Gabbie took her hand, the touch warm and real. Together, they walked out the back door into the cold, clean air of the early morning. The neon sign buzzed once, twice, then flickered out for good.
The Aster was a dying thing. Its marquee, once a blazing jewel of neon pink, now flickered like a weak heart. For ten years, Gabbie Carter had danced on its sticky stage, her platinum ponytail a comet trail under the dim lights. And for ten years, Lena Paul had counted the money in the back office, her sharp green eyes missing nothing. gabbie carter, lena paul
Gabbie’s throat tightened. "What happens to us now? We're not... we're not just coworkers anymore. We're not anything." Gabbie took her hand, the touch warm and real
Tonight, the club was closing forever.
Gabbie looked around The Aster—the broken mirrors, the faded velvet, the ghosts of a thousand lonely nights. "I won't miss it," she said. The Aster was a dying thing
"Like a beginning," Lena whispered. And then she kissed her.