Love in Lace

The smell of fresh-pressed orange juice and buttery croissants always helps Charlotte de-stress, even when her nerves are still wired from the morning's confrontation. As soon as she steps into the cozy café, the warmth and familiar hum of conversation settle around her like a well-worn blanket. The little bell above the door chimes softly, drowned out by the whirr of an espresso machine and the occasional clatter of silverware against ceramic.

Margie steers her over to their usual spot—a small booth tucked in the corner, where they can watch the people outside battle the brutal Chicago wind from the comfort of their own cozy refuge. Charlotte unwinds her scarf and shrugs off her overcoat, shivering slightly as the cold air dissipates from her skin.

"So," Margie begins, flicking through the worn menu with feigned interest, "what exactly did he say?"

Charlotte exhales sharply, rubbing her temple. "Well, we're starting a strategy at least. Compiling the evidence, seeing what we can use to get a warrant."

Margie winces. "Ugh, sounds like hell. I hate law."

"Good thing you just type emails," Charlotte teases, nudging her foot under the table.

Margie gasps in mock offense. "Excuse you, I also answer phone calls, fetch files, and look damn good doing it."

Charlotte smirks, flipping through her own menu even though she already knows what she wants. It's a habit—Margie always does it too. Something about the ritual of it makes it feel like a normal lunch, rather than a meeting between two women trying to take down one of the most powerful institutions in the country.

The door chimes again, and Margie's eyes light up. "Lyndon, hey, over here!"

Charlotte grins, lifting a hand to wave before cursing under her breath. She always forgets—waving is useless when he can't see it. Instead, she corrects herself quickly, "Usual spot, dumbass."

Lyndon lets out a low chuckle as he moves toward them, one hand lightly skimming the edge of the tables while his other rests near the harness of his guide dog, Badger. The golden retriever maneuvers easily through the maze of chairs, pausing only when they reach the booth. Lyndon releases the harness and reaches out, letting his fingers brush the edge of the seat before sliding in beside Charlotte.

"Hey guys, sorry for the wait," he says, running a hand through his hair.

Charlotte scoots over to give him more space. "How was your conversation?" Margie asks, her voice dripping with amusement.

Lyndon hums, settling into the warmth of the booth. "Simon thinks I'm wasting my talent. I think he's a stubborn old bastard." He grins, reaching for the sugar packet caddy, his fingers quickly finding the ones he wants. "So, you know. The usual."

Charlotte scoffs, rolling her eyes. "I don't wanna hear the gory details."

Margie, of course, is already smirking. "Oh, come on. It's Lyndon. There's always gory details."

Lyndon just chuckles, tearing open a sugar packet. "Okay, okay, I admit it—I'm a horny son of a bitch. Sue me."

Charlotte shakes her head, hiding a smile. "I can and I will. Don't tempt me with a good time."

Margie snorts, stirring her coffee. "God, you two flirt like an old married couple."

Charlotte gives her a deadpan look. "Oh please. If we were married, I'd have killed him already."

Lyndon smirks, tossing the empty sugar packet toward her. "And I'd haunt you just to be petty about it."

Charlotte grins, catching the packet and flicking it back at him. The easy rhythm between them is familiar, comforting. It reminds her why she fights so damn hard—because people like Lyndon, like Margie, like Parker, deserve more than the world they've been forced into. They deserve to sit in cafés, banter over coffee, and have the kind of ridiculous, meaningless conversations that make life feel whole.

"So," Lyndon says, leaning back, "tell me about this strategy you roped Simon into."

Charlotte straightens, all playfulness momentarily pushed aside. "It's happening," she says, her voice quieter now, but charged with something deeper. "After all these years, it's finally happening."

Margie reaches over and squeezes her hand, her scent sweetening in reassurance. Lyndon nods once, the corners of his lips tilting in approval.

"Damn right it is," he says.

And for the first time in a long time, Charlotte allows herself to believe it.

Lyndon takes a sip of his coffee, sighing contentedly before setting the mug down. "Alright, well congratulations are in order, enough about work. I need to mentally check out before my brain explodes."

Margie perks up. "Oh, perfect! Let's talk about your ridiculously unfair, disgustingly luxurious trip to Cabo."

Charlotte snorts, resting her chin in her palm. "Right? Here we are, freezing our asses off in Chicago, and you're about to sip cocktails on the beach like some high-powered socialite."

Lyndon grins, entirely unbothered. "Listen, I didn't ask for Simon to drag me along. But who am I to say no to an all-expenses-paid trip? That man has a private villa booked. I'm talking infinity pool, personal chef, massages on demand—"

Margie groans, slamming her menu down. "Ugh, I hate you."

Charlotte smirks. "I bet Simon has an itinerary planned down to the minute."

"Oh, absolutely," Lyndon says, stretching his legs under the table. "There's some business bullshit involved, but mostly, it's just him trying to make sure I don't die of stress. He swears I need a break."

"He's not wrong," Margie chimes in, waggling her finger at him. "You're just as bad as Charlie. Work, work, work. When's the last time you took a real vacation?"

Lyndon considers. "Does a weekend trip to New York count?"

Margie glares. "Was that the deposition trip where you barely slept?"

"...Maybe."

Charlotte snorts. "Yeah, okay, you definitely need a real break."

"I know," Lyndon sighs dramatically. "Guess I'll just have to suffer through endless margaritas and sunsets over the ocean."

Margie throws a sugar packet at him. "I hate you."

Lyndon just laughs, catching it effortlessly. "It's not my fault Simon spoils me."

Charlotte rolls her eyes. "Right. So while you're lounging in paradise, Margie is, what, finding love? Is that what I'm hearing?"

Margie lights up immediately. "Oh my god, yes, let's talk about me! Finally." She leans forward, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Okay, so his name is Daniel, he's a Beta—"

Lyndon interrupts, deadpan. "Wait. A normal Beta? Not a walking red flag? Are we sure?"

Margie groans. "I swear he's normal! At least so far. No weird secondary gender obsession, no creepy pet names, and—brace yourself—he actually listens when I talk."

Charlotte lifts an eyebrow. "Well, damn. He might be a unicorn."

Margie beams. "Right?! I'm cautiously optimistic."

Lyndon smirks. "So what's the plan? Fancy dinner? Secret test to see if he can handle your overwhelming personality?"

Margie gasps. "Rude. But also, yes."

Charlotte laughs. "Where's he taking you?"

"This little Italian place downtown," Margie says, twirling her spoon in her coffee. "It's cozy, but not too fancy. Perfect balance."

Lyndon nods approvingly. "Sounds promising."

"Yeah, but we'll see," Margie says, shrugging. "Worst case scenario, I get a free meal. Best case scenario... I get laid."

Charlotte nearly chokes on her coffee. "Jesus, Margie."

Lyndon bursts out laughing. "I admire your honesty."

Margie grins. "What can I say? I'm a modern woman."

Charlotte shakes her head, smirking. "Well, I hope it goes well. Someone around here should have a love life besides me. I’m so tired talking about my awesome sex."

Charlotte gags and Margie's eyes gleam with mischief. "Oh, speaking of—Charlie, when was your last date?"

Charlotte groans. "No. Not this."

"Yes, this," Margie presses, leaning in eagerly. "I need to live vicariously through your nonexistent dating life."

Lyndon snickers. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

Charlotte sighs, rubbing her temple. "I don't have time to date."

Margie gasps dramatically. "Lies. You make time for work, for lawsuits, for brooding—"

"I don't brood," Charlotte mutters.

Margie ignores her. "—but you can't make time for a single date?"

"I could," Charlotte admits. "I just don't want to."

Lyndon smirks. "Translation: she's picky."

Charlotte groans. "I am picky. And dating as an Alpha is exhausting. Everyone either expects me to be too much or not enough. It's never just... normal."

Margie hums. "Yeah, I get that. Some people get really weird about secondary genders."

Lyndon nods. "Especially Alphas. You either have to be the 'big, bad, dominant type' or they think you're weak. No in-between."

"Exactly," Charlotte mutters. "And then, if they find out I actually give a shit about Omega rights, it's like I've failed as an Alpha."

Margie sighs. "That's so dumb. You should be everyone's dream woman."

Charlotte smirks. "Tell that to the dating pool."

Lyndon chuckles. "So no prospects at all?"

Charlotte shrugs. "Not unless you count my deeply committed relationship with my workload."

Margie shakes her head, exasperated. "Tragic."

Charlotte grins. "It's fine. I'll just third-wheel you and Daniel."

Lyndon smirks. "Or, you could come to Cabo and be my third wheel."

Charlotte groans. "I hate you."

Margie lifts her mug. "To Charlie's romantic suffering."

Lyndon clinks his mug against hers. "May she one day find someone who can handle her."

Charlotte rolls her eyes but laughs, letting the warmth of their easy friendship settle in. Maybe she didn't have a love life, but at least she had this.