Sasha usually doesn’t go for the young ones.

They’re generally drunk and wear too much lipstick, their giggles like bubbles popping in a fountain soda. But there’s something about this one in particular, the way she smiles, almost like she really means it.

She offers to buy her a drink, and even though Sasha is already tipsy, she lets her because she’s pretty in a warm autumn day sort-of-way.

The woman tells her that her eyes remind her of the ocean, even though they’re brown, and Sasha doesn’t bother questioning her. She’s sure she’d think it was corny if she was sober and wasn’t already kissing her, but something in her gaze convinces her she doesn’t care.

Her light brown hair feels soft between Sasha’s fingers and her smile is oddly familiar, a memory like dust on an old book.

She tastes like she laughs, like honey, and in the morning she leaves her number and last name on a neon post-it. Sasha doesn’t have any in the house, which leads her to believe the other woman carries them around. Weird but strangely endearing.

She glances down at the paper and squints at the name, wondering why Beesly-Halpert sounds familiar.