After the time they had spent there so far, San Francisco may have very well become her favorite city on Earth, and Moxie seriously debated putting a deposit down for an apartment.

Her feelings might have been influenced by the serenity of stepping away from all the noise, even if only for a few weeks, but she absorbed it all. Waking up in the heart of the Castro, hopping onto Muni or BART, and letting herself wander into whatever beautiful corner of San Francisco she found herself in for the day was unmatched. She had been to many cities in her short lifetime, but none of them held quite the same charm. San Francisco was gorgeous in that way. Moxie loved sharing it with Cruella on much better terms than before.

In that short amount of time, they established a routine. Domesticity suited those two musicians surprisingly well. By the time the new year rolled around, they weren't sure how they would jump back into their old life. Their careers would have to drag them back to LA kicking and screaming.

"God, I'm going to miss these," Cruella groaned after popping a Chinese egg tart into her mouth. They couldn't count how many she had consumed since arriving back in the city. (Trust that they had tried.) "Are you sure we have to leave?"

"Eventually. Unfortunately."

The rest of the world had faded away and turned their connection into technicolor. A million questions awaited both of them once they stopped hiding, but they postponed those decisions as much as possible. Thankfully, their friends and family understood and helped them out as much as they could.

Cruella licked her thumb and whipped away a smudge of whipped cream from the corner of Moxie's mouth. "Ursula sent a picture of her dress options for the Grammys. She wants your opinion."

"Is that silver dress that looks like fish scales still on the table?"

"Yeah."

"That one."

Cruella nuzzled her shoulder. "Thought so. I already told her we like that one the best."

"Too perfect to pass up."

While Ursula had no shortage of options to choose from, thanks to being a hot commodity as one of the nominees up for multiple awards that night, including Best New Artist, Cruella and Moxie didn't have as much luck. They considered asking Eddie's sister for outfits, but didn't want to impose. Considering how many of their friend group were up for awards, she likely had a full plate dressing most of them.

They had just finished sipping coffee and people watching at Dolores Park. Cruella needed to head back to the apartment to call her publicist—another reminder that their real life waited eagerly for them with open arms. It took more effort than it should have to gather their belongings and start their walk back to their Castro apartment.

Cruella slipped her hand into Moxie's as they started walking. "Thanks again for this."

"For the egg tarts?" Moxie asked. She had picked up a huge box of them the other day so Cruella could have a stash in the fridge.

"No." She laughed. "This trip. I really needed it. I forgot how quiet the world could be."

"I really needed this too."

The closest thing she had to work that month would be when Mick flew up there next week to help him read lines for his audition. She insisted on helping him, even after he stated that he didn't want to risk triggering anything for her by asking. Moxie had called him silly and booked his airfare. He would be up there soon anyway, since he was joining them for Cruella's birthday celebrations.

"You just didn't want to see mine and Axel's Boston apartment," Cruella teased.

"I just know he has a stupid movie poster in the most annoying place ever, and I don't trust myself not to tear it down."

"If it makes you feel any better, he commissioned an art piece for Portrait of a Lady on Fire that looks beautiful. But it's supposed to be a surprise. Don't tell him I told you."

Despite her best efforts, Moxie couldn't even pretend to be mad about that. She sighed and rolled her eyes instead. "I suppose that'll do."

"That'll do, Donkeh."

"Sure."

Cruella tugged on her hand. "You sure you want to go to the show? I don't think anyone will mind if you hang out here. I can be back on the first flight out."

Truthfully, Moxie had considered it. It's not like anyone would have suspected she was going through something. Cruella's name was the one plastered across headlines, even still, not hers. She could get away with it even if she wanted. But the more she considered it, the sillier she felt. San Francisco, as beautiful a city as it was, couldn't save her. Neither could hiding forever, despite how much the idea tempted her. And she knew, deep down, that Patrick wouldn't dare show his face there. Not that quickly, at least.

None of it fooled her. She understood that even her father couldn't make the man disappear forever. They both had friends in high places, and unless Moxie found it in herself to speak out, everything about him would remain hush. After lying low for a while, he would likely slither his way back into the scene, and Moxie would have to deal with being near him again. The worst of men were embraced in any room occupied by another man, no matter their dirtiest of deeds. That was the way the world worked.

"I can't." Moxie sighed wistfully, staring out at her beloved city by the bay. "I want to see everyone up there. Be there for my friends."

"They'd understand," Cruella repeated.

"I know." Moxie kissed the side of her mouth. "I still want to go."

"If you're sure."

She nodded. "I'm sure."

Later that night, Cruella would probably ask a lot of questions to clarify what Moxie would need for attending the Grammys to go smoothly. Clearly, she was concerned. Or acting out of an abundance of caution. Either way, Moxie mentally prepared for whatever that meant.

"I'm gonna grab another coffee really quick," Cruella said once they reached the street near their apartment after a good twenty-minute walk. They stopped by frequently enough to be on a first-name basis with all the baristas and even the owners. "Do you want something? You can head up to the apartment."

Moxie shook her head. "I'm good. Call me if you need anything."

Cruella sent her off with a kiss before disappearing into the coffee shop.

One of Moxie's favorite parts of the apartment they rented for the month was the perfect view, which offered a glimpse of both the city and the comforting energy of the nearby streets. Quiet enough that she could hear herself think, but busy enough that she never felt completely isolated from people. Right beside their building was a courtyard, tucked away like a hidden gem some asshole would inevitably post about online and ruin the vibe forever. Thankfully, that hadn't happened yet. (Moxie recognized she was also a non-San Francisco native taking up space in their city and didn't have much of a ground to stand on, but she didn't advertise herself.) On her way back home, she liked to stop there for a quick break. Existed in the limbo between her "home" life at the apartment and the public-facing life of being outside with the rest of the community. There usually weren't many people there, if any.

Aside from today.

Moxie rounded the corner and stopped short when she noticed the group sitting huddled together in the center of the courtyard. A bunch of women dressed in eclectic but unique styles. A rainbow of hair colors. Animated faces, hands, and voices. They hadn't noticed her halfway entrance, all consumed by their passionate conversation. Moxie didn't typically like to eavesdrop on other people, but she left her headphones upstairs and couldn't help but overhear. Something about setting a stage. Lighting. Lyrics.

She quickly deduced that, whoever they were, they knew each other well. Moxie couldn't guess a number of years, but the real number would probably be more than what she could come up with. And they were young—probably early twenties.

"We're getting ahead of ourselves here," one of them said, bursting above the rest of the chatter. "We can't even get these damn harmonies right."

"That's because Pip is still too damn sick, and it's throwing the rest of us off."

"Oh, sure, blame my sinus infection for your inability to stay on key."

"I told y'all letting her have another double shot of espresso was bad."

"I can't believe I'm missing The Curse of the Black Pearl in Concert because of y'all."

"Wait... why didn't I get a double shot of espresso? I literally asked for it first."

"Gawd, can we just finish this song, please—"

"Is no one else seeing the girl staring at us?"

They all turned.

Moxie turned.

Then turned back around when she realized they were now looking at her.

"Isn't that—"

"Oh. My. Gawd."

The girl who pointed her out popped her gum and laughed. A blonde woman next to her—carrying a pair of drumsticks; wearing a t-shirt that said GIRLS WITH TITS LIKE THIS DON'T NEED TO LISTEN TO BOYS WITH FACES LIKE YOURS—waved her over.

"Hey, babe. You lost?"

After figuring she had time to kill while she waited for her girlfriend, Moxie decided to join them. She wasn't sure what for, given the hailstorm of a conversation she had overheard.

"That's not a babe. That's Moxie King." It took only a second for their eyes to widen. "I didn't mean like that. I mean, you're a babe. I'm not trying to say you're not. I also don't mean to objectify you or anything. I'm... putting my foot in my mouth. I'm sorry."

"All good." Moxie laughed. "Thank you."

"Oh, shit, you are Moxie King," said the blonde. "My bad. I forgot to wear my contacts today."

"Same."

The bouncy ball of red hair with the sinus infection, seemingly named Pip, rushed to her feet. Moxie didn't have time to process before they were shaking hands.

"I'm such a huge fan. Seriously."

"Tha—"

"I know we've never met before, but I just feel like we connect on a very lesbian level. You know."

Moxie nodded. "Absolutely. Go lesbians."

Finger guns. "See? You get me."

"You're gonna chase her out of the bay."

Pip flipped off the woman who first noticed Moxie. Upon closer inspection, she noticed the shiny cherry keychain dangling from the side of her crossbody purse.

"Oh, I'm sure your sunny disposition has already done that."

"Why don't you two bond over your pink carabiners, huh?"

"Don't be jealous because you're the grumpy lesbian around here."

Moxie didn't have the heart to confess that she took up that mantle most days. Unfortunately for her, Cherry Girl did the honors.

Pip swiveled around. "Wait, really?"

"To be fair, it's mostly men who say that about me."

Cherry Girl saluted her. It didn't take a genius to know she faced the same grumpy allegations. Most lesbians did, thanks to men and their fragile egos.

"Are you guys practicing a song?"

They all shared a look. Aside from Cherry Girl and Blonde Girl with Big Tits, their nerves got the better of them. Moxie wondered if she would have been better off not eavesdropping on them. She didn't want to make them uncomfortable.

"Sort of," Pip answered at the same time as Blonde Girl, who said, "Yes."

"Anything interesting?"

"It's not ready for public consumption yet," said one of the others who hadn't spoken up yet. Her long black hair hung in a silky sheet down to right above her hips. Moxie could tell she had a voice like an angel.

"But... you're in public. No?"

The remaining member of the sextet smacked her playfully on the wrist. "Vanilla. Please."

"What? Do you want her listening to us right now?"

Truthfully, Moxie would have if they wanted to sing her something, but she knew they weren't in the right headspace nor prepared for it. But she didn't doubt that they likely had a lot of potential, even without listening to a single note from them. Many times, undiscovered talent found its way to the surface simply because of the intuition of those privileged with the opportunity to let them shine in their own light.

"I didn't mean to intrude—" Moxie started to say.

Cherry Girl looked her over. More intimidating than anticipated. "We're supposed to play our first show in a couple of weeks. Don't mind us."

"Oh? Where at?"

"Respectfully, no." Pip shook her head. "We'll probably be a mess, and it'll only be worse if you show up."

"Respectfully," one of them added.

Moxie shrugged. "Fair enough. But the nerves are the worst part. Once you're up there... it'll come naturally. Promise."

None of them looked entirely convinced, but they certainly wanted to believe her, which was all a group performing for the first time could hope for.

"Here." Moxie dug into her purse for a scrap of paper and a chewed-up pen. She scribbled her phone number on it and held it out before she could talk herself out of it. The Blonde Girl accepted it before Pip could. Probably for reasons that were none of her business. "If you need any advice or someone to talk to, I'll be around here for a couple more weeks."

She didn't know why she felt compelled to offer herself up to this group of strangers. Roxanne would have rightfully told her that handing out her phone number like that wasn't wise. Call it women's intuition. A little bit of recklessness. A good chunk of girlhood. Moxie understood the youthful glint in their eyes, full of wonder, concern, nerves, and excitement for a future of endless possibilities. If Moxie were in their shoes, she would have loved the support from an artist she admired. A blind leap of faith that whatever knowledge she gained over the years could be used for something good. Moxie never considered the challenge (and reward) of directly helping to usher in a new generation of artists. Maybe this group of girls standing in front of her now would become something great.

"That's... so sweet. Thank you."

"No problem."

"Is that—" Pip looked somewhere behind Moxie. Eyes darted back and forth between Moxie and whoever had arrived. Moxie's very own blonde starlet. "Oh my—"

"Gawd," the rest of them mocked with a laugh.