Chapter 2
Agatha was pretty sure she had life all figured out the moment she could read and spell the word Mississippi, while her fellow five-year-olds were still waging war with cat and dog, or whatever words drooling kids with sticky fingers and missing teeth struggled with at that age. Her mother Evanora, however, had clocked Agatha’s brilliance long before that.
The girl had never met a subject she couldn’t conquer. She aced every exam, dominated debates, and once solved a Rubik’s cube blindfolded while reciting the periodic table from hydrogen down to oganesson – all just for fun.
Agatha was golden, flawless, and her mother paraded that perfection like a trophy. The pride of Salem, she’d say with the-gates-of-heaven level of smugness, as if she had personally handcrafted her daughter’s genius using God’s very own pottery wheel.
But all that changed the day Agatha failed at one thing. Not in math, not in science, not even in the dreaded battlefield known as gym class. No, she failed at the one thing that mattered most – whatever on earth that even meant – to her overzealous, hymn-humming, sin-sniffing mother.
Agatha had failed at being the perfect Catholic.
It all went down one Sunday, in the church ladies’ room of all places. Agatha was in the middle of a kiss, lips locked with the daughter of one of the church’s holiest deacons. It was the kind of kiss that made Agatha feel more alive than any Sunday homily ever could.
But apparently, that was exactly the kind of thing that would send her straight to the depths of hell, at least according to her mother who bursted through the door, catching them red-handed. After that, Agatha had gone from being the pride of Salem to nothing more than an abomination and disgrace.
But that was years ago, and Agatha had come a long way since then.
She'd packed up, left home, and started fresh in New York, building a whole new life from scratch. The past was buried deep, six feet under, along with her mother.
Agatha chalked her mother's death up to one of those things that just felt like God’s will. After all, Evanora did spend her final days yelling at gays throughout the entire month of June.
Agatha didn’t attend the funeral, but she did leave a bunch of azaleas on her grave, the same flowers she used to give to the cute girls her mother so despised.
Agatha seriously considered doing the same thing to her boss. Not because he found the man cute (gross, she had never found any guy cute), but because he was starting to annoy her as much as her own mother used to. That thought, however, vanished the moment she set the coffee cup on the desk, not that fetching coffee was even part of a legal assistant’s job in the first place.
Agatha had been at this job for about three years now, landing it almost immediately after getting kicked out of her apartment. Her grumpy landlady had tossed her out with the same enthusiasm her mother had, and Agatha was convinced the old hag would’ve gotten along splendidly with both Evanora and the devil himself.
Of course, Agatha wasn’t one to let things slide. She made sure the old woman got a taste of her own misery by sneaking a few well-placed sardines into the air vents. Let’s just say the old hag’s apartment complex definitely smelled like a fish market for weeks.
Agatha didn’t regret a thing that day…except for one thing, and it still haunted her until now. More than she’d ever admit.
“How long do you think the pizza’s gonna take? It should’ve been here by now, right? There’s barely any traffic at this hour,” Jen asked, bouncing onto the sofa in her pink robe and a face mask that made her look like a fresh batch of dough.
She and Agatha had practically walked in at the same time after work.
Instead of hitting some bar, Agatha had decided to join her for a night of movie-watching or whatever the kids call it nowadays. She was too wiped from work, running errands for her boss (which she was clearly overqualified for), and writing up documents for the other lawyers (who she thought were way overpaid) at the firm. Honestly, she probably would’ve done a better job if she’d just gotten her own law degree. She’s been considering it lately, but that’s a problem for another day.
“I’m starving!” Jen let out a dramatic sigh, clutching her stomach. “I swear, I could eat a whole pizza...or two. Maybe even three by the time it gets here. Seriously, what’s taking so long? Should we call them? We definitely should, right?”
Agatha rolled her eyes. “Well, if you hadn’t insisted on ordering from the one place that takes forever, we’d already be halfway through the pizza by now.”
Jen huffed. “But it shouldn’t take this long! They’re only like, three miles away or something from our place. I swear, I’m gonna call them if it’s not here in five minutes.”
It had been a year since they’d scored this pretty sweet apartment. Super accessible, just classy enough to feel a little fancy, and complete with a killer view of the city.
The only downside for Agatha was that she had to share it with her good old friend Jennifer. The rent was a bit of a stretch for her paycheck, but the moment she saw the place, she knew she had to have it, so roping Jen in was the only logical and practical move. Jen, of course, was more than happy to ditch her rundown apartment in Bushwick for something way better.
Just as Jen was about to launch into another complaint, the doorbell rang. She shoved her feet into her pink bunny slippers and practically sprinted to the door. The poor delivery guy nearly bolted when he saw her still wearing her face mask.
From the living room, Agatha heard Jen scoff, “What? Never seen a pretty face before?” then shut the door and strolled back in, three pizza boxes stacked in her arms and a mix of loose change and crumpled bills she casually tossed on the table.
Agatha’s eyes somehow shot to the cash, her hand just about to snatch the bills when Jen, mouth half-full of pizza, shot her a look and said, "Girl, don't even. I already checked. Sadly, not the treasure you’re hoping for.”
“I wasn’t,” Agatha rolled her eyes, “I was just going for a slice.” She grabbed a piece of margherita pizza and flopped back onto the couch.
But Jen, as always, saw right through her friend. “It’s been more than three years, Agatha. I thought you said you were done searching? Statistically speaking, there’s a negative hundred to zero chance that that dollar's ever making its way back to you.”
Agatha adjusted her glasses, avoiding Jen’s judgy stare, and bit the inside of her cheek before speaking. “First of all, that’s not how statistics work, Jen. Probabilities are always between zero and a hundred, where zero means impossible and a hundred means certain. Negative numbers don’t even exist in this context,” she shot back, and Jen rolled her eyes.
“And second, yes, I’m well aware it’s been three years,” she added, cracking open a can of beer and taking a sip. “And third, I have stopped searching. That ship sailed a long, long, long, long, long time ago,” she muttered, setting the beer down with a little too much emphasis.
“Uh-huh, sure. Whatever you say, Agatha,” Jen muttered back, grabbing the remote and deciding not to push it further. Last time she did, Agatha got so angry, Jen ended up finding three dozen jade eggs stuffed inside her bag on the way to work.
Agatha, on the other hand, opted to nurse her beer. But as soon as the movie started playing, her mind drifted back to that night…and the days…weeks…months…and eventually the years that followed.
There are over eight billion people on this planet, and studies say half of them believe in fate. That means about nine million New Yorkers are convinced the universe has some big plan for them, while the other eleven million call bullshit. Agatha, of course, is proudly one of the latter.
Because it wasn’t fate that landed her a job at one of the top law firms in the city months after she graduated. It was her kickass resume and how she nailed that interview. And it sure as hell wasn’t destiny that got her fired when some overprivileged lawyer’s son waltzed in and snagged her job, despite being laughably underqualified. Fate also didn’t put her behind on rent, and it wasn’t fate that paired her with a miserable, grumpy landlady who couldn't care less. No, it was just the unfortunate lack of affordable places in the neighborhood.
Agatha doesn’t buy into the idea that everything is predetermined or that people are just puppets on fate’s little strings. That kind of thinking is for doe-eyed romantics. You want something? You work for it. You hustle. Simple as that.
That’s why Agatha looked so conflicted now, watching Rio sit alone at the bar, her back turned just enough for Agatha to catch a glimpse of that little tattoo, probably some kind of succulent, though she couldn’t be totally sure. Part of her wanted to go take a closer look, but honestly? The whole thing was starting to feel a bit too much like a romantic comedy for her taste.
The first time they crossed paths, Agatha couldn’t help but notice the soft, comforting scent that seemed to linger around Rio as soon as she slid into the passenger seat. It was like a blend of sandalwood, vanilla, and something earthy, like a forest after a rainstorm, only sexier.
The second time was a funny coincidence. Her redhead date had booked Rio, and once again, they ended up locking eyes. That’s when Agatha noticed how Rio’s brown orbs seemed to change to a striking shade of green in the soft glow of the streetlights.
And now, here they were again. What’s the saying? Third time’s the charm, right? But instead of walking over, Agatha stayed where she was – beside the brunette from earlier, whose name she’d already forgotten. She watched Rio, dodging one man’s clumsy attempts and turning away from another. By the time the fifth guy was shut down, Agatha decided it was time to go.
“Where are you going?” the brunette asked, looking confused.
“I’m sorry, darling,” Agatha said, giving her a charming smile, “You’re lovely, you seem very sweet, and I’m sure you’re a delight in bed. But unfortunately, our ship has sailed, and I’m not about to keep rowing it out to sea,” She leaned in, pressed a kiss to the back of the woman’s hand, and smoothly slid out of their booth. “You take care, alright?”
Agatha’s first thought was that she’d probably regret this decision, but then again, when didn’t she? If it all went sideways with Rio, she could always make a graceful exit like she had with every other date or fling, disappearing like Houdini. It was a tried and true escape route.
Yet, as the night dragged on, and the more she found herself looking at this woman, listening to her laugh and talk, and just being there with her, Agatha started to notice something was different. She didn’t want to leave. And for the first time, though she’d never admit it to a single soul (and especially not on her deathbed), Agatha found herself not wanting the night to end.
Agatha stared down at the dollar in her hand, Rio’s number scribbled across it in handwriting so messy, it looked like a toddler’s first attempt at cursive. And then there was that ridiculous smiley at the end. The one with the overly big eyes. Agatha couldn’t help but shake her head. “Weirdo,” she muttered.
If Agatha could see her own face right now, she’d probably slap herself a few times, just to stop that damn grin from plastering itself on her lips. It was disgusting how she could actually feel butterflies in her stomach – though, maybe it was just the booze doing the work, or the high she’d been riding all night. Most likely the latter, because Agatha Harkness would never admit she was down bad for someone. Especially not after a first date.
Not that this was even a date. To Agatha, a date involved pinning a woman up against a wall, lips swollen from kissing, hands doing a little more than just...touching. And she and Rio hadn’t done any of that. Not even a kiss. So, in Agatha’s very particular and non-negotiable dictionary, this? Not a date. Right? Right.
Just as Agatha was about to turn the corner, her eyes shot wide open (just like the stupid smiley face on the dollar) right before some teenage jackass yanked it out of her hand. “Hey!” she shouted, blinking in disbelief as the kid tore down the street like a goddamn hyena.
“Give me my dollar back, you little shit!” Agatha screamed, already sprinting after him. But the kid was quick and she was still a good thirty feet behind. Agatha gritted her teeth, forcing herself to pick up the pace. “What the hell are you even gonna do with a dollar?!” she shouted, her lungs burning as she tried to close the gap. The kid glanced back, flashing a cocky grin before disappearing around the corner.
Agatha skidded to a stop, hands on her knees, panting. The whole damn neighborhood probably heard her scream. Someone up above also had to be laughing at her right now.
If New York has nine million doe-eyed romantics, it sure as hell has its fair share of assholes and pickpockets. Agatha kicked the nearest soda can, yelling, “Jesus Christ!” as if the can and Jesus himself could somehow fix everything. But, of course, they couldn’t.
The can just clattered into the gutter, leaving her standing there like an idiot. And somewhere, Jesus was probably having a good laugh at her expense.
Agatha decided to head back to the bar, hoping Rio might still be there. The place was still packed at two in the morning, but no sign of Rio, nor were the two women she’d seen her with. Agatha thought about drowning her frustration in another drink, but instead, she stepped outside and hailed a cab.
Hours later, Agatha’s already bad mood got even worse when someone came knocking loudly. She already knew it was her landlady without even looking through the peephole. The old woman had a habit of calling her Agnes, which Agatha had given up correcting after the first few months. It was a pointless fight she had lost on day one.
She opened the door, and there the landlady stood, arms crossed. Without wasting any time, she went straight into the speech: Agnes (despite Agatha’s best efforts to correct her) was behind on rent (again), the neighbors were complaining about the noise (again), and something about how this place wasn’t a brothel (again).
The ridiculousness of it all almost made Agatha laugh, but the look on her landlady’s face quickly killed any humor. She was dead serious about kicking Agatha out. Agatha knew there had to be some sort of policy against this, but the landlady’s response was simple: she’d “tried to tell her for weeks.” Weeks of vague complaints that never came with an official warning, and now, she was being told to pack up and leave.
Agatha had no choice but to crash at Jen’s, in her cramped, barely-standing apartment in Bushwick. Annoying as Jen could be, she was the only friend Agatha had in the city. So, when her life basically imploded overnight, Jen was the one she had to lean on. Besides, Jen had a couch that was technically a bed...sort of.
“Wait, hold up,” Jen said, poking her head out of the bathroom while slathering some facial cream on her face. “You’re telling me you didn’t even ask for her last name?”
Agatha was sprawled on the couch, shoveling Chinese takeout into her mouth. “Nope,” she mumbled, mouth half full. “I was planning on doing that when I see her again.”
Jen blinked, pausing in the middle of spreading goo on her cheeks. “But you don’t do second dates.” Then it hit her. “Oh, shit. You actually like her, don’t you? Like, genuinely like her?” She gasped, pointing dramatically. “Oh my god. Agatha Harkness has a crush.”
Agatha stopped chewing. “It’s not like that, I just –” She swallowed and set the takeout down. “Oh, for God’s sake, Jennifer, can you stop looking at me like that? I’m pushing thirty-three, I don’t have a crush.” She paused, then groaned. “Why am I even explaining myself?” Rolling her eyes, she grabbed her food again. “Fine. Think whatever you want,” she muttered, stuffing another bite into her mouth.
Jen was silent for a beat, then shrugged with a smug, “Have you tried reaching out to the company? Maybe they can help you get her contact info?”
“I already tried that,” Agatha replied, reaching for the soy sauce. “They’re all about that ‘privacy’ bullshit, so they won’t give me her details.” But then a thought hit her. She sat up straighter, like a light bulb had just flicked on above her head. “Wait...I need a directory.”
Jen blinked at her, looking genuinely confused. “A directory? What for?”
Agatha leaned forward, the wheels in her head spinning faster than her brain could keep up. “Rio. Rio is a pretty unique name. There can’t be too many people with that name, right? If I dig through a directory, I'll probably find her."
Jen just stared at her for a second.
"You’re seriously going to try to track her down using a directory?”
“Why not?” said Agatha. “I mean, how hard can it be to find a Rio in New York?”
Jen gave her a look that landed somewhere between impressed and deeply concerned.
“Right.”
But Agatha was practically bouncing. “Let me borrow your laptop.”
With a sigh, Jen disappeared into her room, then came back and tossed it onto the couch before heading off to finish her facial routine.
Agatha got to work and immediately started typing into the search bar of a popular online directory. The screen flashed as she typed “Rio” and hit enter. She sat back, confident in her plan. How many people could possibly have that name?
The screen loaded, and Agatha’s jaw dropped as 459 results appeared on the screen.
“Are you kidding me?” Jen said, walking over to Agatha. “There are that many Rios in the city? You’re not seriously planning to call every single one of them, are you?”
Agatha didn’t even flinch. “Do you also happen to have a pen and a notepad?” she asked, glancing over at Jen, who looked mildly horrified.
Jen flopped down next to her on the couch, shaking her head. “You’re insane. You know that, right?” she muttered, handing over the stuff with a sigh.
Agatha had predicted it would take about eighteen hours of non-stop calling. She was wrong. It ended up being closer to 40, spread over four grueling days of dialing, disconnecting, cursing, and muttering under her breath about how in the hell Rio’s stupidly gender-neutral name was making this whole thing so much harder.
Sure, she might like Rio, but the fact that her name could go either way? That was really starting to piss her off.
By the time Jen left for work on day two, Agatha was still knee-deep in her mission. The phone was practically glued to her ear. More than half of the names were already crossed off her list, and each "wrong number" response made her more frustrated, especially as she started wondering if she'd ever hear Rio’s voice on the other end.
Jen came home late that night to find Agatha still on the phone, sitting cross-legged on the floor, a pile of empty Chinese food boxes around her, and the TV blaring some pointless reality show. Agatha barely looked up, just gave a half-hearted grunt when Jen walked in.
The cycle continued. Day after day.
“What if she gave you the wrong number?” Jen asked, finally sitting down on the couch and glancing at Agatha’s list.
Agatha didn’t respond, just tossed another empty Chinese food carton to the side. A small, nagging part of her wondered if Rio actually had, but the stubborn part wished she hadn’t.
Jen raised an eyebrow. “You know what, I don't get it. Didn’t it cross either of your brilliant minds that we’re in the 21st century? You could’ve swapped handles or emails or something. And yet, you went with landlines?”
Agatha shot her a look, chewing on a wonton. “I don’t do social media, remember?”
Jen’s face twisted in disbelief. “Okay, but didn’t you think Rio might have one?”
And just like that, Agatha dove back in, starting a new search.
Maybe Rio was out there somewhere on the internet, posing with sunrises, sipping coffee, posting motivational quotes, or whatever people did there.
Agatha spent the next couple of hours mindlessly scrolling, typing every variation of “Rio” she could think of, adding a few hashtags for good measure. But it got her nowhere.
By the fourth day, after calling yet another batch of Rios and still hitting dead ends, Agatha slammed her phone down on the table in frustration.
“I’m never going to find her, am I?” she muttered, rubbing her temples.
Jen sat across from her, arms folded. “You said you exchanged numbers. Don’t you think Rio would’ve called by now? I mean, if she actually wanted to talk to you, she’d have called the number you gave.”
Agatha paused at Jen’s words. She had a point, but the problem was the landline number she gave was tied to the only landline in the apartment complex she’d been kicked out of.
Still, the next day, Agatha found herself standing in front of her old building.
Agatha stood there, foot tapping impatiently, knuckles sore from knocking. Finally, the door opened to reveal her grumpy landlady. But before Agatha could finish asking, the landlady quickly cut her off with a flat, “No.”
The door slammed shut before she could get another word in, and for a second, Agatha just stood there. Then, in a moment of pure impulse, she grabbed a tin of sardines from her bag, popped it open, and poured the oily contents directly into the air vent.
It was petty. It was childish. Something Agatha had wanted to do for a long time. And it should have felt satisfying, but it didn’t. Because that nagging thought, that maybe Rio hadn’t called because she wasn’t really interested, kept messing with her head.
So this is what it felt like to be Houdini’d. Karma really was a bitch. And the more it messed with Agatha's head, the more she hated the feeling, until, somehow, she was starting to hate Rio too.
Agatha stepped out of the cab, dressed in her usual work uniform: slacks and a blouse. Like clockwork, she dropped by the coffee shop on her route to grab her boss’ morning coffee because, well, she had to. She thought about doing something funny with it, like maybe switching the sugar with salt, but quickly decided against it. She couldn’t afford to screw this job up. She may not like her incompetent boss but she liked her nice apartment too much.
As Agatha waited, her eyes landed on a pretty blonde strutting past, one who looked at her just a second too long. Normally, Agatha would’ve smirked, maybe even pulled the woman toward the bathroom for a little morning adventure. But this was a coffee shop, and it was barely eight in the morning. Her libido would just have to take a seat.
Then, as she was following the blonde with her eyes, the barista called out, “One Midnight Mocha Rush for Rio!”
Agatha’s heart did a little flip.
Without thinking, her eyes darted around the café, half-expecting fate to slap her in the face, only for some random guy to stand up and claim the drink.
After a moment, Agatha let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. She scanned the café for the blonde, but she was already gone. Great. Just great. Agatha sighed, rubbing her temple. Forget coffee, she was going to need something a hell of a lot stronger after that.
Agatha, balancing two long blacks and a latte, calmly stood inside the elevator. She hated taking it, but she would’ve hated herself more if she’d tried to climb nineteen flights of stairs. For someone like her, elevators are the worst. The cramped space, the forced proximity, and worst of all, the people who never knew when to shut up.
And right now, that was exactly what was happening.
A man in the back corner was talking way too loudly. “The wife’s on my ass about taking a ‘real’ vacation this time,” he said, complete with air quotes Agatha could hear in his tone. “Like, come on, what was Cabo? A work retreat? She’s never happy, man, I swear.”
Agatha didn’t know who he was talking to, but whoever it was had to be just as insufferable.
“I'm thinking beaches, parties, like, the whole deal – maybe Brazil or Colombia this time," the man went on, and Agatha mentally groaned.
Then, from the other side of the elevator, another guy chimed in, his nasally voice just as irritating. “Hey, didn’t Charles and his wife hit up San Andrés last summer? You should ask him.” He paused, then added, “Or hell, why not just go to Rio?”
Agatha tensed at the name, tuning out the rest of the conversation behind her. What the hell? Was the universe screwing with her today? But before she could start overthinking it, the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open.
Agatha placed her boss’ latte on the desk, ready to escape the awkward small talk that seemed to surround her every morning. But before she could turn on her heel and leave the office, her boss called her back. “I need these documents delivered and signed today,” he said, not even bothering to look up.
She forced a smile, trying not to roll her eyes. Agatha hated taking orders but needed this job, at least for another three months, if her plans went the way she hoped. “Got it.”
“You can have Rio drive you there,” her boss added, still not looking at her.
Agatha blinked, clearly confused. “Wait, sorry, who’s driving me?”
“Rio,” he said, like she should already know. "Our new driver. The company car’s probably waiting downstairs."
Agatha stood there for a second, her brain stalling. She didn’t have time to think about it.
“What are you still doing here? I need those signed today, Harkness,” her boss waved her off, and Agatha hurried out. She didn’t even have time to stew over how annoying her boss was.
Agatha made her way downstairs, and sure enough, the company car was waiting for her. She took a deep breath, fixed her hair, and bit her lip – only realizing halfway out the door that she was acting like some love-struck fool. Gross.
She hated this feeling. The anticipation. The way her brain wouldn’t shut up, running through every possible scenario. What if it was really her this time? Would she freeze? Snap and choke her out of frustration? Throw some sarcastic remark at her for not even bothering to call? Would she even be able to look her in the eyes without losing it?
Would she still hate her?
Or God help her, would all that anger just disappear the second they saw each other, and they’d end up kissing like idiots, ignoring the fact that the world, and her pride, still existed?
Fuck. Agatha couldn’t help but wish she could see the driver through the tinted windows.
As she got closer to the car, the door opened, and out stepped...not Rio, or at least not her Rio, but a tall man with a huge fucking smile. He looked up at her, his smile stretching even wider.
“You Miss Agatha?” he asked.
“Uh, and you’re Rio?” Agatha asked, already feeling her stomach do somersaults.
His grin somehow got even bigger.
“That’s me, alright. Ricky Isaac O’Neal, but folks just call me Rio.” He stuck out his hand.
Agatha took one look at him: the car, the name, that painfully awkward smile, and just completely lost it. “Jesus, you gotta be fucking kidding me.” And out of nowhere, Agatha burst into laughter, borderline maniacal, to the point where even Rio – nope, Agatha was calling him Ricky – took a cautious step back. But she couldn’t stop. Tears welled in her eyes as she doubled over, wheezing. Yep. The universe was definitely screwing with her today.
“I need a drink,” Agatha declared the second she stepped into the apartment, making a beeline for the fridge. Jen was definitely home, her blazer was draped over a chair like she’d just thrown it there in a rush. Agatha yanked open the fridge, grabbed a beer, and cracked it open, downing nearly half in one go.
“You’re dressed,” she noted, eyeing Jen as she strolled out of her room in an all-pink ensemble.
“And you’re looking stressed,” Jen shot back, folding her arms. “Rough day at work?”
Agatha sighed, crushing the empty can before cracking open another. “It’s like I was being followed by a ghost all day. Either that, or I’m finally losing it. Am I losing my mind?”
Jen raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know about that, but you’re definitely losing me in this conversation. What the hell are you even going on about, Agatha?”
Agatha took a long sip from her beer. She had a million words on the tip of her tongue: like how much it irritated her that Rio had somehow snuck her way back into her thoughts, how much she absolutely didn’t want to see her again, and how, honestly, the idea of it made her heart race in a way she wasn’t about to admit.
But that wasn’t what came out. Instead, Agatha shrugged and with a little too much emphasis, declared, “Nothing.” As if convincing herself that the last thing she wanted was to see Rio again.
Jen leaned against the counter, an eyebrow still raised as she put two and two together.
“You do need a drink,” she muttered almost to herself.
Agatha shot her a look. “I already started.”
Jen shook her head. "No, no, no. You need something stronger than beer, and I’m not leaving you here all by yourself," she said, snatching the can from Agatha's hand. "You're coming with me tonight. I’m sure my date won’t mind me bringing you along.”
Agatha looked at her, unimpressed. “That thing’s still going on?”
Jen rolled her eyes dramatically, as if she'd been asked the most ridiculous question in the world. “Yes, Agatha. It’s still going on. Two and a half weeks, to be exact. Now, get your ass off that counter and get dressed. I don’t wanna see you sulking here later, moping around like some sad, miserable, beer-soaked, lonely cat lady.”
“And what’s wrong with that? I’m actually thinking about getting a cat," Agatha argued, but Jen was already shoving her toward her room.
The bar was a little too nice for Agatha’s usual haunts. It was one of those upscale-but-not-too-upscale places where the cocktails were a bit overpriced but were actually worth it.
“Remind me why I’m here again?” she muttered, tugging at the hem of her black dress as she followed Jen toward a small booth near the back.
Her dress dipped low in the back, paired with the knee-high boots Jen insisted she wear, because if she was getting dragged out tonight, she might as well look the part.
"Because tonight, you need a drink and some actual human interaction," Jen shot back.
Agatha rolled her eyes and slid into the booth. Jen’s date was running late, which meant Agatha was stuck sipping her whiskey sour and trying not to look as bored as she felt.
Agatha sighed, running a hand through her hair, “If this is your idea of cheering me up, I better not end up watching you two all over each other.”
“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll have fun.” Jen smirked, setting down her glass. “And knowing you, Agatha, you’ll probably disappear somewhere before the night’s over. So stop acting like this was entirely a bad idea.”
Before Agatha could press for more details, Jen’s eyes darted past her, and she lifted a hand in a wave. Probably her date, Agatha figured. She didn’t even bother turning around – at least, not until the date in question stopped right in front of their booth.
"Hey," Jen said, standing up to greet the woman.
"Sorry we’re late. Traffic was a mess. Some kind of rally on Fifth held everything up," the woman said, tucking a loose strand of dark hair, streaked with red, behind her ear.
“It’s fine,” Jen assured her, then turned to Agatha.
“Alice, I'd like you to meet Agatha. Agatha, Alice.”
Alice gave a polite smile, and Agatha mirrored it, though there was an unmistakable hesitation in hers. There was something oddly familiar about Jennifer's date tonight, but before she could chase the thought, Jen spoke again.
"You said you were also bringing someone? Where is she?"
"Outside, parking," Alice replied. Agatha nodded, trying to look engaged.
Then Alice glanced past her. "Oh, there she is," she said, waving. "Hey, Rio! Over here!"
And just like that, Agatha’s breath caught in her throat, and she went completely still.
When the urge to turn finally overwhelmed her, Agatha did so slowly. And there she was – standing in a cropped beige sweater and a sleek black midi skirt, looking annoyingly good.
But the real shock? Rio was blonde.
She dyed her hair? Agatha thought as her stomach dropped, and from the way Rio’s lips parted slightly in surprise, she was just as caught off guard.
Their eyes locked, and in that moment, it felt as if the three years that had passed were nothing more than the three feet between them.
Agatha was at a loss for words, and it seemed like no one else knew what to say either, except for Alice, who looked completely clueless. Jen, on the other hand, was just as stunned as Agatha, her eyes darting between Rio and her friend, clearly putting the pieces together.
“Everyone, meet Rio,” Alice said, gesturing to the woman beside her. “Rio, this is Jen, and –”
“Agatha,” Rio finished, eyes still locked onto hers.
“Wait. You two know each other?” Alice asked, looking between them.
Agatha pressed her lips together. “Yeah, we’ve met.”
“Barely,” Rio quipped dryly. “But sure, that’s one way to put it.”
Agatha nearly scoffed. Was Rio actually serious right now? Acting like she was the one who got ghosted? As if Agatha hadn’t spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to track her down? Sure, she lost Rio’s number – but what was her excuse for not calling? Because from where Agatha was standing, it sure didn’t look like she even tried.
She cleared her throat a little too loudly. She can’t deal with this right now.
“I think I’m gonna grab another drink.”
“How about you bring Rio with you? She’s picky about her drinks,” Alice suggested, still completely unaware of the tension brewing. Jen elbowed her. “What?” Alice shot Jen a look, and Jen glanced between Agatha and Rio, who hadn’t broken eye contact once.
“No, it's fine," Rio replied right away. "I wouldn’t want to mess with Agatha’s routine." She nearly threw in air quotes just to get on Agatha’s nerves. “She’s got her own way of grabbing drinks and making her rounds in places like this. I wouldn’t dream of getting in the way of any of that.”
Agatha felt a jolt of irritation at Rio’s words. “Right,” she shot back, tilting her head. “And I wouldn’t want to interrupt your friend either.” She glanced at Alice before locking eyes with Rio again. “I’m not one to pry, but if she’s looking for someone to tag along with and leave hanging later, I’m sure she won’t have trouble finding options.”
It was then that Alice finally caught on. She glanced between Rio and Agatha, her eyes widening as it clicked: Jen's Agatha was the Agatha. The one Rio had mentioned once, just in passing, all those years ago.
Heat rushed to Alice’s face, turning her as red as a tomato, but before things could get too uncomfortable, Jen swooped in. “You know what?” she said quickly, looping her arm through Alice’s. “I think we’ll just grab the drinks instead.” Jen gave Alice a not-so-subtle tug toward the bar. “You two, uh…wait here.”
And just like that, they were gone, leaving Agatha and Rio in the kind of silence that made you want to check your phone just to do something.
Rio exhaled, crossing her arms. “It’s been a long time.”
She sounded casual, too casual. Forced, even.
Agatha wasn’t even sure what she was feeling right now. Annoyed? Absolutely. Furious? Wouldn’t be wrong. Confused? Throw that in too.
“You changed your hair,” she said.
“And you haven’t changed a bit,” Rio shot back.
Agatha let out a humorless laugh. "Okay, we both know this conversation could go so badly. Maybe we should just spare ourselves, and our friends, the awkwardness and inconvenience."
Rio clicked her tongue. “The awkwardness and inconvenience,” she repeated like she was tasting the words. Then she shook her head. “Funny choice of words, considering we barely knew each other. It sounds like something you’d say about something serious, not..." She gestured vaguely between them. She then gave Agatha a once-over.
“No need to act guilty, Agatha. It wasn’t that big of a deal. At least, not to me.”
Agatha’s jaw clenched. “Why would I be the one acting guilty?”
Rio raised a brow. “Are you suggesting it should be me?”
Before Agatha could fire back, Jen and Alice returned with their drinks. Jen slid into the booth first, practically shoving Agatha in next to her. Alice did the same to Rio on the other side, casually slotting themselves in like human buffers, as if nothing had just happened.
Agatha grabbed her drink and took a long sip, mostly to buy herself a second to cool down. Not a big deal? If that was true, why was Rio sitting across from her, looking like she was also barely holding herself together? Leaving the bar crossed Agatha’s mind, but no way was she giving Rio that satisfaction.
The night quickly dragged on, with Jen and Alice doing the heavy lifting in the conversation, both trying and failing to pull Agatha and Rio in. The best they got were half-hearted nods and the occasional hmm.
After that intense stare-down earlier, Rio hadn’t spared Agatha a single glance, which ironically, gave Agatha the perfect excuse to sneak a few of her own. Three years hadn’t done much to her, if anything, Rio looked even younger. Well-rested, maybe. The blonde hair was very new, though. Almost like the Rio sitting here wasn’t the same one Agatha had met three years ago.
“So, Rio,” Jen said, a little too loudly, another not-so-subtle attempt to pull one of them into the conversation. “What kind of research are you up to these days? Alice mentioned she has a friend working at the Garden in the Bronx. I’m guessing that’s you? I’ve always wanted to visit, but work’s been really insane.”
Agatha’s ears perked up, though she kept her expression carefully neutral. So, Rio wasn’t driving people around anymore. She’d actually followed through on what she said she always wanted. That would explain why she looked so much more well-rested now. Not that Agatha would ever admit it, but the thought softened something in her – just a little.
“Yeah, I’ve been with their conservation team for over a year now,” Rio said, taking a sip of her drink. “I’m actually on a bit of a break from research at the moment, but before that, I was deep into pollination studies. It’s pretty hands-on work, which I love.” She set her glass down, finally glancing up, though not at Agatha. “But when I’m not buried in the lab, I give tours.”
Alice jumped in. “You know, we should go next weekend," she said to Jen. "The Garden is stunning this time of year. Also, Rio gives the best tours, she somehow makes plants way more interesting than they have any right to be.”
Rio chuckled. “That’s the job.”
For a split second, a crack formed in Agatha’s carefully neutral mask. Rio wasn’t just doing well. She was genuinely happy.
Jen shook her head, “I’d really love to, but I can’t next weekend. I’ve got a mountain of stuff at work I can’t ignore. Again.” She sighed dramatically, rubbing her temples.
“It’s fine. Maybe the weekend after, but we should really go sooner. Like, before Rio heads off to Kew for good,” Alice said, frowning a little.
Agatha, who had been absentmindedly swirling the ice in her glass, suddenly spoke.
“Kew? As in the Kew in London?”
The whole table went dead silent, clearly thrown off by Agatha’s unexpected reaction. Even Agatha couldn’t believe she’d blurted that out. She mentally kicked herself for it. Stupid, intrusive thoughts.
After purposely avoiding her gaze for hours, Rio finally looked at Agatha. She hadn’t expected that reaction either. It caught her the most off guard. Clearing her throat, she looked away and focused on Jen and Alice instead.
“Yeah. I finally got an offer. I’m moving to London in a few weeks.”
Agatha woke up with the kind of hangover that felt like her brain had been put through a blender. She had no idea how she ended up in bed, but what she did remember was that if Jen hadn’t stepped in last night, she would’ve probably followed a random redhead straight out of the bar, no questions asked.
But honestly, none of that would’ve even been on the table if Rio hadn’t dropped that bomb about moving to goddamn Kew in the UK. Not that it was the moment Agatha completely lost it, tossing back shots like they were water. Again, she’d never ever admit that, along with all the other things she’d take to her grave. She told herself the tequila run was just because of work. Because, of course, work was the only thing pushing her to the edge. What kind of logical explanation could there possibly be for her to react a certain way?
She groaned, finally dragging herself out of bed. She grabbed her robe off the chair, tied it around her waist, and stumbled to the kitchen. Coffee. She needed coffee. And, more than anything, she needed to stop overthinking.
It was a lazy Saturday morning, and Jen was at the counter, sipping her coffee and scrolling through her phone. Without a word, she slid a mug toward Agatha, knowing full well the routine.
Agatha wasn’t the type to talk before her morning coffee, especially with the hangover she was clearly dealing with. Agatha wordlessly filled the mug and shuffled over to the window, her eyes landing on a specific spot in the distance.
Jen set down her mug and broke the silence. “So, anything you want to talk about? Like the fact that you finally ran into a certain someone after three years?” She paused, eyeing Agatha. “Oh, and that this certain someone is leaving in three weeks?”
Agatha didn’t respond right away. She simply kept her eyes fixed on that familiar spot, the one she’d found herself staring at every morning since they’d moved here.
“You’re not exactly hiding it, you know,” Jen added. “I mean, you’re practically wearing a sign that screams you’re about to…I don’t even want to say it. You know what I mean.”
Agatha shot her a sideways look. “I’m fine, Jen.”
Jen raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.
“Uh-huh, sure. You’re totally fine just standing by the window, staring at that…”
“I’m just...processing,” Agatha cut in, not meeting her eyes.
Jen leaned back against the counter, arms crossed.
“Processing what, exactly? That you finally saw Rio again? Or that she’s leaving? Or maybe the fact that you might actually care…that she’s leaving?”
“I don’t care,” Agatha said, a little too quickly.
Jen smirked. “Oh really? Because whatever this act is, it’s so convincing.”
Agatha refused to take the bait. Instead, she dumped her coffee in the sink and marched toward the bathroom. She needed a shower – needed to rinse off the hangover, the thoughts, the damn overthinking. Wash Rio right out of her head.
Monday arrived too soon, and with it came a last-minute decree from her boss: she was being shipped off to Seattle for a week-long legal conference. Why? Because her pea-brained boss decided that sipping piña coladas in Tahiti was a far better use of his time than sitting through mind-numbing legal panels in a city that rarely saw the sun. And who better to take his place than his ever-reliable legal assistant, Agatha?
He even had the nerve to joke that maybe the conference would push her to finally go to law school – because apparently, she was “too good” to just be a legal assistant. For once, Agatha agreed. Hell yeah, she was.
Well, getting shipped off to Seattle wouldn’t have been a total nightmare. If anything, it was a decent way to escape the mental chaos that had been setting up camp in her head all week.
A fully paid flight, a fancy hotel she didn’t have to book, unlimited overpriced coffee that tasted better when free, and meals she didn’t have to cook – honestly, there were far worse ways to spend a week.
But whatever small relief she’d felt evaporated the moment she stepped onto the plane and saw her. Rio. Already settled in, right next to her assigned seat. On this six-hour flight.
Neither of them had obviously expected to see each other again, let alone be stuck shoulder to shoulder for the next six hours. Almost in perfect sync, they flagged down a flight attendant, desperate for a seat swap, only to be met with the dreaded response: Sorry, the flight is full.
Fortunately, an older man nearby overheard and happily volunteered to sit between them, grinning as he joked, “Well, I’d never pass up the chance to sit between two lovely ladies.”
Agatha groaned at the thought of spending the entire flight squeezed next to the old man, but her options were limited: him or six hours of calculated suffocation. With a resigned sigh, she decided she’d take her chances with unsolicited grandpa stories over the far more dangerous possibility of fleeting eye contact with Rio…or the accidental, catastrophic brush of skin.
Luckily for Agatha, she survived the six-hour flight. Barely. A well-timed nod here, a polite hum there, and she managed to sidestep most of the old man’s attempts at conversation. Not that it mattered much.
He quickly found a far more eager conversationalist in Rio, launching into a heartfelt ramble about his late wife’s love for plants and flowers. That, apparently, was all it took for the two of them to spiral into a four-hour discussion about botany, leaving Agatha to stare out the window and pretend she wasn’t listening.
Except she was listening.
That’s how she learned Rio was in Seattle for a research trip, covering for a coworker who had fallen sick. And somewhere between soil acidity and rare lilies, Agatha also picked up pieces of Rio’s life now: how she’d finally paid off her student debt, how she’d spent another year driving for Uber while stubbornly applying for jobs in the Bronx, how landing a position at Kew Gardens had taken her nearly two years. It was a three-year contract to start, but still, the dream job she’d been chasing since forever.
Agatha didn’t turn her head, didn’t react. But somewhere between the old man’s rambling and Rio’s laughter, she found herself remembering things she had no business remembering – like the way Rio’s eyes had lit up that night when she first told Agatha what she’d always wanted to do. And how, despite everything, some things about her hadn’t changed at all.
It was all very cute. Rio bonding with the old man over plants, the accidental eavesdropping, the little glimpses into Rio’s life. Adorable. Right up until Agatha arrived at her hotel.
Because, as if sharing a flight wasn’t enough of a fucking cosmic joke, the universe apparently wasn’t done fucking with her. Not only was Rio staying at the same fucking hotel, but their fucking rooms were right across the hall from each other.
Agatha was mid-swipe with her key card just as Rio was pulling her door shut. Their eyes met, the realization hitting them both like a bad joke, and in perfect, exasperated unison, they muttered, “You've got to be fucking kidding me.”
The first three days of the conference were painfully dull. Endless legal jargon, panel after panel of lawyers spewing nonsense like they hadn’t read a single case in their lives. But Agatha wasn’t there to judge (okay, maybe a little). She was there for the real perks: good food, fancy coffee, and, once the sun set, an impressive selection of booze.
In those three days, she and Rio had only crossed paths once.
Agatha had already stepped into the elevator when Rio showed up, ready to get in until their eyes met. There was a split second of hesitation before Rio casually nope’d right out of there, turning on her heel and taking the stairs instead.
Agatha smirked as the doors slid shut. Touché. She would’ve done the exact same thing.
Agatha figured this was how the rest of the week would go. Both of them pretending the other didn’t exist. That was her plan, anyway.
Until she ended up at the hotel bar one night, only to spot Rio tucked away in a booth. She was with a few people, maybe some of her botanist friends, maybe total strangers. It didn’t matter.
What mattered was how comfortable she looked. The way one of them leaned in too close, whispering something in her ear. The way Rio didn’t even try to pull away. The way it made something unpleasant twist in Agatha’s stomach.
So, naturally, she ordered tequila. Then another. Then another.
Somewhere between shots five and six, Agatha found someone attractive enough, willing enough, and most importantly, not Rio enough. She dragged the woman upstairs, lips crashing together in the hallway outside her room. It should’ve been easy. But mid-kiss, something in her just snapped. Because the only thing running through her mind at that time was Rio.
Agatha went rigid, and the woman pulled back slightly, breathless. Her lipstick smudged and her auburn hair a wild mess. "What's wrong? Did we get off on the wrong floor?"
Agatha swallowed hard, shaking her head like that might somehow fix whatever was happening to her. “No, I just…” She trailed off, because what the hell was she even supposed to say? Sorry, I can’t fuck you right now without thinking about someone else?
The woman huffed, her confusion giving way to irritation.
“Look, if you’re not into this, just say so.”
Agatha exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah. I’m…” She sighed, her shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t even know who she was apologizing to.
“Unbelievable,” the woman scoffed, stepping back with a glare. “You could’ve figured that out before dragging me up here. What a fucking waste of time.”
Agatha barely managed another apology before the woman spun on her heel and stormed off – right as Rio rounded the corner.
Her blonde hair was a mess, her cheeks were flushed, and there was a telltale wobble in her step. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then Rio (clearly way drunker than Agatha and way too amused) smirked.
“Still on that ‘better cut and run’ agenda, I see. Poor girl,” she murmured, clicking her tongue in mock disapproval as she stepped closer. Close enough for Agatha to catch the faintest trace of whatever she’d been drinking. “You always did have a habit of leaving before things got good.”
Agatha didn’t respond right away.
Rio squinted at her, swaying a little before letting out a hiccup. “You know, people like you should come with a warning label,” she slurred. “Like the ones we slap on fertilizers at work.”
Agatha raised an eyebrow. She should be offended that Rio was spewing nonsense at her like she was the one in the wrong. But something about the way Rio stood there, drunk off her ass, too far gone to filter a single thought, made Agatha hold back from arguing.
Rio nodded to herself, mumbling, “Yeah…you should come with a label. ‘Do not approach. Highly toxic to humans. Prolonged exposure is strongly discouraged.’ Or something like that.”
“Rio,” Agatha sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You're drunk. Go to bed.”
Rio, stubborn as she was, just stood there, squinting at Agatha like she’d said something ridiculous. But after a few seconds, she finally turned, mumbling to herself as she wobbled toward her own room.
She almost made it. Almost.
Right before she reached the door, her foot caught on nothing, and she tipped forward. Agatha quickly reacted on instinct, catching her before she could faceplant into the carpet.
“Jesus,” Agatha muttered. “Give me your keycard.”
“No.”
“No?” She stared at her. “What do you mean no?”
“I’m done giving things.”
Agatha exhaled sharply.
“Rio, I can’t deal with your shit right now. Just give me the keycard.”
“Well, maybe you don’t deserve it. Or any of my shit.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” Agatha bit her lip, fighting the urge to swear. “Are you serious right now? Just give me the damn keycard.”
“No…” Rio groaned, her head pressing into Agatha’s shoulder. “Actually, I think I’m gonna throw up.”
Agatha tensed. “No, you’re fucking not.”
“Pretty sure I am.”
“Then swallow it down!”
“I don’t think that’s how it works, Agatha.”
Agatha’s stomach dropped. “Rio, don’t you fucking dare…”
But Rio did. Right on her.
For a moment, Agatha just stood there, frozen in pure, unfiltered horror.
Rio wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, looking completely unbothered. “Sorry,” she mumbled. Then, with a lazy drunken smirk, she added, “But you totally deserved that.”
Agatha let out a sharp, disbelieving scoff. “I deserve – you know what? Never mind.” She took a deep, much-needed breath. “Just give me your fucking keycard,” she said again, then after a beat, “And has no one ever taught you how to drink like a functioning adult?”
Rio just blinked at her, looking like she barely processed a single word. Instead of handing over the keycard like a reasonable person, she just swayed in place, still leaning half her weight on Agatha.
“Rio, I’m running out of patience here. Hand over your card.”
Rio hummed, lazily patting the front of her jacket. Then her jeans. Then her jacket again.
Agatha narrowed her eyes. “Do you even know where it is?”
“Mmm…it’s somewhere.”
Agatha sighed, already regretting everything about this night. “For fuck’s sake.” Without thinking too hard about it, she reached around and checked Rio’s back pocket.
The moment Agatha’s fingers grazed the card and, by extension, Rio’s ass, the latter let out an obnoxiously dramatic gasp. “What the fuck, Agatha? Buy me dinner first, at least.”
“Shut up.” Agatha nearly shoved her against the door.
Still smirking, Rio rested her chin on Agatha’s shoulder. “Knew you just couldn’t keep your hands off me,” she murmured. “You’ve been eyeing me all night. Don’t even bother denying it. You know you couldn’t take your eyes off me even if you wanted to.”
Agatha ignored the way her pulse definitely didn’t stutter at that. She yanked the keycard free, shoved it into the scanner, and sighed as the lock clicked open.
“Oh, sweetheart, trust me, you better shut up, or you’re going to surely hate yourself in the morning,” she said, now smirking at Rio’s drunken state. “Alright, get your drunk ass inside before I decide the hallway’s a perfectly fine place for you to sleep.”
Rio huffed dramatically but let Agatha guide her in. She immediately flopped onto the bed, groaning into the pillow. Agatha crossed her arms, eyeing the mess of a woman before her.
“I can't believe I’m doing this,” she grumbled, dragging herself toward the bathroom. Agatha quickly rummaged around for a small towel, dampening it under the tap before returning to the absolute disaster currently sprawled across the bed.
Rio, for her part, looked half-asleep already, eyes barely open as Agatha dabbed at her face. She was too drunk to care, and too out of it to protest. Meanwhile, Agatha’s own shirt was definitely a casualty of the night, but she’d deal with that later.
Rio cracked one eye open and blinked up at her. Then, almost out of nowhere, she murmured, “Have I ever told you your eyes remind me of rainwater? I should’ve told you that that night…when we were dancing in the rain.”
Agatha stopped for half a second, the towel pausing against Rio’s cheek.
But Rio kept staring, and when Agatha didn’t say anything, she added. “Not the murky kind...but the pretty kind. The kind that gathers in little dips on leaves. Kinda nice to look at. Just like you.”
Agatha swallowed, willing herself to stay unbothered.
“You really are drunk,” she said, wringing out the towel.
Rio hummed, eyes slipping shut. “Doesn’t make it less true.”
Agatha sighed, shaking her head as she carefully wiped the last bit of mess from Rio’s face. “Alright, you’re done. Just lie down and don’t die in your sleep.”
Rio gave a lazy salute before letting her eyes slip shut again. Agatha lingered for a moment, just watching her. Then, with a quiet exhale, she grabbed a blanket and gently draped it over her.
As she turned to leave, Rio mumbled something, barely loud enough to catch.
“What?” Agatha hesitated. “Do you need anything else?”
Rio just shifted slightly, eyes still closed.
“Didn’t really wanna take the stairs that day.”
Agatha stood there, her heart doing something stupid.
But Rio was already asleep.