Someone was trying to take her sign, and Paige was not having any of that. She’d worked hard on it, had been carrying it for hours, and hell if someone else was going to take credit for it and go viral. Absolutely not.

She snatched it away from the roaming hand, tempted to beat whomever it was, but when she wheeled around, wielding her sign like a cudgel, she came face-to-face with none other than Carter Cox.

“What are you doing here?”

Carter blanched and stuttered, and even in her righteous rage, Paige felt some sympathy for the guy. Carter was, among other things, shy. Based on his body language, she assumed he didn’t particularly care for crowds, and yet here he was and she was yelling at him. Not just to be heard either. And not only was he here, but—

“What the fuck is on your head?”

At that, he seemed to lose a bit of the rigidness in his stance. “My brother’s girlfriend made it for me last night. Do you like it? She said she’s made like thirty of them since November.”

Paige did, in fact, like it. Liked it very much. Pale pink, and made of yarn that looked ridiculously soft, she wanted to reach out and touch it, maybe scratch Carter between the ears on his pussy hat, but she still wanted answers. Donning an adorable hat was not going to get her to forgive him, although he did look awfully damn cute in it.

“Can I hold your sign while we talk?” he asked. “Your arms are shaking. I promise I’ll be careful with it.”

Oh. Well.

She handed over her sign gingerly, having to admit that yes, she was trembling rather violently at this point, and she took the opportunity to shake out her hand, chafe her shoulders until the blood started flowing properly. It felt as though her hands would never be normal again though—like maybe they’d be permanently wound into this claw shape.

Carter hefted the sign onto his own shoulder, and she could feel the small muscles in her forehead draw in tight, because this was confusing. Carter Joshua Cox, the poster boy for the Republican party, was wearing a pussy hat and marching. Like actually marching, while carrying a sign she’d made. If anyone from his office saw him, he’d probably take a lot of shit, but maybe also get fired. At least a note in his permanent record that he should be watched carefully because he was a traitor to the cause.

They let themselves be carried along in the crowd, and she couldn’t help darting glances at him. For his part, Carter seemed content. Part of her wanted to just enjoy it. Link an arm through his and pretend that they’d planned to do this as a fun yet socially responsible weekend activity. As you do.

But she couldn’t. Still, she turned her face up to the sunshine and wiggled her fingers by her sides before she had to take her sign back and march without Carter by her side. The gulf between them was uncrossable, the philosophical differences insurmountable.

She couldn’t stand to prolong the agony of imagining a future together any longer, so she broke the companionable silence. “So what did you want to talk about?”

Paige bit back the self-protective urge to make some biting comment about him wanting to strip her of not just her clothes but of her human rights. He was here, and even if they’d be star-crossed in political hostility, that didn’t mean she should be cruel.

He looked at her and blinked in his owlish way. That urge to pet him between his pink perky ears was back, and she had to shove her hands in her pockets to keep from reaching out to feel the chenille beneath her fingertips.

“I, um, wanted to tell you that I fucked up. Like, super bad.” He shook his head, and blew a breath out of those lips that should be kiss-swollen all the time. Either that, or wet with her arousal. Fucking Carter Cox and his principles. “Eric Donaldson, the guy from the gym, is a terrible person who I disagree with about most things. I should’ve stood up for you, and I should’ve stood up for myself and the things I believe in. I can’t always make the words come out right and on time but I’ll try. And I’m not saying I’ll never vote for a Republican again, because at some point they’ll have to stop being giant and hypocritical turdblossoms, but until that day, I can’t, in good conscience support them.”

He bit his lip and looked thoughtful, and it made her soften. She liked that about him. That he wasn’t rash, that he did in fact stick to his principles.

“It’s not right, what they’re doing, and what they’re trying to do, to women, to queer people, to people of color, to religious minorities. I’m pro-choice because what the hell right do I have to control anyone’s body but my own? I believe in being fiscally conservative, but socially I’m more of a libertarian. If you’re not hurting anyone? We’re cool.”

It certainly wasn’t what Paige believed, but that set of values was at least more palatable than toeing the party line, and she appreciated him apologizing for not saying anything to the dickwad at the gym.

“The thing is…” Carter juggled the sign so he could hold it with one hand, and scratch his temple with the other. “While I’d be content with that kind of attitude, that’s not what’s happening. This administration and the whole fucking party are trying to take rights away from people, discriminating against them, making their lives harder in ways that are entirely unfair. And to be honest, those policies feel like some real bullshit. I don’t want to stand there and be a part of that, be complicit. So while I’m not going to quit my job, I am going to write papers and call my reps, and show up to protests because I don’t agree with it.”

Carter dared a glance in Paige’s direction, and she couldn’t help the corners of her mouth turning down. Not because she was about to cry, but because she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. Could he have made a more perfect apology? It was exactly what she needed to hear and she wanted him to know.

“I get that it can be hard to find the words and do the right thing in the moment. It wasn’t fair of me to put so much weight on those few sentences, and I know it’s not easy to always do the right thing. I’m not perfect about that either, but I’m working on it. And I…I don’t want you to give up your job, and I don’t want you to abandon all of your beliefs. I like that you’re political, and as much as I hate some of them, your positions on things aren’t always wrong.”

God it killed her to say that, but if they were baring their souls—and it appeared that they were, during this march of all things—the least she could do was tell him the truth. “One of the reasons it hurt me so badly that you voted the way you did and you do the work you do is that you’re an intelligent and reasonable person, and I like you. I can ignore the morons and don’t get so bothered by people who come across as misogynistic, racist, homophobic, xenophobic buffoons. But you… I just really needed to hear that. That you were sorry for not speaking up and that you want to be better. I needed to hear you say that you respect me, and agree with me on some really basic shit.”

Her heart swelled as he nodded. “I do. And I’m sorry I got so defensive last week that I couldn’t swallow my pride and actually listen to you. I would’ve agreed then, if I’d really listened, but I didn’t. So I’m sorry that I put us both through this. I would get it if you didn’t think this could work, because usually people want to be with someone like them, who they won’t argue with every night over the dinner table, but I just didn’t want this to be over for the wrong reasons. I really like you, Paige. You’re smart, and confident, and capable, and god, I’ve never been with someone who’s so frigging amazing in bed. Who could give me something I never knew I wanted and do it in a way that was both gentle but forceful, and…”

Lord did she love the way a wash of pink spilled from the crest of his cheek bones all the way down to where his collar was unbuttoned. He seemed to get lost and then choke on the memories. “Sorry, I, uh, got distracted.”

He smiled, and she smiled back to let him know he’d distracted her too. Yeah, she’d liked being his lover, liked how they’d fit together in sensual bits and pieces, and it made her think about how she’d like to orchestrate their future encounters.

“Anyway, I’d like to date you. Take you out. Be your boyfriend, if you’ll let me. If you won’t lose your feminist cred.” A nervous half-smile and a rounding of his eyes that were exactly the color of pecans told her he was teasing. She liked it, a lot. Made her feel warm and content at the same time she wanted to devour him.

“I won’t, if you tell my friends what you just told me. And fucking mean it. They’re up for good old fashioned arguments. In fact, you’ll probably be very popular since you’re not just another voice in the echo chamber.”

“Really?” The hope on his face was almost as adorable as the pink pussy hat.

“Yeah, really.”

“Cool.” He looked kind of dazed.

Paige couldn’t help it any more. She wanted him, and was tired of fighting it, especially since there was no good reason to anymore. So right there, in the middle of the march, she grabbed him, bunching the cotton of his shirtsleeves between her fingers, and spinning him until they were face to face, the signpost jabbing awkwardly between them, but neither of them moved to put it down. Instead, they tipped their heads so their mouths could meet around it, and they kissed. And kissed, tongues tangling, and bodies pressing together until the catcalls around them got to be too much.

Paige forced herself to back off and straightened her pussy hat from its skewed position on her head, and put Carter’s back to rights too before she took up his hand and tugged him back into the stream of people walking along, demanding things they both believed in. Life, liberty, the right to love and worship the way they would.