Chapter Text
Claire stood in front of the gleaming displays of blenders sold by celebrity home chefs, getting whiplash every time her eyes drop down to read the outrageous prices.
It’s her last day off before her morning flight tomorrow, and she’s spending it driving all over Lincoln Park, hopping from store to store. She’s been walking about the labyrinth of this Williams Sonoma store for almost an hour now, and she could feel her frustration mounting within her with every passing minute. She had envisioned the place to be a Candyland for chefs, a place where she felt like she could safely drop one off in here and go run errands for the day, knowing that they’ll stay put and have the time of their lives in here.
But as she surveyed endless rows of sleek appliances and gourmet cookware, she’s realizing that she may have disillusioned herself.
Claire turned her head to observe the other shoppers around her. Everyone in here is white. Their attire suggests that their afternoon spent browsing through luxury boutiques could easily be followed with lunch served on their lakeside yachts. She watches an affluent-looking couple gush over a bottle of peach and mint dipping oil they both know they’ll never use.
She wishes it was them she was buying birthday gifts for. People like them, whose wealth have distanced them so far from humanity that they have to buy their way back to it. These people, cosplaying as those who don’t mind using their own hands to feed themselves, would be easily impressed with gifts of Chilean bread knives, fancy toaster ovens, and 20-year-old bottles of Romanian wine.
But, no, she’s not buying a gift for them. She’s birthday shopping for her boyfriend, the indomitable, the ingenious, the unimpressionable Carmen Berzatto.
Let her try to bring him a bottle of peach and mint bullshit wrapped up in a bow. She can already imagine the bored, disappointed look on his face as she presents it to him. His mother beat manners into him, so he’ll give her a sweet smile and thank her for the gift. What burns is that she would have earned this placating smile for her incompetence. She longs to stop missing the mark when it comes to him. She only wants to know what it feels like to score his full approval. But what item on earth could possibly capture the essence of their relationship? Of how much he means to her?
Because the universe is hilarious sometimes, Claire’s gaze land on a shattered Le Creuset mug, incongruously nestled next to its unscathed counterparts on the shelf. Someone must have accidentally dropped it, then hastily put it back on the shelf in hopes that someone else finds and replaces it. It brings a wry smile to Claire’s face. Now that could be a good representation of our relationship, she thinks to herself.
It's been almost two months since that cursed opening night. Two months since she learned what they had together wasn’t real. Two months since he convinced her that same night that it was. She took him back because she wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that her love was strong enough to cure even the most fucked up, most damaged of souls.
She approaches a rack carrying luxury meat grinders, because that’s a kind of thing that exists in here. The appliances shine so much they almost look oiled. But she knows that their gleam and the warm yellow lighting throughout the store are to distract her from noticing the cheap aluminum alloy it’s made from, how this thing won’t even survive a year of regular use. If he was here, he’d make a point about how it’s all so… impractical. Wasteful. Impersonal. Everything in here. It feels like everything in this overpriced store is laughing at her efforts. Give up. You’re trying too hard. It’s all meaningless.
He doesn’t love you. You know he never did.
A gentle hand lands on her midback. “Excuse me, sweetie. Finding everything okay?”
Claire blinks and meets the kind eyes of a shorter, elderly employee. This is the 4themployee to ask her that in just under an hour. Claire’s kleptomania days are over, but if one more person asks her if she needs help, they might make a comeback.
“You know, I’m actually looking for a birthday gift.” Claire says, hoping to luck out on something actually good.
She lets the woman sweet talk her into buying a confectionary cookie set that she knows is probably stale and too buttery for Carmen’s liking. She pays the $36 for it and walks out the store, feeling like a dork.
Claire steps out of the store into the bustling expanse of the mall. Streams of people flow past her in a constant rush, their chatter blending into a cacophony of noise that makes it difficult for her to gather her thoughts.
She pulls out her phone for the time – 13:50. I thought it was noon. Fuck. She pauses as the weight of indecision clouds over her. Should she brave another store in search of Carmen’s perfect birthday gift that might not exist, or should she admit defeat and head home with this box of expired cookies in her hand?
Her stomach rumbles softly, a reminder of the lunch hour she missed searching for gifts. She craves a little snack to distract herself from today’s stress (and imminent failure).
She scans the mall and her eyes land on a quaint café nestled under an escalator, just 40 paces to her left. An iced caramel macchiato and a warmed vanilla scone sounds like the perfect respite away from her problems. She shoves the confectionary box into her tote bag, and heads for the café.
-
The barista manning the register takes her order and asks her to stand to the side, and she does.
As she waits, she opens up Pinterest, searches “birthday gifts for boyfriend”, and scrolls through the endless array of suggestions, each one more unhelpful than the last. Seeing an ad for a towel embroidered with the phrase “cum rag” on it was her final straw and she just puts her face in her hands, willing herself not to scream in the middle of this crowded café.
Claire lifts her head to blink her tears away and lets her gaze wander across the café, and that’s when she spots Sydney Adamu, Carmen’s beloved CDC. She is seated at a small table in front of the window near the café entrance. She no longer has her blond braids. Her hair is slicked back and leads into a long, jumbo braid trailing down her spine. Sydney’s slender frame is hunched over slightly, her graceful hands skimming through the pages of her little notebook with focused intent.
Claire watches her from afar, hesitating on what to do next. She’s only met Sydney once, but Carmen speaks of her so often and so fully that she feels that a reintroduction between them would be unnecessary. She already knows so much about the woman, save for her blood type – a fact Claire wouldn’t be surprised to learn before the year’s end. If Carmen knows that much about Sydney, what details of him rest inside that pretty little head of hers?
The idea finally comes to her – Sydney could hold some insight into Carmen’s tastes and preferences, and that could be instrumental in her quest for the perfect gift. She can’t deny the twinge of discomfort she feels at the thought of discussing her relationship with someone who barely knows her. But she’s running out of options here.
And besides, Claire reasons to herself, what harm could come from a friendly conversation with another woman? Even if that woman happens to bear the name her boyfriend moaned out loud when they last had sex.
With renewed determination, Claire straightens her shoulders and heads towards Sydney’s table. As she draws nearer, Claire forces a friendly smile, feeling no surge of relief at Sydney’s immediately distrusting demeanor.
“Sydney, right?” Claire says, her voice slightly wavering. “It’s me, Claire. Good to see you again.” She stretches her arms out for a hug. Sydney just stares at her until it registers that maybe she should accept the hug.
“Oh!” Sydney says as she stands up from her seat and returns Claire’s hug. “Hey, Claire. Nice to see you, too.” Claire gets a whiff of Sydney’s scent of warm brown sugar, vanilla, and cocoa butter, and it’s fucking intoxicating. No wonder she has Carmen hooked. And her standing up reveals these little low waist cargo shorts she’s wearing. And from them sprout these very long and slender brown legs.
Claire tears her eyes from them and back onto Sydney’s face. “Yeah, it’s been too long,” Claire replies with a forced lightness. “Mind if I sit with you for a bit? I won’t feel offended if you wanted to be left alone.” Lie.
“Yeah, no, no I don’t mind. Do you need uh…” Sydney trails off as she looks away from Claire. Claire follows her gaze to the other chair at the table, but in it sits a huge box. Sydney moves to lift it up. But Claire gestures for her to sit. She pulls an unattended chair from a nearby table and sits it adjacent to Sydney, taking care not to block the store’s foot traffic.
“So!” Claire begins. “How are you? How are things with the restaurant?”
Sydney picks up her own drink and swirls it around. “Things are going great, actually. We’ve been pulling in a lot of business and-“
Claire is not listening to most of this. This is like when she asks her patients to tell her their chief complaint, like she didn’t already read it on the chart before she entered the room. She’ll let them drone on and on about things that aren’t pertinent, things she doesn’t care about until someone finally-
“-Carmy’s birthday, which I’m sure you must be very excited for.”
There we go.
She lets herself feel a sadness she’s cried about and gotten over weeks ago. “Yeah,” she says softly, her tone tinged with melancholy. “I would be, if I got the chance to spend it with him.”
Sydney’s brow furrows. “You’re not?” Carmen has known Claire was going on this trip for 3 weeks and didn’t think it important to tell his second-in-command? There goes another sting from Carmen, added to the collection of doubts swirling in Claire’s mind.
Claire shakes her head. “I’m flying out to Seattle first thing tomorrow morning. For a mandatory medical conference.”
Sydney’s expression softens with understanding as Claire shares her dilemma. “I’m sorry. With the rainstorms keeping us closed this week, I thought you guys would be able to get some time alone together.”
Claire smiles at her. She’s sweet, Claire thinks. So far, she can’t sense any hidden motive to steal Carmen away from her. The girl’s actually genuine. Another trait the Berzattos never had themselves so they seek it outside in others.
“You were at least able to get him a gift before you leave, right?” Sydney asks.
She’s so good. I don’t even have to work for it.
A bashful smile coils upon Claire’s lips. “That’s why I’m here today.” She shakes her head as Sydney gives her an incredulous look. “I know, I know, I’ve should’ve done it earlier, but I’ve been so busy with work and Carmy gets that deer-in-headlights look whenever you ask him what he wants-”
Sydney lets out a light, amused snort at this, interrupting Claire. “I know what you mean,” Sydney chuckles. Interesting.
The barista brings Claire’s long forgotten drink and scone to the table and thanks her for her patience. Claire stabs her straw threw the lid and pulls it up and down to mix it. “So I came to the mall to see if I could find him something, but I haven’t had any luck.”
Sydney nods understandingly. “That’s quite the predicament you have there,” she remarks, her tone empathetic. “Trying to find the perfect gift for the most insatiable person in the world? In a time crunch, too? Oh, yeah, that already sounds overwhelming.”
Claire sighs, a sense of relief washing over her at Sydney’s sympathetic response. “Yeah, exactly,” she says. “I just want to make his birthday special, you know? But I feel like I’m coming up short.”
She feels a warm hand over her own and is shocked to see that it’s Sydney’s. She looks up to see the young woman giving her a reassuring smile. “I get it. But you still have tonight to figure something out. And if you don’t, I’m sure Carmy would treasure you more than any gift.” With an encouraging squeeze, Sydney says, “You are the best gift you could get him.”
Wow. She was not expecting to hear this today. These words are reaching an unloved part of Claire’s core. She can feel tears prick at the corner of her eyes. She wants to live in a world where Sydney’s words ring true, but she’s been damned to live in this one. She alone is not enough for Carmen’s love. She hasn’t been for a long, long time.
But she’ll fix that. That’s what Sydney is here for.
Claire blinks her tears from her eyes and clears her throat.
“You know, if you’re still in an advice-giving mood, I could really use some more of it in regard to something else.”
Sydney nods her head, eager to be at service. “What do you need?”
This is going to hurt.
“What do you think I should get him?”
Sydney’s face contorts into a skeptical expression, the warmth from before replaced by a hint of distrust as she leans back slightly, crossing her arms. “You want my help picking out a gift for your boyfriend?” Her tone drips with incredulity, each word laced with a subtle insult, but it’s nothing Claire can’t take. She’s in love with a man who doesn’t love her back. This is nothing.
“Like I said, I’ve run out of ideas, and you are my last hope.”
“You’re telling me you couldn’t think of anything?” Sydney asks.
With the little shame she has left, Claire pulls out the now crumpled box of sugar cookies she bought earlier.
Sydney’s eyes flicker down to the confectionary box, her lips twitching as if she’s struggling to contain her amusement. Then, she throws her head back with a sudden burst of laughter, the sound ringing out over the lively noise of the café.
The absurdity of the situation washes over Claire, and despite herself, she finds herself joining in on the loud laughter.
“You mean to tell me,” Sydney manages between giggles, “that this was the best you could come up with? A old ass box of biscuits!?”
Claire pushes her fingers against Sydney’s lips while covering her own mouth, trying to suppress the loud cackles coming out of it. “Shhhh!! Stop laughing so loud! People are looking!” She laughs.
Sydney wipes a tear from her eye. “Oh, my god. Sorry for laughing, but that is just too fucking funny.”
“Well, what did you get him?” Claire demanded to know, suddenly feeling a need to defend her department store cookies.
Sydney nodded her head to the box sitting in the other chair. “That.”
Claire slides the chair back to get a look at the box’s contents and gasps when she sees what it is. “An espresso machine!?” she exclaims, shock and jealousy coursing through her.
“Mmhm,” Sydney confirms, her smirk now smug. “And a denim repair kit for the jeans he keeps in his oven, in case they catch fire one of these days.”
Claire remembers walking past the coffee machine aisles a million times, thinking that Carmen would hate it since she’s only seen him reach for water or Diet Cokes. She’s glad they’re not getting him two of the same thing, but still.
“What if I got him a necklace?” She tries. “Make it something about cooking? Or with the Cancer symbol?”
Sydney grimaces. “Nat had to remind him that he was a Cancer just last week. That’s not something he’s going to care about.”
This makes Claire pout. But then her eyes light up again. “Oh, I’m going to Seattle! I can bring him back some-”
“Coffee beans?” Sydney finishes for her. “Yeah, no. Carmy hates Starbucks. Says the beans taste burnt.” Claire crosses her arms at this. Why does Sydney know this and I don’t? I’ve brought him café mistos from there multiple times, and he didn’t say a thing. He hated them the whole time?
Sydney pulls Claire from her thoughts. “Go over a list of things you know about Carmy, and I’ll tell you if the crew already got him something for it.”
This game goes poorly. Claire lists everything she can think of: art (“Richie got him oil paints and some linen canvas.”), baseball (“Carm doesn’t give a damn about baseball, but Gary got him a slugger signed by the Cubs’ shortstop.”), music (“Marcus bought him a record player and some Aretha Franklin vinyls.”), cooking (“Natalie left an airfyer on his desk as an early B-day present.”), clothes (“Tina thrifted him a bunch of vintage sweaters. And Ebra shipped in some traditional bracelets from Somaliland.”), tattoos (“Jimmy got him a tattoo machine gun. Made by the same guy who does customs for Kat Von D.”), even fucking wrestling (“Wrestling? Really? I don’t think anyone’s… oh, nope. Angel got him a yoga mat and one of those huge water bottles that track your input. So yeah. That’s done.”)
Claire lays her head flat on the table in exhaustion. “Okay, I give up,” she groans against the wood. “I am a terrible girlfriend. I know nothing about him and the whole world does. I’m just going to find him a massage voucher off of Groupon and call it a fucking day.”
Sydney had ordered a chicken pesto panini and split it between her and Claire. “What about sex?” Sydney says casually before taking a bite of her sandwich.
Claire glances up, keeping her chin resting on the table. “What?”
Sydney blinks like she just realized what she said. She looks down, suddenly very interested in her sandwich. “I… I don’t mean to be in your business, but have you just tried… fucking him? He’s a guy… he’d like that, right?”
Claire sits up, folding her hands on the table. “I work during the day and he’s gone for 16 hours a day, most days. We’re lucky if we even get to fall asleep in the same bed, let alone fuck.” She doesn’t know why she feels comfortable telling Sydney this. She doesnt even like admitting this in her own mind.
Sydney nods at this. “Well, then I say we gave it the old college try, huh? The voucher thing is a good idea though. Getting those knots worked out of his body sounds good for a guy on his feet all day.” With this, Sydney lifts up her own drink and Claire watches the straw disappear between her plump, moisturized lips.
She finds herself suddenly captivated by Sydney’s beauty as she gazes at her from across the table. Her eyes trace the elegant curve of Sydney’s jawline, and imagines dragging her tongue down the line, across her collarbone, and down her sternum. Would she gasp if Claire bit down on her chocolate nipples? She could probably hush her up with a thumb thrusted into her mouth. She’d upgrade to 3 fingers if the moment called for it. Does she taste as sweet as she sounds when she laughs? They could find out together.
Matter of fact, she had an even better idea.
“You ever been with a girl, Sydney?” Claire asks, her eyes still transfixed on the woman’s neck.
Oblivious, Sydney takes an absentminded sip of her drink. “Yes, and she was a pain to buy gifts for, too.” She answers. But then she pauses, and her eyes finally meet with Claire’s heated ones. “Why?”
“When’s the last time you had sex?”
Sydney splutters. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
The abruptness of Claire’s question hangs in the air, squashing the camaraderie they had before and replacing it with awkwardness. Silence falls between the women, and they let it be filled by the clinking of coffee cups and the loud hums of conversation happening around them.
Claire stares back at Sydney’s repulsed face in amusement. The disgust the woman feels is palpable, yet, beneath it all, she can see a hint of curiosity in her eye, that intrigue that makes her a great chef, and it suggests that she’s not entirely put off by Claire’s audacity.
“If this is some sick way for you to reach your clinical assessment quotas, then I’m out.” Sydney speaks.
Claire laughs at this. Sydney’s a bit of a brat, huh? The thought makes her core clench and has her biting her lower lip. No matter, she has months, shit, years of pent-up aggression simmering within her. And Sydney’s little attitude may be the perfect outlet she needs to let it all erupt in.
Carmen must feel the same way when it comes to her.
Claire leans back in her chair, meeting Sydney’s scrutinizing eyes with a playful glint in her own. “I think I may have found the perfect birthday gift for him.”
No further words are exchanged between the two. Sydney’s expression shifts from confusion to disbelief, then settles into a smoldering rage.
She grabs her own tote and starts angrily throwing her notebook and pencils into it. “You’ve got a whole ‘lotta nerve,” she retorts, her voice low and sharp. “Why don’t you try buying him some tickets to a museum first, you fucking freak.”
Sydney pushes her chair back, ready to storm off, but Claire’s hand shoots out, gripping her forearm with surprising strength. “Sit down, Sydney.” Claire commands, her voice quiet and calm, but authoritative.
Sydney jerks her arm away, her eyes flashing with defiance. “Don’t tell me what to do,” she snaps, her wrath evident.
“Please,” Claire insists, her tone softening slightly. “Stay. Just hear me out.”
She watches Sydney hesitate, her anger basically radiating off of her, but to Claire’s surprise, she relents. She sinks back into her with a resigned sigh. “All right then,” she says, impatience clipping her words. “Speak.”
Claire pauses, reflecting on the moment and choosing her next words carefully. Then she says, “I didn’t expect you to get this upset about this.”
Sydney scoffs in disbelief at her words. “Well, excuse me for surprising you,” she derides. “It’s not everyday you get asked to fuck someone else’s boyfriend.”
Claire raises her hands in a placating gesture. “Look, I understand why you’re upset,” she says steadily, her tone measured. “But there’s so much more to this than you realize.”
The chef crosses her arms, her expression full of skepticism. “Enlighten me,” she challenges. “And do it quickly, before I throw this drink in your face and walk up outta here.”
Claire shrugs, like the answer is obvious. “We could all get what we want here.”
“Do I look like I give a fuck about what you want?” Sydney deadpans. Then she shakes her head. “Actually, no, tell me. What the fuck do you want, Claire?”
I want him to love me. And I want him to mean it.
She’s risking a lot right now, but she can’t lay all of her cards out on the table. “I want Carmy to have a great birthday,” she says plainly.
“That’s one hell of a birthday.” Sydney retorts apathetically.
Claire nods. “He’s deserving of it.”
“What, did the Groupon app crash in the last 5 minutes or something?”
“You could benefit from this, too, you know?” Claire redirects.
Sydney shakes her head, sporting a stiff smile and her eyes overly bright. “Yeah, I think not.”
“Don’t act like you don’t want him.”
Claire doesn’t dare let go of Sydney’s gaze and keeps her cool expression unwavering. After a moment of tense silence, Sydney lets out a tight, almost closed-mouth response. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, but I do.” Claire remains calm. This whole conversation is weirdly cathartic for her. It feels liberating to finally release these burdening thoughts from her mind and share them with another person who understands, even if they’re pretending like they don’t. At the same time, it’s destroying her to team up with her lover’s preferred lover like this, on the off chance she’ll get some emotional reciprocity from him. There’s an emptiness she can feel crawling in her veins and leaving nothing in its wake. It’s leaving her bare, and she’s scared it will keep her that way. She’ll need years to recover from this, if she ever does.
“That look you get in your eye whenever you see him, I recognize it. I look in your eyes and I see a girl who goes home every night and rides her hand to the thought of him until she’s a soaking wet, brain-dead mess. I know because I used to do the same thing.” Claire doesn’t miss the way Sydney’s thighs squeeze together, and it brings a smile to her face. But she needs to make her point, so she stays focused.
“You like the attention Carmy gives you,” she hums, getting closer and closer to Sydney’s ear. “You like being his number one girl. You even love the fact that you outrank me (Sydney’s body releases a shiver she was trying to compress). But that isn’t enough for you, is it baby? He’s giving you everything but the one thing you need. And you need his fingers to replace yours. We can tell him what you need. Together.”
Sydney blows air out of her nose and pushes Claire away from her. She shakes her head, defiant. “This is crazy,” she mumbles, almost to herself, but then she repeats it louder. “You’re fucking crazy. I won’t help you betray Carmy.”
Sydney is so adorable it’s revolting. Claire has to roll her eyes at her. “It’s not betraying him when it’s what he wants.”
“How do you know tha-”
“I went through his phone last month, looking for proof that he was cheating on me, but I found a locked note that had a singular link on it. It takes you to an interracial porn video, starring an oiled-up, Sydney-lookalike, getting fucked in every hole for 30 minutes.”
Claire picks up her nearly finished drink and swirls the cup to mix it again. “Then two weeks ago, while he was cumming inside of me, it was your name he called for. Not mine. Yours.”
She takes a sip, completely ignoring Sydney’s mouth that has been hanging open for two minutes. She slurps down the rest of her drink, finishing it off with a refreshed gasp.
“Sydney,” she tries again. “I know… I know this a lot to ask of you.” She reaches out to touch the woman’s hand. “But please, I need you to understand-”
Their hands meet, and the contact seems to jolt Sydney out of her stunned silence. She snatches her hand away from Claire, her expression hardening as she stares back at Claire.
“Understand?” Sydney echoes, her voice sharp with distrust. “What more do I need to understand? That you’re trying to manipulate me into some twisted game you’re playing with Carmy?”
Claire’s heart sinks at Sydney’s accusation, but she refuses to back down. “No! I swear, it’s not like that!” Her own voice is getting tight with desperation. “I… it’s just that… I-”
Her disbelief now giving away to anger, Sydney scoffs, “You selfish bitch.” She spits with venom. “Do you even hear yourself? I am a human being! I’m not some fucking cock ring you need to bring the spice back in your failing relationship.”
Each word is like a slap in the face, leaving Claire reeling with guilt, despair, and uncertainty. She puts her hands on both sides of Sydney’s face, forcing her to look into her eyes. “I never meant to hurt or insult you, Sydney,” Claire pleads, her voice thinning into a whisper and cracking with emotion. “But you are the only one who can help me with this. I need to know if there’s a chance for us, for me and Carmen.”
“But what about me?” Sydney whispers back, her sweet voice twisted with a pain that feels like a blow to Claire’s gut. “What about how I feel?”
“I… I just want you to feel good, Sydney,” Claire exhales, relishing in the very visible shiver she sees run though Sydney’s body. Claire pulls her chair impossibly near to Sydney’s, their thighs pressed against each other as she leans forward to whisper into the chef’s ear.
“You are such a good girl, Sydney. I see it, and Carmy does, too. It’s all he ever talks about.” Claire croons. “When was the last time someone touched you this way?” Claire’s hand slides down to the soft, supple flesh of Sydney’s exposed thighs, right near the junction of her hips, and she gives it a firm squeeze. Sydney’s thighs immediately press together, trapping Claire’s hand there. She watches Sydney try to stifle a gasp of pleasure and surprise, but a soft, involuntary moan escapes her lips anyways, and Claire just has to kiss her for it, the public of this café be damned.
She puts her free hand under the chef’s chin and pulls her mouth to her own. Lavender, basil, peppercorn, vanilla, cherry flavored lip gloss, Claire marvels in the tastes of Sydney as their tongues slide together. She knows she’s been hanging with egomaniacal chefs for too long when a thought pops up in her head – Carmen has never had Sydney in this way. She’s touching her first, and in ways he could only dream of, and that makes her squirm in delight. Some obsessive part of her wants to make Sydney feel the utmost pleasure from her, to outshine Carmen from any attempts he makes towards her in the future.
If she does this right, both Sydney and Carmen will belong to her, and only her. But she still needs to meet Sydney halfway, meaning she has help her fulfill this little Carmen fetish of hers first.
She breaks away, but now that she’s had a taste of these lips, she can’t stay away for too long. “You are m- Carmen’s good girl. His best girl. His star.” She whispers inches away from Sydney’s lips, her hand still lodged between her thighs and now drawing lazy circles on them with her thumb. “It’s about time we reward you with the pleasure you deserve. What do you think?”
Claire almost has her within her grasp, but the woman is a fighter. She almost looks drunk on the little bouts of pleasure she’s getting, but she furrows her brow, still trying to logicize her way out of the feeling. “You… you don’t even know if this is something he wants,” she murmurs. “This could blow up in our faces. What if he hates this?"
“You said it best yourself, love,” Claire drawls against Sydney’s lips. “You are the best gift I could give him.”