You're Just Too Good to Be True

The front doors of the penthouse eased open with a hesitant click, and Turner and Lauren stumbled in like two actors who had missed their cue but were determined to pretend they hadn’t. Lauren’s hair had gone slightly wild in the sea breeze from the walk back, and Turner’s jacket was slung half over his shoulder like he’d forgotten what arms were for. Meanwhile, Becca was sitting on the couch in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, halfway through a bowl of popcorn and pretending to watch something on the TV.

“I was wondering when you two would show up again,” she said, eyes flicking toward their flushed faces. “How was your ‘serious emotional reconnection over wine’ date?”

"It went great!" Turner over-enthusiastically answered, putting more weight on his right foot than usual.

"Great, huh..." Becca trailed off. "Guess that's why you two came in drunk as a skunk."

Lauren groaned, covering her face with both hands. “We’re fine, Becca.”

Turner tried for composure but misjudged the distance between his foot and the floor. He caught himself on the edge of a chair and gave a weak grin. “Mostly fine.”

"How much wine tasting did you two even do?" Becca’s grin widened incredulously. “You are absolutely hammered.”

“Tipsy,” Lauren corrected, trying to reclaim her dignity. “Just...just slightly.”

“Uh-huh.” Becca flatly replied as she tossed a popcorn kernel in her mouth. “And I’m just slightly the Pope.”

Lauren shot her a glare that had all the ferocity of a sleepy cat. Turner, meanwhile, was looking at the couch like it was a calculus problem. “Is it just me,” he said, “or is the room… slower than usual?”

Becca couldn’t help but laugh, low and genuine. “Turner, dear, the room’s not slow—you are. Gravity’s having a field day with you right now.”

Lauren flopped onto the couch beside her, sighing dramatically. “The vineyard was beautiful, okay? Maybe too beautiful.”

Becca raised an eyebrow. “You’re blaming a vineyard for your state?”

Lauren pointed vaguely at her glass hand. “They kept giving us more wine! It felt rude to say no.”

Becca leaned in conspiratorially. “You know what else feels rude? Not telling your date's girlfriend whether the date was good.”

Turner blinked. “Girlfriend? Wait—Ohh...you meant yourself...”

Becca smirked and popped another handful of popcorn. “Relax, Romeo. I’m just testing your sobriety...or lack thereof. Fret not though, you passed with a C-minus.”

Lauren groaned again, slumping deeper into the couch. “You are impossible.”

Becca tilted her head innocently. “And yet, here I am—the responsible one in sweatpants, keeping watch while you two re-enact a blooper reel.”

Turner let out a soft laugh, rubbing his forehead. “I think I’m gonna, uh, sit down before I—” He half-collapsed into the armchair across from them, catching himself just in time. “Okay. Mission accomplished.”

Becca snorted as he flashed her a toothy grin. “Sure. Just as successful as the Bay of Pigs invasion. I should start charging for emotional babysitting.”

Lauren squinted at her. “You already live here rent-free. Isn’t that your payment?”

Becca threw up a hand in mock outrage. “Excuse me, I contribute vibes. Strong, grounding, emotionally stabilizing vibes.”

Turner chuckled, his head sinking back into the chair as he continued to struggle to sit upright. “Yeah, the vibe of my slightly judgmental girlfriend.”

Becca smirked, tossing another handful of popcorn into her mouth as she sensed an opportunity. “Slightly judgmental? Wow, you're just a regular romantic when you're drunk. Go ahead, tell me all the other reasons you love having me as your girlfriend. What exactly are my top-tier girlfriend qualities, Turner Andrews?”

Turner squinted, trying to focus, pointing an unsteady finger in her direction. “You… have really nice… timing.”

Becca blinked. “Timing?”

“Yeah,” he said, as though he’d just solved a profound mystery. “Like, emotionally. You always know when to make fun of me… and when to make it worse.”

Lauren snorted into the throw pillow she’d half-buried her face in. “Oh my god, Turner, stop talking while you still have some dignity left.”

Turner blinked owlishly. “It’s a compliment!” he protested. “You know, like... balance.”

"Lauren's right," Becca rolled her eyes. "Just quit while you're ahead."

"No, wait wait!" he protested as Becca stood up to bring the popcorn bowl to the sink. "I promise there's more!"

Becca paused mid-step, bowl in hand, a single eyebrow raised like a loaded weapon. “Oh, there’s more?”

Lauren groaned into the pillow again. “Oh no. Please don’t let there be more.”

Turner pointed emphatically, his expression both determined and entirely unfocused. “You’re… you’re like the metronome of my life, Becca. Click click click, always on beat. Always there to remind me when I’m off-tempo.”

Becca blinked, unimpressed. “Out of all the romantic music terms you know and could've compared me to, you chose a metronome?”

Turner nodded solemnly, like he’d just dropped the wisdom of the ages. “Exactly. Steady. Reliable. Also… slightly annoying sometimes, but in a good way.”

Becca pinched the bridge of her nose, the popcorn bowl forgotten on the counter. “Slightly annoying? That’s your grand declaration of love? That I annoy you… slightly?”

Turner shook his head, leaning forward in the chair like he was about to deliver a TED Talk on the subtleties of human emotion. “No, no, you’ve got it all wrong. I mean… okay, slightly annoying is part of it, but the whole package—you know, everything else. You’re… brilliant. Funny. You… care. You care so much it’s kind of terrifying sometimes.”

Becca crossed her arms, tilting her head. “Terrifying? Really? That’s supposed to be romantic?”

“I promise, it’s the good kind of terrifying!” Turner said, waving his hands. “Like… like a rollercoaster that I never want to get off of. You keep me awake, you keep me grounded, and… and I love that about you. I love you.”

Becca’s eyes widened, empty bowl of popcorn momentarily forgotten. Lauren peeked from behind the pillow, blinking in surprise at his uncharacteristic emotional directness. “Uh… wow,” Lauren murmured. “That’s… actually impressive.”

Becca’s lips twitched into a small smile as she leaned down to sit beside Turner. “Well,” she said, her voice low, teasing but touched with warmth, “I suppose I can forgive you for being a total goof. Since, you know… you said all the nice things.”

Turner exhaled, sagging back into the chair with relief. “See? We’re fine. Crisis averted.”

"Lord help me," Becca pinched the bridge of her nose. "You, mister, need to get ready for bed."

Turner let out a soft, almost comical groan. “Bed… sounds… good,” he said, stretching like a cat, utterly unaware of how precariously close his hand had drifted toward Becca’s knee.

Lauren, still slumped on the couch, groaned theatrically. “Bed? Now? But the wine… the wine says party…” Her words trailed off into a hiccup, punctuated by a laugh that was part giddy, part resigned.

Becca raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms like a drill sergeant on caffeine. “That’s not how this is gonna happen. You’re obviously drunk, Turner’s being dramatic, and I am not cleaning up what would inevitably happen if you two try to ‘party’ right now. You both need water, sleep, and an immediate end to...whatever this is.”

Turner parroted Lauren's groan as he punched the bridge of his own nose. “I… okay. Bed… water… priorities,” he muttered, nodding like he was giving himself a pep talk. Then, as if remembering a vital point, he looked at Becca. “You...are you gonna make sure Lauren's okay?”

“I… I’m fine. Totally fine. Super… fine…” Lauren waved a hand vaguely in Turner’s direction, which promptly smacked the popcorn bowl, sending a few kernels skittering across the floor.

Turner, eyes wide, leaned forward instinctively to catch them but misjudged again, sending himself slightly off balance and colliding with Becca. She grabbed his arm, steadying him with one hand while simultaneously shoving him lightly toward the hallway with the other. “Priority one: you get to bed without breaking anything else. Move.”

Turner saluted weakly with one hand, nearly smacking himself in the face as he walked with the grace of a newborn giraffe, and Becca tugged him toward the bedroom. “I swear, if you crash into anything else—like the walls, the floor, or my personal sanity—I’m charging you emotional restitution fees.”

“Fees… paid… in… kisses?” Turner suggested dreamily, eyes half-lidded.

Becca rolled her eyes but couldn’t resist a smile. “You’re really pushing the boundaries of intoxicated charm, you know that?”

"Yes, me, I'm charming," he flashed a grin back at her like she had just told him he won the lottery.

"Is this what you wanted?" Becca talked up to Kendra, or whomever was listening. "Promising me domestic bliss by living with my boyfriend but having to manage some crisis every day?"

Becca finally steered Turner into the bedroom, holding the door open with one hand while using the other to keep him from tripping over the rug. “In you go. Pajamas on. Teeth brushed. Life choices reconsidered,” she commanded like a general ushering a slightly incompetent soldier to the infirmary.

Turner gave a weak salute again. “Yes, ma’am. Reporting for… mission sleep.” He stumbled toward the bed, flopping dramatically onto the mattress with all the grace of a sack of laundry.

Lauren had already collapsed on the other side of the bed, half-buried in the comforter, muttering something incoherent. Becca shook her head. “This is going to be fun,” she muttered under her breath.

Turner’s head lolled toward Lauren, eyes half-closed. “Hey…uh…Lauren…you…uh…good?”

Lauren’s response was a muffled “Fine…you…you’re…fine,” followed by a hiccup.

Becca groaned, tossing herself onto the edge of the other bed with a sigh of both exasperation and amusement. “I am officially the sober adult in a house full of wasted charmers. Congratulations, me.”

Turner, still teetering between sleep and consciousness, shifted slightly, and his arm swung lazily until it draped over Lauren’s shoulder. He blinked at Becca. “Is…this…uh…okay?”

Becca blinked at the sight, her internal monologue flipping between “Oh god, this is ridiculous” and “Oh…okay, actually, this isn’t entirely bad”.

“Fine,” she said finally, a lopsided grin tugging at her lips. “If you’re careful and don’t drool on her.”

Turner gave a small, almost triumphant nod, his eyelids fluttering shut like he was already halfway into dreamland. “I… will… try…”

Lauren, muffled under her blanket, grumbled, “He’s…fine…don’t…care…”

Becca pinched the bridge of her nose. “I give up.” But as she watched Turner curl up beside Lauren, she felt the familiar tug of warmth that always came when she saw him…**** and ridiculous, yet endearing.

Turner murmured from his side of the bed, half-asleep, “Becca…you…awesome…”

Becca paused in the doorway, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, I know, I'm the best. Goodnight, drama kings.”

Meanwhile, Sara sat cross-legged on the floor of her room, a sheet of lyrics sprawled across the carpet. The dim light of her desk lamp barely kept the words legible, but she was determined. Tomorrow was her karaoke night with Turner, and this time, she wanted to be intentional—romantic, sultry, and maybe just a little provocative.

She cleared her throat and sang softly, the words dripping with longing:

"Like a river flows...surely to the sea"

Her voice wobbled, partly because of nerves and partly because she didn’t know if she could pull off sounding genuinely seductive without turning it into a parody.

From behind her, a familiar voice broke the fragile bubble of focus.

“Wow. That is… actually impressive,” Kathryn said, leaning casually against the doorframe. Her tone was neutral, but Sara noticed the faint upward curl at the corners of her lips—the one that always hinted she was enjoying something in a slightly inappropriate way.

Sara froze, red creeping up her neck. “K-Kathryn! I… I wasn’t… I mean, I’m practicing, that’s all.”

Kathryn pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the room, her usual rational composure intact, though her “I Like it Like That” trait caused a subtle shift in her gaze—Sara’s voice had an effect on her, and she was starting to notice it.

“You’re practicing, huh?” Kathryn said, crossing her arms. “Or… testing whether your voice can make someone… feel things.” Her tone was level, but Sara’s racing heart insisted there was more there.

Sara’s hands twitched nervously over the lyrics. “I am practicing. For karaoke. With Turner. Tomorrow night. I want to… you know… impress him.”

Kathryn’s eyebrows lifted. “Impress him, huh? I see. And by ‘impress,’ you mean… seduce?”

Sara blinked. “I… maybe?” Her voice caught in her throat. She wanted to sound confident, but Kathryn’s unflinching stare made her feel exposed. “It’s not… I mean, yes, but also… not?”

"You don't need to seduce him," Kathryn bluntly replied. "He's already head-over-heels for you after last week. Hell, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were his girlfriend before coming here instead of Becca."

Sara’s face flushed a deeper shade of red, and she tugged nervously at the corner of her sheet of lyrics. “I… I just want it to feel special, Kathryn. Like last week. Like I’m really showing him… me.”

Kathryn tilted her head, her usual rationality sharpening. “Showing him you, huh?” She shifted her weight, the gesture casual but undeniably deliberate. “You know, Sara, there’s a difference between singing someone a song and, well, giving someone butterflies without even opening your mouth.”

Sara blinked. Her pulse was hammering in her ears. “B-Butterflies?”

“Yes,” Kathryn said softly, though she kept her posture perfectly composed. “That… feeling you’re aiming for. And honestly, you don’t need lyrics or a sultry tone to do it. You already… create it. Hell, I mean you convinced the guy to go out dancing with you last week. Turner, the guy who has the dancing capabilities of a freshman at homecoming.”

Sara’s breath hitched, and she pressed a hand to her chest as the warmth in her cheeks spread upward. “I… I just… I don’t know if I can do that again. Not like last time.” Her voice was quieter now, almost a whisper, and she kept her eyes glued to the scattered lyrics, unwilling to meet Kathryn’s gaze.

Kathryn stepped closer, her shoes clicking softly against the floor. “Hey, you can,” she said firmly, but there was a subtle softness in the way she said it—a sharp contrast to her usual level-headed tone. Her eyes flicked down, just for a second, toward Sara’s lips, then back up. “You already have everything you need. Confidence, charm… and honestly,” she added, a ghost of a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth, “the ability to make someone completely forget the world exists for five minutes. Turner’s lucky he’s getting a rehearsal.”

Sara’s heartbeat accelerated. Her hands fluttered in her lap, fidgeting with the hem of her shorts. “I… I never thought about that,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “I just wanted it to be… perfect.”

Kathryn placed the sheet on the desk, close enough that Sara could see the warmth in her eyes reflected in the paper’s soft lamplight. “Perfection isn’t what makes someone feel things, Sara. It’s honesty, subtlety… the little sparks you can’t ****. You’ve got that in spades. You just need to trust it… and maybe trust yourself a little more.”

Sara’s lips parted, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she looked up at Kathryn, noticing that the usually cold, collected, unfeeling analyst was being...**** for once.

“You don’t need to try so hard,” Kathryn continued, her voice dropping slightly, softer than usual, like she was letting Sara in on a secret. “Sometimes just being present is enough. Turner will notice it… and so will anyone paying attention.”

Sara swallowed hard, her fingers curling around the edge of the desk. “Being… present? But what if I mess up the notes? Or… or sound weird?” Her voice trembled a little, betraying her nerves.

Kathryn’s gaze softened, and she gave a small, reassuring smile—the kind that made Sara’s pulse spike and her cheeks burn. “Then you mess up the notes. So what? Didn't Turner mess up dancing? And you still swoon over the guy, whether you want to tell me you do or not."

Sara’s stomach did a little flip. Her hands twitched nervously at her sides. “It’s just… sometimes I wish I had your… I don’t know, confidence? The way you can just… say things, be yourself, and not worry.”

Kathryn’s lips twitched into a half-smile, a hint of mischief and something more tender in her eyes. “Funny, I think it’s you who’s confident. You just hide it behind all that romantic fluff. Trust me, I’ve seen the way you think about people—you don’t hide your feelings as well as you think.”

“You… you notice that?” Sara whispered, voice barely carrying. She hugged her knees closer to her chest, using them as a shield to protect her heart against the nuke Kathryn was throwing into her easy relationship with Turner.

Kathryn’s eyes softened further, and she took an almost imperceptible step closer, closing some of the space between them. “Of course I notice it,” she said quietly, her voice low, calm… and somehow charged. “I notice everything about you, Sara. Even when you think no one’s paying attention.”

Sara’s fingers trembled against her knees, and she finally dared to look up, catching Kathryn’s gaze fully. For a heartbeat, the world shrank to just the two of them—the room, the scattered lyrics, the lamp casting soft shadows over Kathryn’s face.

Kathryn leaned just a bit closer, until Sara could feel the warmth radiating off her. “Sara,” she whispered, “sometimes the sparks you’re chasing aren’t where you think they are.”

Sara’s breath caught, and she could barely form the words. “I… maybe I’m starting to see that…”

Kathryn’s smirk softened into a gentle smile, her rationality giving way just enough to let the moment hang, electric and intimate, between them. “Good,” she said softly. “Now… try singing again. But this time… for you. Not Turner. Just… feel it.”

Sara nodded slowly, heart hammering, and cleared her throat, the tension and warmth in the room making her voice shake as she sang:

"Like a river flows, surely to the sea..."

And this time, she wasn’t singing for Turner. She was singing for the flutter in her chest, for the warmth creeping from Kathryn’s gaze, and for the first time, she felt the truth of what Kathryn had said—that magic sometimes came from the most unexpected sparks.