After All Sneak Peek
Chapter 1: Maggie
The mirror was crooked again.
Maggie stepped back, tilted her head, then stepped forward and nudged the brass frame slightly to the left. The sunlight from the front windows caught the beveled edge and flared across the dusty floor of Found & Chosen, turning the whole room momentarily golden.
The shop looked like a curated dreamscape — part vintage showroom, part botanical lounge, part cabinet of curiosities. It smelled like old books and new soil, and looked like a flea market had made out with a greenhouse and then gone to therapy. On any given day, customers could find a Depression-era butter dish beside a hand-painted tarot deck, or a Victorian fainting couch draped with a handwoven blanket. Some customers came for the fiddle-leaf figs, some came for the feeling, as though maybe, just maybe, they were about to stumble across exactly the thing they didn’t know they needed.
Old apothecary cabinets lined one wall, filled with antique postcards, brass keys, and ceramic thimbles. Cascading pothos and sleepy monstera plants softened the hard lines of mid-century credenzas and art deco bar carts. The scent of lemon balm and cedar hung in the air, thanks to the incense Colette insisted on burning near the register.
“Just admit defeat,” Colette called from the counter, where she was reorganizing a display of hand-thrown mugs glazed in smoky lavender. “That mirror hates you.”
Maggie stuck out her tongue. “Or maybe it’s just cursed.”
Colette raised a brow over her tortoiseshell glasses. She had the kind of effortless cool Maggie had always admired — messy bun, oversized cardigan even in the late Texas summer, dark jeans rolled at the ankle, and red lipstick that somehow never smudged. “Do you think that makes it more or less valuable?”
“Definitely more, are you kidding?” Maggie pushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and crossed back toward the display table, adjusting a linen runner that had bunched. Her reflection in the shop’s curved windows caught her off guard — she looked so tired. Even her twelve-step skin care routine had lost its magic, apparently. Maybe she should start googling whatever Lindsay had done to her face.
The shop was quiet this Thursday morning, just the hum of the ceiling fans and the occasional creak from the wood-plank floors. Outside, the street traffic was sparse. A couple wandered past, hand in hand.
“Anything good come in from the estate haul?” she asked, folding a stack of vintage tea towels.
Colette perked up. “Couple of hideous lamp bases, a box of untouched wedding china, and one very eccentric swan-shaped dish that I think would be a perfect tampon holder for the bathroom.”
Maggie blinked. “A what?”
“You heard me. It’s porcelain. Very detailed. I’m naming it Tamp-swan.”
“That’s horrifying.” Maggie shook her head. “Swans are so pretentious.”
“Pretentious? They’re just so pretty.”
“Yeah, and they know it,” Maggie insisted. “The worst of the waterfowl by far.”
Colette shrugged. “It’s going in the bathroom next to the flamingo soap dish. Don’t fight me.”
Maggie gave a reluctant laugh. “There’s a ‘Don’t Flock in the Bathroom’ cross-stitch pattern in our future. My friend Danica could whip it up on her next night shift, if we need.”
Colette grinned, then her expression turned thoughtful as she continued to watch Maggie.
A customer walked in, and Maggie quickly turned away, grateful for any excuse to get away from the open invitation in her friend’s face.
Maggie shook her head, immediately knowing what that look meant. Colette was her best friend in Austin, and Maggie had begged to help at Found & Chosen when Rosie started preschool last spring. She’d been “volunteering” in her friend’s shop ever since, just to get out of the house and feel like she had a purpose again.
It had been about six months since she and Gwen said the word out loud: separated. Not in court. Not even officially. When Gwen was home, she slept in the guest room. The kids accepted it like they accepted all the small weirdnesses of adulthood — with questions that trailed off when the answers got vague. Mommy has her own room now. That was enough for them.
Gwen wasn’t home often anymore. Her travel schedule for work had instantly filled up, and Maggie felt a mixture of disappointment and relief whenever she checked their shared calendar and saw another trip booked. Their lives still ran in tandem, like parallel train tracks — close, but not touching.
Now it was late August, and school was back. Jude and Arlo, her seven-year-old twins, had started second grade, while Rosie — five, stubborn, and firmly anti-pants — marched off to kindergarten. Maggie had never been more grateful for the excuse to get out of the house for weird morning hours at the shop. She had purpose again, and that felt good.
And as for Colette being her only friend who knew about the separation… well, most of the time it was fine, but sometimes Colette started giving her those looks. The “I’m here if you need to talk because you’re clearly miserable” looks.
Those looks were part of why she told herself she hadn’t told her best friends from college yet.
Between Gwen’s endless work trips and Maggie’s well-timed excuses — bad Wi-Fi, late school pickups, feigned exhaustion — the truth had stayed neatly off-camera. The group was too busy with spreadsheets and engagement rings to notice.
She didn’t want to ruin the dynamics. Didn’t want to draw attention. Didn’t want Danica and Pete’s swiftly approaching bachelorette trip and upcoming nuptials to turn into a pity party.
But really?
Saying it out loud made it real.
She still loved Gwen.
And that was the hardest part.
She loved Gwen’s crooked smile and the way her short curls always stuck up at weird angles in the morning. She loved her deep voice and quiet humor, the way she built Lego castles with the boys and let Rosie brush her hair for twenty minutes at night while humming the song from the Rapunzel movie without complaint.
But she also remembered… everything else. The silent way Gwen had dealt with the grief of terminating their pregnancy, then Maggie’s mom. Gwen hadn’t been there. She’d poured herself into work. Came home late. Said, “What do you need from me?” and probably meant it, but didn’t just take action.
The grief hadn’t broken Maggie. Loneliness had.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Kiera.
Kiera: Vegas itinerary incoming 💃 Hope you’re ready for tequila shots and strippers.
Maggie: Hell yes. I’ve been wanting to see these “pole fitness” moves for a while now.
Kiera: I am not the stripper.
Maggie: I’m changing my RSVP to no, then.
Kiera: I’m telling Gwen you’re harassing me.
A wave of guilt washed over Maggie, and she locked her phone.
Colette was watching her again.
“Oh, I made a note of it on the whiteboard calendar, but I wanted to just remind you I’ll be in Vegas for my friends’ bachelorette the weekend after next,” Maggie said.
“Yeah, I remember. The friends who don’t know about…” Colette gestured vaguely.
“Yeah.”
“I’m assuming Gwen’s not coming to that?” Colette asked.
Maggie smirked. “Gwen hasn’t come on a trip yet. I think she’s technically out of town that weekend, so I’ve already set her mom up for childcare. She’s not invited or anything.”
“It’s weird that you go on trips with two couples and you don’t get to bring your partner,” Colette said.
Maggie shrugged. “Gwen didn’t go to college with us. I feel like it would be weirder if she came.”
Colette quirked a brow but said nothing.
Maggie hadn’t told Kiera and Danica. Or Izzy. Or Pete. Not because she wanted to lie.
Only because she didn’t know how to explain what it meant to still love someone who hadn’t been there when it counted. Someone who was now just… not present. Like a shadow on the wall. Familiar, but faded.
Colette rounded the counter and leaned against it. “You should tell them.”
“Believe me, it wouldn’t be the weirdest secret someone has kept in our group,” Maggie said with a forced grin. “Besides, who wants the sad divorced lady at their bachelorette party? Isn’t that all about—”
“Being single and celebrating it?” Colette said. “Which is why a joint bachelorette party is so weird to me.”
“God, you are so straight sometimes,” Maggie said, shaking her head.
Colette laughed and gave her a strange look, but again, didn’t say anything.
She spent the next few hours rearranging displays, swapping out a set of ochre throw pillows a customer had ordered online and staging a new “eccentric kitchen essentials” shelf featuring a charcuterie board in the shape of a middle finger.
After, she slipped out the back door and into the hot afternoon air, letting it press against her like a warm wall. Her car was waiting in the small lot behind the shop, already baking. She climbed in, started the engine, and turned the AC on full blast. Then she hit the call button. Colette was right. She had to just be honest with her friends.
“Well, hello,” came Kiera’s cheerful answer. “I know what you’re going to ask, and yes, the penis straws have already been ordered.”
“Perfect. I’d expect nothing less.” Maggie smiled but didn’t respond right away. Her eyes were on the traffic, but her thoughts were somewhere else entirely.
“You okay?” Kiera asked, softer now.
“Yeah,” Maggie said, too fast. “Excited for a weekend of debauchery, obviously.” The trip was coming up quick — just over a week and a half away.
“Uh-huh.” Kiera didn’t push, but Maggie could practically hear her raised eyebrow through the phone.
This was it. This was the moment she could tell Kiera. Her mouth went dry, and she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “Sorry, I’ve been swamped with the shop,” Maggie added.
“How can you be swamped with a volunteer job in a shop you don’t own?” Kiera asked with a laugh.
“I have never half-assed anything,” Maggie said.
“Nope. Full-ass Maggie.”
“Coincidentally, that was also my nickname in high school.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Kiera said.
Maggie swallowed again. Her courage was fading fast. “Anyway, I’ll be there for the trip. Just let me know what you need.”
“Expect chaos. Possibly matching jumpsuits.”
Maggie winced. “If I end up on TikTok, I’m suing.”
“No promises,” Kiera said. “Wanna FaceTime later tonight and go over the last of the details?”
“Sure. I miss your gorgeous smile,” Maggie said. Maybe she’d be braver tonight. Maybe she’d have a glass of wine and practice what she was going to say in the mirror.
“Sure. Izzy would love that, too. Maybe we can nail down the last of the details. I have a spreadsheet that could rival Danica’s.”
“Feel free to keep that to yourself,” Maggie said. “Okay, talk later?”
“Love you, Mags.”
Maggie hesitated, then said, “Love you too.”
She hung up and let her hand linger on the phone. Then she turned onto the access road toward the kids’ school and let herself slip comfortably back into mom mode.
Chapter 2: Gwen
The rendering took up most of the wall. Twenty-three acres of glossy, full-color ambition — glass towers, rooftop gardens, sun-drenched promenades where a neighborhood used to be. Gwen studied it from across the room, arms crossed, teeth worrying the inside of her cheek.
Her Denver office was a disaster, and not the creative kind. Drafting tools and take-out containers shared space with a half-finished coffee she didn’t remember ordering. She stepped closer to the wall display, tapping at her tablet, adjusting the angle of a shaded overhang by exactly one degree.
Still wrong.
She zoomed in on the drone overlay beneath the rendering — grainy and real. The neighborhood didn’t look like much from above, but Gwen had taken a liking to it immediately. Trees that didn’t line up, buildings too stubborn to crumble in a pretty way. Kids standing outside the laundromat that smelled like lavender detergent. The taqueria with a mural of a girl with wings and a busted halo. She’d taken a picture and posted it to her Instagram story earlier that day.
Now it was a dotted parcel on a map. A zone to be cleared. A checkbox between her and the title she’d been chasing for five years.
Principal Architect.
A role that meant prestige. Stability. A stake in the future of the firm. She’d done everything right — nailed timelines, delivered elegant solutions, managed teams without stepping on egos. She was known for clean design, quiet precision. Vision.
But vision didn’t always close the deal. Not like the bold ones did. The architects who schmoozed, who pitched big even when they didn’t have the details. The ones who didn’t flinch at compromise if it meant the numbers looked right.
Gwen didn’t schmooze. She didn’t charm her way into contracts or smooth over city council resistance with glad-handing and thin promises. She cared too much. About history. About context. About the story a place told before she ever touched it.
“Jesus, Gwen,” Melinda said from the door. “Blink twice if the rendering’s holding you hostage.”
Gwen startled slightly, spinning around. “Just refining the ingress flow on the south pedestrian axis.”
Melinda raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got ingress coming out your ears.”
Melinda, with her glossy waves and sharp blazers, always looked like she’d stepped out of a style editorial. She had a polished charm, quiet but commanding, and a smile that made people agree with her even before she said anything. As the firm’s Design Director, she was both mentor and gatekeeper, the person whose praise meant something, and whose silence meant more.
“I’m fine,” Gwen said, brushing past her to grab a different stylus from the cup on her desk. She hated when her voice sounded that clipped.
“I know it’s hard to be out of the Austin office for so long, but you skipped lunch again?”
“I wasn’t hungry.” Gwen tapped her pen against the edge of her tablet, adjusting the site flow again, even though it didn’t need it.
“Is it the pitch? Or the politics?” Melinda’s tone softened. “Because if it’s the project, you should say something. No one wants this to wreck you.”
“It’s not wrecking me,” Gwen said, too fast.
Melinda stepped inside now, crossing the office with her usual quiet confidence. She had that uncanny ability to read people like specs — systematically, patiently, until something gave way.
“You’ve been here every morning before seven. I don’t think I’ve seen you take a full lunch break all week. You answered a client email at two a.m.”
“No, I didn’t.” Damn. She thought she’d scheduled that for seven.
Melinda raised her eyebrows. “Gwen.”
Gwen exhaled, looking down at her tablet. “I just want it to be good.”
“It is good. That’s not the issue. The issue is whether you’re going to run yourself absolutely ragged and then be of no use to me,” Melinda said, though her expression carried warmth.
Gwen’s phone buzzed, distracting her. A text popped up from Izzy.
Izzy
Hey, are you in town?! I just saw your IG story.
Gwen nearly flinched.
Another message appeared before she could swipe it away.
Izzy
Come meet us at happy hour this afternoon!
Melinda’s eyebrows rose. “I’m firing you.”
Gwen’s entire body went stock-still. “Wh-what?”
“Just for the afternoon. Go away. Get out of my sight,” Melinda said. “Go to happy hour with your friends.”
“Oh, they’re actually just my wife’s friends,” Gwen said, cheeks heating with relief and embarrassment.
“Go. Or I really will fire you,” Melinda said, pushing Gwen’s phone toward her with perfectly manicured nails. “And I want a picture for proof or I’m putting you on a PIP.”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “You can’t do that. That’s a workplace lawsuit waiting to happen.”
Melinda quirked an eyebrow. “I can, and I will.”
And judging by Melinda’s tone, Gwen didn’t want to push further.
Gwen pulled up to the brewery wearing the wrong outfit — tailored trousers, a button-up, and the wrong shoes for gravel. The late-afternoon sun was still warm despite the crispness in the air. Denver in late summer: blue skies, brown grass, and a patio full of people sweating in flannel while pretending to enjoy IPAs.
She spotted them immediately at a long picnic table under a yellow umbrella. Izzy waved, already halfway through a pint, her laptop still open next to Pete’s. Kiera sipped something in a plastic cup and looked pleasantly exhausted, hair pulled into a loose bun and a lanyard still around her neck. Danica arrived just after Gwen, still in scrubs, pulling her hospital badge off her top.
The group seemed already mid-conversation, laptops pushed aside for now. Gwen gave a nervous wave.
“Look what the wind blew in,” Izzy said, standing to give Gwen a one-armed hug. “You clean up nice.”
“I came from work.”
“What a nice surprise,” Kiera said, next in line for a hug.
Izzy smirked. “Your aura is very ‘competent lesbian in charge of zoning laws.’”
“Close enough,” Gwen said, sitting down at the end of the bench. Her back tensed automatically — these weren’t really her people. They were Maggie’s.
Danica leaned in to give her shoulder a squeeze. “I’m so happy we stalked you victoriously.”
“Want a beer?” Pete asked, standing from the table.
“I’ll take anything normal,” Gwen said with a tight smile.
“Define normal,” Danica said.
“Nothing sour, pink, or bitter.”
“Wise words to live by,” Izzy joked, nodding. “Grab her the honey wheat.”
“Sounds perfect,” Gwen confirmed.
“Wait, wait, you can’t leave us hanging. What was the culprit of the weird smell in your car?” Izzy asked, turning back to Pete.
“A fermented juice box,” Pete said with a frown. “I think it must have been Quinn’s.”
Gwen cringed. “One time I found Rosie’s bottle of milk under the front seat way too late. I swear it was sentient and begging for death.”
Kiera shook her head. “That is a smell that really stays with you.”
Pete and Danica took everyone’s beer orders and went inside.
Kiera leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Okay. We need to talk bachelorette plans.”
Izzy groaned. “Can we not do this sober?”
“You’re on your second beer,” Kiera pointed out.
“Exactly.”
Gwen shrugged, feeling instantly awkward. Maggie had mentioned the trip, but Gwen knew Maggie had been keeping their separation quiet from the group while Pete and Danica were wedding planning.
“I’m sure you’ll all find increasingly hilarious ways to torture Pete and Danica,” Gwen said with a forced smile. She just had to make it through one beer and then she could leave. She wondered how long was a polite amount of time before she could ask the group for a selfie to send to Melinda.
Izzy tilted her head. “Why do you say that like you’re not coming?”
Gwen blinked. She opened her mouth, then closed it, not sure what to say.
“We explicitly told Maggie you were coming this time,” Kiera said, her tone sliding into her authoritative teacher voice.
Gwen’s pulse lurched, adrenaline spiking like she’d missed a step on a staircase. She kept her face carefully blank, but her fingers curled around the edge of the bench. Heat bloomed behind her ears, spreading down her neck in a slow flush. She stared at the condensation on Izzy’s glass, weighing her options. Lie? Deflect? Laugh it off? The silence stretched a beat too long. The hum of the patio and the clink of glasses grew unbearably loud.
“I’m so sorry, not this time. Someone’s got to wrangle the Terror Trio at home,” she finally said, shrugging.
Izzy’s eyebrows knit as she studied Gwen’s face.
“Maggie mentioned your mom was watching the kids?” Kiera asked. “Do you want me to call her?”
Gwen’s panic flickered visibly before Kiera smiled sweetly.
“I’m kidding,” Kiera said. “Mostly. But really, I will call her.”
“Who are we calling?” Danica asked, sitting back down beside Kiera. Pete took the seat next to Gwen, passing her a very normal-looking beer.
“Gwen can’t come to the bach party,” Kiera said.
Four sets of eyes locked on Gwen. Especially Izzy’s — sharp, unblinking. Gwen had always avoided being on the receiving end of that stare. Now she felt sweat prickle at her hairline. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “Kids, you know?”
Izzy gasped. “No, no. You have to come. You’re half the reason we even believe in love.”
Danica added, “Seriously, we’ll figure out childcare. Or bring them, I don’t care. I’ll make a spreadsheet. Please say yes.”
Pete leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Gwen. Come on. You’re the most stable person we know. This party needs grounding energy.”
Gwen hesitated, heart thudding. They didn’t know. About the separation. About Maggie.
And Maggie didn’t know she was at this happy hour.
Pete cleared her throat. “I think we’d better get the boss on the case,” she said, already pulling out her phone.
Gwen panicked. “Wait, who is—”
An old picture of a silly, nineteen-year-old Maggie popped up on the screen, eyeliner smudged and wrapped in a blanket scarf. It must have been a college photo. Gwen’s chest squeezed at the image, at the memory of what Maggie had been like at twenty-three, when they’d met in grad school. So vibrant, like the sun glowed directly out of her skin.
When Maggie answered the video call, her expression was distracted, like she’d picked up without checking who was calling. Her eyes flicked over the screen and landed on Gwen — then widened slightly.
She looked completely different. Pale, drained, tired. Still stunning, just different now. Her lips parted in surprise. Gwen wasn’t supposed to be here. Not like this.
“Maggie,” Pete crowed. “Guess who just agreed to come to Vegas?”
Maggie blinked. “I — what?”
“I did not say that,” Gwen said, holding up her hands like she was under siege.
“She’s in,” Kiera said triumphantly.
“Oh. Great,” Maggie said, her voice catching before she smiled too quickly. “That’s great.”
Gwen’s cheeks burned. “Guys. No. I have to watch—”
“Maggie, who’s watching the kids while you’re both in Vegas with us?” Danica asked the phone screen, shooting a mischievous grin toward Gwen.
Izzy’s gaze never wavered. Gwen resisted the urge to kick her under the table.
“Uh, I don’t know. Gwen, your… mom, I assume?” Maggie asked, and Pete turned the screen toward Gwen in time for her to see Maggie take a massive gulp of wine.
Gwen’s eyes widened in a desperate plea for understanding, but Maggie kept a forced smile. “I want it on the record that this was not—”
Pete whipped the phone back toward herself. “I’m so excited to have both of you at our bachelorette party. It really means so much to have you there, given you’re our favorite married couple and we really look up to your relationship.”
Maggie stuttered, and Gwen glared down into her drink. Pete was laying it on thick, and Gwen’s cheeks burned with frustration and shame.
Maggie made a quick excuse to end the call, and as soon as Pete hit the red button, she and Danica high-fived.
“You’re coming,” Pete announced triumphantly. “Confirmed!”
“I knew we’d figure out a way,” Danica said, practically bouncing. “We need a room with a hot tub.”
“We need three rooms in the suite. And matching silk robes. And Gwen, you’re doing pole dancing lessons with us. Nonnegotiable,” Kiera added.
“Gwen, what’s your karaoke song?” Danica asked.
“Y’all,” Gwen said weakly, trying to interrupt the tidal wave of enthusiasm. “I still haven’t said yes.”
“You didn’t say no,” Izzy replied, voice sharp with amusement.
Gwen’s mouth opened and closed. She glanced down at her drink like the beer might offer an escape hatch. All of them were smiling. All of them wanted her there.
She didn’t know if she wanted to go. She didn’t know if she could.
But watching their joy — seeing Maggie’s tired face on the video screen, listening to the way they already counted her in the plans — something cracked open in her chest.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll try to figure out things with my mom, but I make absolutely no promises.”
There was still a way to backtrack, to change her mind quietly before flights were booked and deposits locked in. She hadn’t actually committed. Not really. She could still find an excuse, she told herself. Something believable. Something that wouldn’t make Maggie hate her.
But even as she thought it, she knew the damage had already been done.