It started with a look. Not the accidental kind, but something deliberate — held just a second too long. Emma noticed it first, the way Rachel glanced at Ben over the rim of her wine glass. Not flirty, not exactly. But aware. Curious.
They had all joked about it before, late at night when laughter came easy and secrets hovered closer to the surface. But this weekend, tucked away in the quiet of a shared lake house, the energy had shifted. Unspoken boundaries seemed to soften like the warm evening light through the windows.
No one planned it. No lines were drawn. Just little moments — a hand brushing a shoulder, the way Daniel’s fingers lingered a beat too long when handing Emma her glass, the way Ben watched from the corner of the room, not with jealousy, but interest. Permission.
Later, after the fire had burned low and the music had gone soft, they moved almost naturally — couples dissolving into something more fluid. A shared touch, a whispered breath, the warm pressure of unfamiliar hands.
There was no rush. Only exploration. Mutual, careful, charged.
In the morning, no one hurried to dress. Coffee was passed around with sleepy smiles, Rachel in one of Ben’s shirts, Daniel’s hand on Emma’s back like it had always belonged there.
Nothing had been broken. If anything, something new had been built — something quiet and deliciously private, just between the four of them.
A secret they’d carry home like the scent of campfire in their clothes: lingering, subtle, impossible to forget.
