Chapter 97

Naomi leans in again, kissing her slower now, more intentional. Her hand glides up Rowan’s thigh, fingers warm against damp skin, the air between them thickening by the second.

Rowan’s breath catches.

The kiss deepens—lazy but dangerous, Naomi clearly settling into that confident rhythm she slips into when she decides she’s in charge. Her thumb traces slow circles against Rowan’s leg, pulling another soft sound from her.

Rowan exhales shakily against Naomi’s mouth.

Then—

“Nae…”

It comes out half a sigh, half a quiet plea.

Naomi hums, not pulling away. “Mm?”

Rowan laughs softly under her breath, forehead falling against Naomi’s shoulder. “If we keep going…” she murmurs, voice warm and amused, “…we’re not leaving this office for hours.”

Naomi pauses.

Just long enough to understand exactly what she means.

Rowan brushes her nose lightly against Naomi’s jaw. “Let’s finish this later,” she says gently. “I kinda just want to… exist with you for a minute. Talk. Maybe cook something.”

Naomi immediately groans.

An actual, dramatic whine.

“You are ruining my momentum,” she complains, dropping her head briefly against Rowan’s shoulder.

Rowan laughs, fingers sliding comfortingly through Naomi’s hair. “You’ll survive.”

Naomi looks up at her, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Barely.”

Rowan smiles. “Come on. We’ve been running nonstop. Let’s just slow down.”

Naomi studies her for a moment—the softness in Rowan’s expression, the absence of pressure, the quiet choice to pause instead of rush.

Her shoulders finally relax.

“…Fine,” Naomi sighs dramatically. “But only because you asked nicely.”

Rowan grins. “Thank you.”

Naomi steps back reluctantly, hands lingering at Rowan’s waist one extra second before letting go. “We are absolutely revisiting this conversation later,” she warns.

Rowan hops down from the desk, adjusting her towel. “Noted.”

Naomi points toward the kitchen as they walk out together. “Actually—scratch cooking. I vote we order food.”

Rowan laughs. “That was fast.”

Naomi shrugs unapologetically. “I just closed on a building. I deserve takeout.”

Rowan bumps her shoulder. “Fair enough, entrepreneur.”

Naomi grabs her phone, already scrolling. “Pizza? Sushi? Something irresponsible?”

Rowan leans against the counter beside her, smiling easily now. “Dealer’s choice.”

Naomi glances sideways at her, expression softening again.

“Good,” she says quietly. “Because I like taking care of you.”

The tension fades into warmth as they move around the kitchen together—comfortable, unhurried—letting the night settle into something softer than desire.

Naomi places the order, scanning through the options with practiced efficiency.

“Okay,” she mutters to herself. “Extra sauce. No mushrooms. And something sweet because balance.”

Rowan watches her from the counter, amused. “You take food very seriously.”

Naomi taps confirm and looks up. “As I should.”

She sets her phone down. “Alright. I’m going to take a quick shower and get comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

Rowan raises a brow. “That sounds serious.”

Naomi pauses at the hallway entrance, glancing back over her shoulder. “Just a little,” she says lightly. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Rowan’s expression shifts—curious, but not tense. “Okay.”

Naomi disappears into her room.

A few minutes pass.

The house is quiet except for the faint hum of water running and Rowan flipping through channels absentmindedly. She reaches for Naomi’s phone when it lights up on the coffee table.

A notification flashes across the screen.

Rowan’s brows knit slightly.

A few more minutes later, Naomi walks back out barefoot, hair damp, oversized T-shirt slipping off one shoulder. Comfortable. Fresh. Slightly softer around the edges.

“Rowan,” she calls casually, drying her hair with a towel. “Have you seen my phone?”

Rowan looks up from the couch, holding it loosely in her hand. “Yeah. I have it.”

Naomi walks over. “DoorDash says it’s about five minutes away?”

Rowan nods. “Yeah. It does.”

There’s a small pause.

Rowan tilts her head slightly.

“Hey, Nae.”

Naomi looks at her. “What?”

“Who’s Alisha?”

Naomi blinks once. “My ex.”

Rowan’s posture doesn’t change, but her eyes sharpen just slightly. “Why?”

“Well,” Rowan says carefully, turning the phone slightly in her hand, “your ex just texted you.”

Naomi’s expression barely shifts. “Okay… sooo?”

Rowan studies her. “Why did she text you?”

Naomi shrugs lightly, walking closer. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her in a long time.”

Rowan raises a brow. “Sure.”

Naomi stops in front of her, crossing her arms—not defensive, just steady. “Roe. Just read the message. I have nothing to hide.”

Rowan watches her for another second, measuring.

Naomi doesn’t flinch.

Rowan unlocks the screen and reads.

Her eyes move once. Then again.

Silence stretches—not heavy, but noticeable.

Naomi steps closer. “Well?”

Rowan looks up at her slowly.

“She said she ‘hopes you’re happy’… and that she ‘still thinks about what you two had.'”

Naomi exhales softly through her nose. “That’s… very Alisha.”

Rowan searches her face. “And?”

Naomi reaches for the phone calmly, glancing at the message herself. Her expression doesn’t shift into nostalgia. Or panic. Or longing.

Just recognition.

“She does this,” Naomi says evenly. “Whenever she hears something about me. New project. New relationship. She circles back.”

Rowan’s jaw tightens slightly despite herself. “And what do you usually do?”

Naomi looks up at her directly. “Ignore it.”

A beat.

Then softer—

“Or block her.”

Rowan studies her carefully. “You don’t feel anything about it?”

Naomi’s voice is steady. “I already felt everything there was to feel about her. That chapter is closed.”

Rowan doesn’t look fully convinced—but she’s listening.

Naomi steps closer, lowering her voice. “Roe. If something from my past shows up, I’m not going to hide it. I don’t want secrets with you.”

The doorbell echoes through the house.

Neither of them move right away.

Naomi’s eyes stay locked on Rowan’s.

“Roe,” she says gently, stepping a little closer. “You can respond if you want.”

Rowan blinks. “What?”

Naomi shrugs lightly. “If it makes you feel better, text her back. Tell her you’re my girlfriend and I’m taken. Or block her. Or delete it. Whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

Rowan studies her face carefully. “You’d really let me do that?”

Naomi’s expression doesn’t waver. “Yeah. I don’t care about protecting her feelings. I care about protecting ours.”

That lands.

Rowan looks down at the phone again, thumb hovering but not moving.

“So why did you guys break up in the first place?” Rowan asks quietly.

Naomi exhales once, almost bored by the memory.

“She cheated on me,” she says simply. “With a guy.”

Rowan’s head snaps up slightly. “Oh.”

Naomi shrugs again, like it’s old news. “I found out. Packed my stuff. Left the same night.”

“No fighting?” Rowan asks.

“No begging,” Naomi replies calmly. “No second chances. No drama. I don’t do that.”

She leans back against the edge of the counter, crossing her arms loosely.

“I’m too much of a bad bitch for that,” she adds with a faint smirk. “And too rich. I can get anyone I want. Why would I deal with disrespect?”

Rowan’s lips twitch despite herself.

“You really left that night?”

Naomi nods. “Yep. I don’t stay where I’m not chosen.”

There’s something firm in that sentence. Not cocky. Not arrogant.

Just a boundary.

Rowan’s shoulders relax slightly.

“And she’s been texting ever since?” Rowan asks.

“Not consistently,” Naomi says. “Just when she’s bored. Or lonely. Or hears about me doing well.”

Rowan looks at the phone again.

“She said she hopes you’re happy.”

Naomi holds her gaze. “I am.”

The doorbell rings again—longer this time.

“Okay, that’s aggressive,” Naomi mutters.

But Rowan doesn’t hand the phone back yet.

Instead, she looks at Naomi carefully. “You really don’t care if I respond?”

Naomi shakes her head. “No. Because whatever you choose won’t threaten me. I’m not entertaining her.”

Rowan nods slowly.

Then she locks the screen.

“I’m not responding,” Rowan says. “I don’t need to. You didn’t.”

Naomi’s lips curve softly.

“Okay.”

“And I don’t want to block her either,” Rowan adds. “If she keeps texting, that’ll say more about her than about you.”

Naomi studies her for a second, then steps forward and takes the phone gently from her hand.

“You’re very calm about this.”

Rowan shrugs. “You were honest.”

Naomi nods once. “Always.”

The doorbell rings again.

Naomi laughs lightly. “Alright, before they eat our food out of spite.”

She starts toward the door, then pauses and looks back at Rowan.

“And Roe?”

Rowan looks up.

“I don’t go backwards.”

There’s no bravado in it this time.

Just certainty.

Rowan gives a small nod.

“I know.”

Naomi opens the door to grab the food.