As Pure as Gold
O’Malley had been on edge.
She had been watching Hetty (what’s new), but something was off—the way she had been keeping distance, the nervous energy in her usually commanding demeanor, the way her hand would hover near Jo’s arm as if she wanted to touch but couldn’t quite bring herself to. It had only been a few days, but Jo had felt the shift like a storm rolling in over still waters.
At first, she thought Hetty simply needed space, so she had waited.
But now, watching Hetty pace the length of the study for the third time that evening, twisting her hands in front of her as if she were having an all out war in her mind, O’Malley had finally had enough.
“Alright, out with it,” she sighed from the doorway.
Hetty froze mid-step. “I—excuse me?”
Jo crossed her arms. “Ye’ve been actin’ like a caged bird, flittin’ about with all this nervous energy. What’s the matter?”
Hetty turned away sharply, chin lifting. “Nothing’s the matter,” she insisted, but the way her voice trembled slightly betrayed her.
O’Malley shook her head, stepping closer. “Love, please.”
Hetty stiffened, hands clasped like they were the only thing keeping her from crumbling apart.
Jo’s voice softened. “Please, tell what’s wrong… yer makin’ me worried sick.”
Hetty let out a breath, shoulders sagging slightly. She hated feeling like this— vulnerable. But Jo was watching her, waiting, and she knew she couldn’t run from this any longer.
“I’d-,” Hetty swallowed, then turned on her heel to face her fully. “I’d like to inquire about the precise nature of our… connection.”
O’Malley blinked. “Come again?”
Hetty inhaled deeply, steadying herself. “Us,” she said, forcing the thoughts out before she lost her nerve. “Are we… I mean, do you consider us to be—”
She hesitated, her words suddenly stuck in her throat.
O’Malley stared at her for a long moment before the realization finally hit her, her lips curled into a fond smile.
“Oh, love,” she murmured, shaking her head with a chuckle. “I thought we already were.”
Hetty’s eyes widened. “You—what?”
O’Malley shrugged. “Far as I was concerned, the moment ye let me kiss ye—really kiss ye—we were spoken for.” She tilted her head. “Did… did ye not think so?”
Hetty gaped at her. “I—I didn’t know! No one told me! A lady should never assume such things!”
O’Malley let out a snort, then reached for Hetty’s hands, gently prying them out of her vice grip. The tenderness of her touch sent a flood of warmth to her cheeks.
“Well,” O’Malley murmured, “I suppose I ought to confess somethin’ now, then.”
Hetty swallowed, her breath catching as O’Malley’s thumb brushed over her knuckles.
“I’ve been yours from the very start,” O’Malley smiled, voice soft, steady. “From the first time ye scoffed at me. From the first time ye let me hold ya. I didn’t think it needed sayin’—but if ye need to hear it, I’ll say it a hundred times a day if I have ta’.”
Hetty felt a weight lift from her chest. All this time, she had been bracing for a conversation, a confession, not realizing she had already had what she was so afraid to ask for.
“Would it be so terrible?” O’Malley asked, tilting her head. “If we were… spoken for?”
Hetty could only smile. A dazzling, hopeful, beautiful smile, “…No,” she admitted, “It really wouldn’t.”
A slow, genuine smile spread across O’Malley’s lips. She lifted Hetty’s hands to her lips, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles before pulling her forward, until nothing but air could fit between them.
“Then let’s not dance ‘round it anymore,” she whispered, her unruly curls tickling Hetty’s cheek. “I’m yours, aye?”
Hetty felt warm and tingly, her grip firm on Jo’s vest as her chest swelled with something she didn’t have to deny any longer.
“…Aye.”
O’Malley’s answering grin was blinding, and then—
She kissed her. Slow, deep, and certain.
The house was quiet, carrying on as usual. But in the safety of the study, something new had settled between them—something sure, something sound.
Something real.