Chapter 84

The elevator gave its soft, familiar ding as it reached the penthouse floor. Megan stepped out first, her hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up and her shoes swapped for well-worn sneakers that had seen more dance floors than gyms. Behind her, Abigail followed—jacket slung over one arm, her curls slightly frizzy from the night’s humidity, and her cheeks still flushed from a few too many shots.

“Don’t trip on the welcome mat,” Megan muttered playfully, steadying Abigail with one hand.

“I’m fine,” Abigail whispered like a conspirator, eyes wide. “I’m as sober as a… cat.”

Megan snorted. “That’s not even close to a saying.”

“I know,” Abigail said, grinning as they reached the door. “But it felt right.”

The door creaked open quietly—Megan’s key still in hand—and inside, the penthouse glowed with the gentle light of a paused TV screen. On the couch, Emma and Ashley sat wrapped in a soft gray blanket, a bowl of popcorn resting between them. Emma was still in Abigail’s oversized tee, her curls pulled into a loose puff, while Ashley wore joggers and a hoodie, one foot tucked under the other.

Ashley looked up first. “And they return.”

Emma’s lips curved into a slow smile the moment she saw Abigail. “I was starting to think y’all ran off to Vegas.”

Abigail made a beeline for her, her steps a little uneven, and nearly tripped on the corner of the rug—but she caught herself, dropped her jacket, and slid onto the couch beside Emma like she was sinking into home.

“Ooooh,” she hummed dramatically, resting her head on Emma’s shoulder. “You smell like heaven and trust.”

Emma laughed and kissed her temple. “You’re drunk.”

“She’s very drunk,” Megan added, collapsing into the loveseat beside Ashley. “But in the best way. She turned down three girls and two guys tonight.”

Ashley’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, what?”

Emma blinked, shifting so she could look at Abigail properly. “Seriously?”

Abigail nodded with the utmost sincerity, snuggling closer. “All of them tried. One girl even asked me to dance. I told her—verbatim—’I’m spoken for, my girl’s pregnant and probably making tea right now.'”

Emma laughed so hard she almost snorted. “I was making tea.”

“Told you,” Abigail murmured proudly. Then she kissed Emma’s cheek. And her jaw. Then her neck.

Emma’s breath caught slightly at the softness of it, and she leaned into the affection, one hand moving to cradle the back of Abigail’s head. “You’re affectionate when you’re tipsy.”

“I’m affectionate always,” Abigail whispered. “But especially when I miss you.”

Megan peeked over at them. “She also told the bartender she was taken and tipped her five bucks just for agreeing with her.”

“Ten bucks,” Abigail corrected between more kisses—slow, lingering ones along Emma’s collarbone. “It felt important.”

Ashley reached for the popcorn. “You rejecting people in a club like it’s a full-time job is my new favorite thing.”

Emma chuckled, her fingers brushing through Abigail’s curls. “I love you.”

Abigail’s lips paused just over her collarbone. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Abigail murmured, kissing the words into her skin like a secret promise. Then she let out a happy little sigh and nuzzled her nose into Emma’s neck.

Megan kicked off her shoes and stretched. “We were gonna head to my place, but we saw the lights on and figured we’d come annoy you instead.”

“Mission accomplished,” Ashley muttered with a grin, tossing a piece of popcorn into her mouth. “This couch is way more inviting than mine anyway.”

Emma grinned and nodded to the blanket draped over the arm of the loveseat. “There’s tea left if you want some. Or cider.”

“No more alcohol for me,” Megan said, stretching her legs out and stealing a throw pillow. “I’m officially in post-party mode.”

Ashley leaned into her, pulling the blanket up over both of them. “What a wild night. And now I’m watching my girlfriend get gently hand-fed popcorn while a drunk Abigail tries to fuse herself to Emma’s soul.”

Emma giggled and kissed Abigail’s forehead. “You do get clingy when you drink.”

“Only to you,” Abigail mumbled, eyes already closing. “Because you’re where I live.”

Sunlight crept through the curtains, casting warm stripes across the bed as the hum of the city filtered softly through the windows. Abigail groaned before even opening her eyes, one hand fumbling blindly for the edge of the sheets as a dull throb made itself known behind her eyes.

Her mouth was dry, her head was pounding, and the cotton in her brain made it impossible to recall exactly how she ended up in bed.

“Ugh… What time is it?” she mumbled, squinting toward the alarm clock.

10:14 AM.

She sat up slowly, wincing as the movement sent a shockwave of regret through her skull. The room looked like home—comfortably messy, sun-warmed, still holding the scent of lavender from Emma’s pillow spray. But the last clear memory she had was being in the club… then the girl at the bar… then Megan handing her another shot…

She blinked. “How the hell did I get upstairs?”

Beside her, the other half of the bed was empty, but the blankets were still warm. She could smell the faintest trace of Emma’s shampoo on the pillow, and that grounded her just enough to breathe.

She ran a hand over her face and flopped back down with a groan. “That’s the last time I let Megan convince me to keep up with her.”

As if summoned by the thought, a knock tapped lightly on the bedroom door before opening slowly. Emma peeked her head in, holding a glass of water and two pain relievers.

“Good morning, hangover queen.”

Abigail cracked one eye open. “Tell me I didn’t do anything stupid.”

Emma chuckled and walked in, setting the glass on the nightstand. “Depends on your definition of stupid. You made me promise to name the baby ‘Truffle Fry’ and called the elevator ‘a magical box of sky portals.'”

Abigail groaned louder, dragging a pillow over her face. “Please tell me that’s not true.”

Emma sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the pillow away, gently brushing damp curls off Abigail’s forehead. “It’s true. But you were also very sweet. You wouldn’t stop kissing me once we got you into bed. You fell asleep telling me I was your favorite person in every timeline.”

Abigail cracked a sheepish smile. “Okay… that part does sound like me.”

Emma handed her the pills and water, her eyes soft. “You scared me for a second, though. You looked so out of it, and I couldn’t tell if it was just the alcohol or something else.”

“I’m sorry,” Abigail whispered. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I know,” Emma said, her thumb brushing over Abigail’s knuckles. “Next time, I’m cutting you off after shot number three.”

Abigail nodded slowly. “Fair.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the kind of quiet that holds something unsaid. Then Abigail looked up, her voice hoarse. “Did we talk last night? Like… really talk?”

Emma tilted her head. “Not really. But it felt like enough. You came home. That’s what mattered.”

Abigail leaned into her side and rested her cheek on Emma’s thigh. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I disappeared.”

Emma ran her fingers through her curls. “You didn’t. You came back.”

From the hallway, faint laughter echoed—Megan and Ashley, clearly awake and already in rare form.

“I should probably go apologize to Megan for saying I’d fight her for the last fry,” Abigail mumbled.

Emma smiled. “I already told her you didn’t mean it. She said it was fair game and she’d win anyway.”

Abigail huffed. “Rude. I could totally take her. Just not right now.”

Emma kissed the top of her head. “Rest a little longer. Then we’ll go join them.”

As Emma stood to leave, Abigail reached for her hand. “Hey. I love you.”

Emma’s expression softened, and she leaned down to kiss her gently. “I love you too.”