Chapter 70

The smell of coffee and buttered toast slowly filled the condo, warm and familiar, but it did nothing to ease the tightness sitting in Celeste’s chest.

She stood in the kitchen doorway for a moment before stepping fully inside, watching Rowan move around the stove with practiced ease. Hair pulled back, sleeves rolled up, focused. It should have comforted her. Instead, it reminded her of everything she was trying not to think about.

Rowan glanced over her shoulder. “Morning,” she said softly. “You want coffee or tea?”

“Coffee,” Celeste replied, voice quieter than usual.

Rowan poured her a mug and slid it across the counter. Their fingers brushed briefly. Celeste flinched before she could stop herself.

Rowan noticed.

Simone and Lila shuffled in moments later, both moving like their bones had been rearranged overnight.

“Please tell me there’s food,” Simone groaned, collapsing into a chair.

“There will be,” Rowan said, cracking eggs into a pan. “If you give me five minutes and don’t die first.”

Lila poured herself coffee and leaned back against the counter, eyes scanning the room. “Where’s Naomi?”

The question landed like a dropped plate.

Celeste froze, her hand tightening around the mug. The silence stretched just long enough for everyone to notice.

“She left early,” Celeste said finally.

Rowan paused mid-stir. “Left… like went for a walk, or—”

“Went home,” Celeste said.

Simone straightened. “Already?”

Celeste nodded once.

Lila tilted her head, studying Celeste’s face carefully. “Did she say why?”

Celeste shook her head. “She just needed space.”

Rowan turned the burner down slowly and set the spatula aside. “Space from what?”

Celeste felt the room close in. She kept her eyes on her coffee, watching the steam curl upward like it might carry her thoughts away with it.

“It’s nothing,” she said.

Rowan took a step closer. “Celeste.”

That tone—gentle, but firm—made Celeste tense immediately.

Rowan crossed the small space between them, lowering her voice. “What happened between you two?”

The air went still.

Simone and Lila exchanged a look but didn’t interrupt. This wasn’t their moment.

Celeste swallowed. “Nothing happened.”

Rowan searched her face, eyes sharp now. “That’s not true.”

Celeste’s jaw tightened. “Rowan—”

“Don’t,” Rowan said quietly. “Don’t brush me off like that. You’ve been off since you woke up. Naomi leaving clearly rattled you. And I’m not stupid.”

Celeste finally looked up, eyes guarded. “I said it’s nothing.”

Rowan held her gaze. “You can be honest with me,” she said. “Right now. Say it.”

Celeste’s heart pounded. Naomi’s words echoed in her head. Space. Opportunity. Decision.

“I can’t,” Celeste said softly.

Rowan’s expression shifted—not angry, but hurt. She took another step closer. “Then I’ll call Naomi myself and talk to her.”

Celeste’s head snapped up. “Don’t.”

Rowan blinked. “Why not?”

“Because,” Celeste said, too fast, “it’s not your place.”

Rowan stared at her for a long moment. The kitchen felt too small, the silence too loud.

Finally, Rowan nodded once, a tight, controlled motion. “Okay,” she said evenly. “Suit yourself.”

She turned back to the stove, picked up the spatula again, and flipped the eggs with a little more force than necessary.

“I won’t ask again,” Rowan added, not looking at her. “Food’s ready.”

The normalcy of the statement felt surreal.

Simone cleared her throat softly. “Smells good.”

Lila gave Celeste a sympathetic look but stayed quiet.

They sat down to eat, the clink of forks against plates filling the space where conversation should’ve been. Rowan focused on her food, posture closed off now, while Celeste barely touched hers.

Every bite felt heavy.

Celeste watched Rowan from across the table, guilt gnawing at her chest. She hated keeping secrets. Hated that protecting Naomi meant pushing Rowan away, even temporarily.

When Rowan finally stood to rinse her plate, she didn’t look back.

Rowan didn’t say another word.

She rinsed her plate, set it carefully in the drying rack, and wiped her hands on a towel with deliberate calm. No slammed cabinets. No sharp breaths. Just silence.

Celeste watched her from the table, waiting—hoping—for something. A glance. A question. Anything.

Nothing came.

Rowan walked down the hallway without looking back.

The bathroom door closed softly, but the sound felt final. The shower turned on a moment later, water rushing loud and steady, cutting through the condo like a barrier. Celeste sat frozen, staring at the hallway as if she could see through the walls.

Simone shifted uncomfortably. “She’s… not mad,” she offered, unsure. “She just needs a minute.”

Celeste nodded, though she wasn’t convinced.

The shower ran longer than usual. Too long.

By the time Rowan emerged, her hair was damp and tucked back, skin clean and composed, like she’d washed every trace of the morning off her. She moved with purpose now—dresser drawer opening, clothes pulled on quickly. Jeans. A clean shirt. Jacket.

Still no words.

Celeste stood. “Rowan—”

Rowan didn’t stop. She slipped on her shoes near the door, tying them with efficient movements. When she finally looked up, her expression was neutral, unreadable.

“I’m heading out,” she said calmly.

“Where are you going?” Celeste asked, her voice barely holding.

Rowan shrugged lightly. “I’ve got things to do.”

Simone opened her mouth, then closed it again. Lila watched quietly, eyes flicking between them.

Rowan reached for her keys.

Celeste stepped closer, heart pounding. “You don’t have to leave like this.”

Rowan paused, her hand still on the doorknob. For a second, Celeste thought she might turn around fully, might say something that cracked the wall between them.

Instead, Rowan spoke softly. “I do.”

She opened the door.

Before stepping out, she added—not unkindly, but not gently either—”When you’re ready to be honest, you know where to find me.”

Then she was gone.

The door clicked shut behind her, the sound echoing far louder than it should have.

Rowan didn’t breathe properly until she was inside her car.

The door shut with a solid thunk, sealing off the condo, the half-truths, the way Celeste’s eyes had followed her like she was already gone. Rowan rested her forehead briefly against the steering wheel, fingers curled tight around it, jaw clenched.

She wasn’t angry.

That scared her more.

Anger would’ve been easier. Cleaner. Instead, there was this slow, spreading certainty in her chest—something was being kept from her, and it mattered more than anyone wanted to admit.

She started the car, pulled out of the driveway, and didn’t turn the music on. The silence felt necessary.

At the first red light, she picked up her phone.

She didn’t hesitate long enough to talk herself out of it.

Naomi’s name sat there, unread, like a held breath.

Rowan hit call.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then—

“Hello?”

Naomi’s voice came through clear, a little cautious, a little surprised.

Rowan swallowed. “Hey. It’s Rowan.”

There was a pause on the other end—not long, but heavy. “Hey,” Naomi said again, softer this time. “I wasn’t expecting—”

“We need to talk,” Rowan said, calm but firm. No accusation. No edge. Just truth.

Another beat. Rowan could almost hear Naomi thinking.

“…Okay,” Naomi said finally. “Yeah. We probably do.”

Rowan exhaled slowly, gripping the wheel tighter. “Send me your address. I’ll meet you there.”

Naomi didn’t ask why.

She didn’t deflect.

She just said, “Are you driving right now?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” A small pause, then, “I’ll text it to you.”

The light turned green. Rowan drove.

As soon as the address came through, Rowan tapped it into her GPS. Twenty-three minutes. Close enough to mean something. Far enough that it felt intentional.

She merged onto the road, her thoughts racing now.

She wasn’t going to confront.

She wasn’t going to accuse.

She just needed to hear it—from Naomi. Needed to understand what Celeste couldn’t say out loud.

Rowan’s phone buzzed again.

Naomi: I’m here. Take your time.

Rowan scoffed softly, more breath than laugh. “Too late for that,” she murmured to herself.

She tightened her grip on the wheel and drove straight toward the truth—whatever shape it took.

Rowan pulled up to the curb and sat there for a moment longer than necessary, the engine ticking softly as it cooled. Naomi’s place was quiet, unassuming. No chaos. No signs of the emotional mess Rowan was carrying in her chest.

She cut the engine, stepped out, and walked up to the door.

Knock. Knock.

It opened almost immediately.

Naomi stood there barefoot, wearing an oversized sweatshirt, her hair pulled back loosely like she hadn’t expected company—but also like she had. Her brows knit together the second she saw Rowan.

“Hey,” Naomi said softly. “What’s wrong?”

Rowan didn’t answer right away. Her eyes flicked over Naomi’s face—searching, assessing, taking in the calm that felt almost unfair compared to the storm back at the condo.

She swallowed, then asked quietly, “Do you have a drink?”

Naomi blinked, surprised. Then her expression shifted—understanding, maybe even relief.

“Yeah,” she said, stepping aside and holding the door open wider. “Yeah, I do. Come in.”

Naomi closed the door behind them and flicked on a soft lamp, the room filling with warm, muted light. She gestured toward the couch with an easy familiarity, even though her eyes stayed watchful.

“Sit,” she said gently. “Make yourself at home.”

Rowan dropped onto the couch, leaning back with a long exhale she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She scrubbed a hand over her face, then glanced up as Naomi moved toward the kitchen.

Naomi paused halfway, looking back at her. “Alright. What’re we doing—wine, tequila… or,” she tilted her head slightly, a corner of her mouth lifting, “a shot of tequila with a glass of wine to rinse it down?”

Rowan huffed out a humorless laugh. “That bad, huh?”

Naomi didn’t answer. She just waited.

Rowan thought for half a second, then nodded once. “Shot. And the wine.”

Naomi’s lips curved knowingly. “Yeah. That tracks.”

She poured with practiced ease—no measuring, no fuss. A clean shot glass slid across the counter, followed by a generous pour of red wine into a stemless glass. Naomi carried both over, setting them on the coffee table in front of Rowan like an offering.

“Pace yourself,” Naomi said, softer now. “We’re talking, not spiraling.”

Rowan picked up the shot, met Naomi’s eyes, and muttered, “No promises.”

She knocked it back in one smooth motion, winced briefly, then reached immediately for the wine, taking a long sip.

Naomi sank into the armchair across from her, watching quietly. “Okay,” she said after a beat. “Now tell me what made you drive over here like that.”

Rowan’s fingers tightened around the stemless glass as she stared down into the wine, watching the surface ripple with every small movement of her hand. The room felt quieter than it had a moment ago, like the walls themselves were listening. She didn’t look up when she spoke.

“Can I ask you something… kind of direct?”

Naomi nodded without hesitation, even though her chest had already started to tighten. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Ask.”

Rowan took a breath, slow and deliberate, like she was bracing herself. Then she lifted her eyes. “How do you feel about Celeste?”

Naomi didn’t laugh it off. She didn’t stall. She didn’t soften the truth.

“I love her,” she said, voice steady but low. “Not in a reckless way. Not in a confusing, drunk-at-a-club way.” She swallowed, her gaze drifting for a moment before coming back to Rowan. “I love her in the way where she feels like home and chaos at the same time. Where I want to protect her… and also shake her and tell her to stop running from herself.”

Her fingers curled loosely around her glass. “It scares the hell out of me.”

Rowan exhaled slowly, nodding as if something heavy had just clicked into place. She stared down again, rolling the wine gently in her glass.

“And… did you and her—” She paused, jaw tightening. “Did you sleep together?”

Naomi didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

The word hung between them.

Rowan leaned back into the couch, her head tipping against the cushion as she stared up at the ceiling. She took a long sip of wine, then another, before letting out a quiet laugh that held more disbelief than humor.

“Why is it so easy for you to be honest with me,” she asked, voice rougher now, “and not her?”

Naomi frowned, thinking carefully. “I don’t think it’s about me,” she said after a beat. “I think she’s scared. Scared she’ll lose you. Or disappoint you. Or say the wrong thing and break something she doesn’t know how to fix.” Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “That’s more of a question for Celeste than me.”

Rowan nodded slowly. “I asked her,” she said. “She told me nothing happened. That it was nothing.” Her mouth tightened. “But the look on her face when she told us you needed space? That wasn’t nothing.”

She took another long sip, then finally looked at Naomi again. “So… thank you. For telling me.”

Naomi’s shoulders dropped just a little, tension easing. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

Rowan waved it off, but gently. “It’s okay. I mean—technically—we’re not together.” She gave a faint, crooked smile. “Doesn’t mean it didn’t sting. But I get it.”

Naomi nodded, sincere. “I know. And that doesn’t make it okay. I really am sorry.”

Rowan met her eyes. “Thank you.”

Silence settled again, thicker this time but not hostile. Rowan stared into her glass, then cleared her throat.

“Can I ask you something else?”

Naomi glanced at the bottle on the table—nearly empty—then stood. “Yeah. Let me grab the rest of the bottle.” She offered a small, tired smile. “Feels like we might be here a while.”

She returned with the bottle, refilled Rowan’s glass, topped off her own, and sat back down. Naomi took a slow sip, grounding herself, then set the glass aside.

“Alright,” she said quietly. “Go ahead. I’m ready for whatever you need to ask.”

Rowan hesitated, her fingers tracing the rim of the glass, eyes unfocused.

“So… at the club,” she began, then stopped.

Naomi tilted her head, patient. “Go ahead.”

Rowan finally looked up, her expression open but searching. “Why did you kiss me?”

Naomi tipped her glass back and finished the rest of the wine in one slow swallow. She set it on the table, exhaled softly, then shifted a little closer on the couch—not crowding Rowan, just closing the space enough to feel the warmth between them.

“Well,” she said gently, a small, nervous smile tugging at her lips, “I find you very attractive.”

Rowan’s brows lifted, surprise flashing across her face before she could hide it. “You do?”

Naomi nodded. She lifted her hand slowly, giving Rowan time to pull away if she wanted. When Rowan didn’t, Naomi’s fingers brushed her cheek, her touch light, reverent. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “You’re beautiful. Not just in a ‘everyone can see it’ way. There’s something calm about you. Grounded. It pulls people in.”

Rowan swallowed, her voice softer now. “Do you… like me like that, Naomi?”

Naomi didn’t answer right away. She let her thumb trace a small arc along Rowan’s cheekbone, thoughtful. “I haven’t known you that long,” she admitted honestly. “And most of what I know is from being around all of us together.” She paused, then met Rowan’s eyes. “But I’ve always been intrigued by you.”

Rowan’s breath hitched slightly.

Naomi continued, her tone steady but vulnerable. “You were Celeste’s girl. So I never let myself go there. I respected that. I left it where it was.” She gave a small shrug. “Didn’t mean I didn’t notice you. Or wonder.”

Rowan leaned back just enough to really look at her, searching Naomi’s face for anything untrue. “So this isn’t just… drunk curiosity?”

Naomi shook her head immediately. “No. I don’t do things I don’t mean. Even when I’m a little tipsy.” She smiled faintly. “Especially not when it comes to people I care about.”

Rowan’s shoulders relaxed, something easing in her expression. She glanced down for a moment, then back up. “I just… I didn’t expect this.”

“I know,” Naomi said softly. “Neither did I.”

They sat there in the quiet, the weight of honesty settling between them—not heavy, just real. Naomi’s hand slipped from Rowan’s cheek to rest lightly on her knee, not possessive, just present.

“I’m not trying to complicate things,” Naomi added. “I just wanted to answer you honestly.”

Rowan nodded slowly, a small smile forming. “I appreciate that.”

Their eyes lingered on each other a moment longer than necessary.

Naomi reached for Rowan’s hand slowly, deliberately, giving her time to pull away. When Rowan didn’t, Naomi’s fingers threaded through hers, warm and steady.

“Did you feel anything,” Naomi asked quietly, “when I kissed you?”

Rowan let out a small breath, her thumb brushing against Naomi’s knuckles as she considered it. “I mean…” she tilted her head, a faint, crooked smile appearing. “You’re a good kisser. That part I know for sure.” She glanced toward her glass, then back up. “I just don’t know how much of it was real and how much of it was the alcohol.”

Naomi nodded, accepting that without defensiveness. “That’s fair.”

She shifted a little closer—not crowding, just present. “Do you want to try again?” she asked gently. “Right now.”

Rowan blinked, surprised, then huffed out a soft laugh. “And what question is that supposed to answer?” she asked, tilting her head again, curiosity sharpening her tone.

Naomi didn’t hesitate. “It answers whether this”—she gestured loosely between them—”could actually be something. Whether me, you, and Celeste… could be a thing.” Her voice dropped, sincere. “Because I want you too. Not instead of her. With her.”

Rowan went very still.

“Wow,” she said after a moment, the word carrying more weight than it looked like it should. She pulled her hand back just enough to press her fingers against her lips, thinking. “Okay. Um…”

She stood and paced two steps, then turned back, eyes searching Naomi’s face. “That’s a lot, Naomi.”

“I know,” Naomi said softly. “I’m not asking for an answer tonight. I just don’t want to pretend I didn’t feel it. Or that you didn’t.”

Rowan studied her, then finally sat back down. “I felt something,” she admitted. “I just don’t know what it means yet.”

Naomi smiled—small, patient. “Then that’s the answer for now.”

Rowan exhaled, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “You’re… surprisingly calm about all this.”

Naomi chuckled under her breath. “Only on the outside.”