I thought it was a glitch, a byproduct of the show, but—” She left it hanging, but it didn’t matter; there were some places the words just weren’t needed.

The glow didn’t fade, not right away. It built to a slow crescendo, filling the tiny room with a light so golden-bright that Andy could see it reflected in his own hands, in the beads of water on his forearms, even in the white of his teeth when he grinned at her in disbelief. Dawn was radiant, not in the cliché way but in the literal sense, like she’d become her own lantern and was stubbornly refusing to dim for anyone. It made her look untouchable and fragile and also, somehow, the most alive he’d ever seen her.

She was staring at him, unblinking, as if daring him to look away.

“I think that one was because of you,” she whispered, and then, with the last reserves of her previous mischief, she pulled him in by the collar and kissed him, urgent and a little wild, as if she could light him up from the inside just by proximity.

He responded in kind, mouth hungry and hands gentle, cupping her face with wet, soapy fingers. She tasted like salt and heat, and something sweeter underneath—a brightness that had nothing to do with sugar and everything to do with being seen, and wanted, and not alone. For a minute nothing else existed except the kiss and the light and the thunder of water on tile.

By the time they parted, Dawn’s skin was still glowing, but now it was diffused, as if the effort of holding it had cost her and the only way to keep it going was to share it. He kept his hands on her, not to ground her but to make sure she didn’t drift away from pure momentum.

They stayed like that, close enough to share the warmth, until the water started to cool and goosebumps staked out new territory on their arms. Dawn shivered, the gold flickering and then stabilizing, and Andy reached behind her to dial the temperature up a notch. She laughed, the sound echoing in the glass box, then buried her face against his shoulder, letting the rest of herself press up tight to him, as if she could finally relax now that she’d survived the event. The light was already fading, but the afterimage of it floated in the air between them, stubborn and hard to forget.

Andy drew her in, kissed her through the last warmth of the glow, and held her there until the water cooled. She tasted like salt and light.

When they finally pulled apart, the shower had started to run cool, the magic gone but the glow lingering in the space between them. They finished washing up slower, trading soft kisses and touches, neither in a hurry to be anywhere else.

When the water turned officially cold, Andy turned it off, and they stepped out together, wrapping themselves in towels. Dawn dried her hair, then kept glancing down at her hands, like she was checking for sparks that hadn’t finished fading.

He watched her do it, amused, then took her hands in his, twining their fingers together. “Still there?”

She grinned, looked at him sidelong. “Maybe.”

Andy squeezed her hands, and for a second, it almost felt like the glow was catching on him, too.

---

Dawn dressed in record time, grabbing yesterday’s clothes from the pile on the chair. She air-dried her hair with an efficient, two-towel method and was ready before Andy had even found socks. He loved this about her, the lack of drama in her routine; everything about Dawn was practical, quick, never fussy, even when she was in a state of rare happiness.

He caught up, throwing on a polo shirt and jeans, then followed her barefoot down the hall to the kitchen, the pads of their feet making identical, soft sounds on the Suite’s hardwood. The air was already thick with the smell of good coffee and, less expected, the nutty sweetness of some kind of bread warming in the oven.

Laura was there, both bodies in matching sleep-clothes: one in black athletic shorts and a faded blue shirt with a dinosaur on it, the other in men’s pajama bottoms and a white undershirt that read, in sharpie, “STAFF.” Four mugs of coffee waited on the counter, all steaming. Laura looked up at them with both faces, the delight in her eyes as unfiltered as it had been the night before.

“Good morning!” Laura said, in perfect sync, both voices like a stereo effect. She picked up two mugs, glided over, and handed one to each of them—Dawn’s with exactly the right amount of the various milks, Andy’s black.

Dawn accepted it with both hands, almost reverent. “You’re magic,” she said, then took a long sip and groaned in appreciation. “Oh, that’s—” She looked at Laura. “You remembered.”

Laura just shrugged, but the pride radiated off her in waves. “You were up late,” she said. “Did you sleep?”

Dawn nodded. “I slept like the dead. Which is the only way I ever want to sleep, honestly.”

Laura’s mouth curled in a grin, both bodies doing it at once. “That tracks. Yesterday was a lot.”

Andy, leaning on the counter, said, “That’s an understatement.” He moved to the stove, cracked eggs into a pan, and started stirring.

Laura hovered behind him, her two bodies cycling through the kitchen in a quiet, perfect choreography: one loading up a plate with toast, the other setting out plates, silverware, and—he noted, with a flash of affection—a bowl of sliced fruit.

Dawn was already on her second mug of coffee. “How was your night?” she asked Laura, eyes bright and curious.

Laura answered instantly, both bodies grinning with it: “Oh, I slept just fine, thank you. No complaints at all. Slept like a baby.”

Dawn snorted and almost choked on her coffee. “You’re a menace.”

Andy, at the stove, said, “She’s always a menace. I’ve just learned to expect it.” He looked back at Laura. “Did you finish the baby book?”

Laura shrugged, then gave him a look of pure, theatrical exasperation. “Of course not,” she said. “I got about three weeks through before I got completely sidetracked feeling you two go at it like a pair of rabbits.” She sipped her tea, serene. “For quite a while, actually.”

Dawn made a sound that was half laugh, half mortified squeak, and buried her face in both hands. “Oh my God,” she said, muffled. “Oh my God, Laura.”

Andy, for his part, just raised his mug. “I regret nothing.”

Laura circled around behind him, hip-bumped him out of the way, and took over the eggs as if it were always her kitchen. Andy, undeterred, took out the bread and lined it up with the toast, then leaned against the counter beside Dawn. He loved these moments—the easy, offhand teamwork, the way everyone seemed to fit together.

When the food was ready, Laura plated it up, each plate identical: a perfect, golden heap of eggs, two slices of toast, a careful fan of fruit on the side. She set them on the table and sat—one body next to Andy, one next to Dawn, so she could keep an eye on both of them at once.

They dug in. For a minute, there was nothing but the sound of forks and quiet chewing.

After a while, Dawn looked over at Laura and said, “You weren’t kidding about the Dream Date thing, were you? Is it really happening today?”

Laura brightened instantly, all four blue eyes gleaming. “It is,” she said, voice bubbling with excitement. “I’ve been planning it since last night. It’s going to be perfect.”

Dawn whistled, impressed. “Is it a secret, or can we guess?”

Laura grinned wider. “You can guess all you want. You won’t get it.” She sipped her coffee, then added, “But you’ll like it.”

Andy raised an eyebrow. “What’s the dress code?”

Laura’s faces both went sly. “Wear whatever you want. But don’t be late.”

Dawn’s look went mock-stern. “You really do like keeping people in the dark.”

Laura’s faces softened, just a little. “Only when the surprise is good.”

Dawn nodded, then snagged a piece of toast off Andy’s plate before he could protest, grinning at him around the bite.

He shook his head, but couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “Stealing my breakfast now?”

Dawn shrugged, mouth full. “You snooze, you lose.”

Laura laughed, and the sound doubled, stereo, both voices equally bright.

They finished breakfast easy, in no rush, the conversation drifting from one topic to the next: how the fruit was always perfectly in season, the running bets on who would win the next cook-off between Norah and Riley, what was the likelihood someone would get food poisoning from said cook-off. It was the way Andy imagined real large families worked—teasing, but never mean. Always with an undercurrent of safety, the assurance that everything said and done here stayed, in some way, sacred. He never had a large family, and what was being built here was something he had always thought was not going to be for him.

When they’d eaten everything, Dawn stood, stretched, and made a big production of licking the last of the jam off her fingers. Laura watched her, amused, then reached over and did the same to her own plate, matching Dawn’s flourish exactly.

Andy just shook his head. “You two are incorrigible.”

Dawn leaned in, kissed his cheek, then swatted Laura (gently) on the shoulder as she passed. “You ready for the best day of your life?” she said, winking at Andy.

He grinned. “I already had several. Last one was last night. But I’ll take another.”

Laura, deadpan, said, “That’s the spirit.”

Dawn carried her plate to the sink, then started rinsing it, even though Laura had already begun moving the rest of the dishes herself, working in double-time with both bodies. Andy realized they were making it a game between them—who could out-helper the other—but today, Laura didn’t bother hiding her smile. She simply pointed a dripping fork at Dawn, the gesture regal, and said, “Off with you. Go save the world. I have the rest.”

Dawn grinned, but lingered anyway, pulling a dish towel from the rack and drying her hands with the nervous energy of someone who’d never been still a day in her life. She glanced at the clock on the stove, did some silent math, and looked like she was trying to figure out if she could afford to stand here a little longer.

Laura noticed, of course. “You got a shift?” she asked, voice soft, both bodies turning to catch Dawn’s gaze.

Dawn shrugged, feigning casual. “Not really. Liesa’s waiting for me for that thing.” She dried her hands again, even though they were already bone dry. “I could hang for a few.”

Andy, stacking plates beside Laura, said, “Are you two keeping secrets from me?”

Laura answered instantly, “Always,” then shot him a look that made him laugh. “It’s good for your character development.”

Dawn laughed, too, then went back to fussing with the towel, smoothing it over the rack and then straightening it even though it was perfectly straight already.

He watched her for a moment. “You looking for an excuse to stay?” he asked, not accusing, just curious.

Dawn’s cheeks went pink, caught. “Maybe a little.” She let go of the towel, then finally turned and actually faced the two of them. She stood in the doorway for a second, like she might change her mind and walk right back to the table.

She looked at them—both of them, one after the other—and said, a little more seriously than the morning had been so far, “Yesterday was the best day of my life. No contest.” The words came out flat, no performance to them.

Andy set the last plate down, then walked over and kissed her, slow and unhurried. “You don’t need an excuse to stay,” he said.

Laura, behind him, added, “He means it, you know.”

Dawn’s smile wobbled a little at the edges. “Yeah. I know.” She blinked hard, then forced a laugh, fanning her own face with one hand. “Nope. Not doing this. I’m not going to cry, not over eggs, not before nine in the morning.”

Laura, always ready to pounce, said, “Is there a cutoff for crying in this Suite? Because I’d love to know what time it starts being acceptable.”

Dawn reached back and swatted at her, but it was all in good fun. “After coffee. After ten. Never in front of Norah.”

Laura grinned. “You’re safe. Norah’s still asleep, probably. She is not a morning person.”

Andy hugged her, then released her, the energy in the room shifting lighter again. Dawn straightened her shirt, then kissed Andy, then—because it was only fair—kissed both of Laura on the cheek, even though it was technically the same person twice. She made it as awkward as possible, just for the laugh.

At the door, she paused, looking back over her shoulder. “Don’t let her start the Dream Date without you knowing,” she warned Andy. “She’ll try.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” he promised.

She gave one last, crooked smile, then let herself out, footsteps quick and sure down the hall.

After the door closed behind Dawn, the Suite’s kitchen exhaled into a quieter, cleaner kind of morning. The hush was punctuated only by the sound of Laura rinsing plates—one body at the sink, the other drying with a hand towel beside her. Andy didn’t bother leaving; he picked up a towel, and the two of them finished the cleanup as if they’d done it together a thousand times before.

For a long minute, neither spoke. Laura stacked glasses, wiped down the counter, filled the drying rack with an orderly, geometrically precise row of plates. Her faces were relaxed, her two bodies working in perfect sync, not a wasted movement anywhere. Andy, for his part, just liked being near her, liked the calm that came off her in waves.

Finally, as Laura set down the last fork, Andy asked, “How come you and Dawn hit it off so fast? Not that I’m complaining. It just seems… rare. For anyone, but especially you.”

Both of Laura looked at him, each with the same little quirk to their smile. “You’d be surprised,” she said, “how easy it is to like someone who doesn’t want anything from you. Dawn just wants people to be happy. She’s not trying to collect me, or compete with me, or even get my approval. It’s—” Laura paused, searching for the word. “It’s relaxing. Like being around Emi, if Emi could make good coffee.”

Andy thought about it. “Makes sense. I’ve never seen Dawn get mad at anyone except maybe Norah, and even that was more ‘annoyed older sister’ than rage.”

Laura grinned. “Norah deserves it. But yeah, that’s about right.”

Laura reached for the carafe, gave it a swirl, then asked, “You want the last of this before I dump it?”

Andy nodded, and she poured it into his mug without even checking if he wanted milk, already knowing he’d drink it black at this hour. He sipped, then leaned against the counter next to her, the two of them in no particular hurry to be anywhere else.

For a while, they just stood like that, shoulders almost but not quite touching. Laura’s body at the sink kept busy with the final little tasks, but the other body stayed close by him, eyes scanning the world like she was looking for the next good thing to say.

Finally, Laura said, “You seem ready for today.”

Andy shrugged. “I think so. It’s weird to say it out loud, but… yeah. I’m good.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

He nodded.

Laura watched him for a beat, then smiled, a real one. “Good.” She nudged him with her elbow. “But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook. Today is Dream Date number two, and you promised to keep an open mind.”

Andy smirked. “What if you’ve picked something weird? Like… high tea with Arabella, or an underwater cave expedition, or an escape room run by Norah?”

Laura’s laugh doubled, both bodies at once, a little louder than it needed to be. “Maybe all three at once. The real dream is chaos, you know.”

He grinned, finishing the last of the coffee. “You’re going to make me wear a suit, aren’t you?”

Laura’s eyes sparkled. “I haven’t decided yet. But if I do, you’ll look good in it.”

Andy set the empty mug on the counter. “And you will look gorgeous in a dress.”

Laura looked down, as if surprised by the compliment. Then she smiled wider, her cheeks going a little pink. “You’re not as bad at this as you used to be.”

He shrugged, feeling a little exposed. “Practice makes perfect.”

Laura wiped her hands on the towel, then folded it over the oven handle with a precision that felt more ceremonial than practical. She glanced at the clock, then at Andy, and said, “You know, yesterday—Dawn told me the basics, but not the details. What did you think of it?”

He had to think, tracing his fingers over the mug, gathering words. “It was good,” he said, honest. “Her brothers were loud, but funny. The dad was… wary, at first, but by the end he was just happy for her.” He thought of the kitchen, the laughter, the way Dawn’s abuela kept pushing food at them until he thought he’d burst. “Her abuela was the best. She just kept looking at Dawn like she couldn’t believe she was there.” He paused. “The hardest part was leaving. For both of us, I think.”

Laura nodded, silent, then asked, “And the goodbyes? The real one?”

Andy pictured it—the hug, the whispered words, the way Dawn kept her face steady but her hands shook. “It was… gentle. She said what she needed to, but she didn’t cry until we left. I think she wanted it to be for abuela, not for herself.”

Laura was very still at that, both bodies frozen in the act of straightening up. “That’s going to cost her something. Even if she won’t admit it.” Her voice was soft, almost private.

Andy nodded. “I know.”

They stood there a little longer, the silence now thick with all the things neither of them needed to say out loud.

Eventually, Laura turned off the tap, wiped her hands again, then squared her shoulders and looked at Andy.

“My turn now,” she said, voice going bright again. “Today is the day I bore your socks off.”

Andy laughed, grateful for the pivot. “You could never.”

Laura grinned, both faces, and said, “Don’t tempt me. I’m very good at it.”

They left the kitchen together, dishes done, the day ready to start in earnest.

---

An announcement from The HH! Since a lot of other casts will be joining the wedding, there is no point in having another round of fanmail before the end. Instead, taking a page from other branches, we will do an AMA! The form to submit your questions is here: https://forms.gle/4ZxfWAxBRKLRYs9U7

You can ask the full cast, including Andy, the Contestants, Arabella, Mildred (!), the Hollow Garden crew, Anna and Herman, and if there's someone else you can think of, you can ask something to them too.

The deadline is August 23.

You can submit questions as an Audience member, or "in character" on behalf of one of your cast (in that case, please indicate who). Thank you!