Chapter 85

The smell of cinnamon and coffee wafted through the penthouse, luring Abigail out of bed like a cartoon character floating after a scent trail. She was freshly showered, her curls tied up messily, one of Emma’s oversized hoodies hanging off one shoulder as she padded into the kitchen in fuzzy socks.

Emma stood at the stove, humming softly as she flipped golden-brown pancakes onto a warming plate. Her baby bump peeked from under a cropped tee, and she looked blissfully content—hair pulled into a soft puff, cheeks still rosy from sleep.

“Smells like heaven in here,” Abigail murmured, coming up behind her and wrapping her arms around Emma’s waist.

Emma leaned back into her with a smile. “Morning, sunshine. Feeling human again?”

“Barely,” Abigail mumbled into her shoulder. “But I’ll survive for pancakes.”

“Lucky for you, I made the good kind—cinnamon swirl, and I didn’t forget the extra butter this time.”

From the breakfast nook, Megan raised her coffee mug in salute. “The butter is the best part. No one talks about that enough.”

Ashley, curled into the corner seat with a blanket around her shoulders and a sleepy grin, added, “Speak for yourself. I’m just here for the coffee and gossip.”

Abigail groaned playfully. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Megan said, smirking over the rim of her mug. “You don’t just get to get blackout-level flirty at the bar, turn down five people—including that girl in the silver dress who was practically purring at you—and not get questioned over pancakes.”

Emma snorted and slid plates onto the table. “Let her eat first, at least.”

Abigail sank into the seat next to her, giving Megan a mock glare. “I didn’t black out. I remember most of it… kind of. I just got a little tipsy.”

“You called the bartender ‘Captain Mojito’ and asked him to officiate your future vow renewal,” Megan deadpanned.

Ashley nearly choked on her coffee. “No. You did not.”

Abigail groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Okay, maybe slightly more than tipsy.”

Emma rubbed her back with a chuckle. “You were adorable.”

Megan leaned in slightly, her voice lowering just a bit. “Seriously though… everything cool? You seemed like you needed to let go last night, but there was a moment—when that last guy came up to you—you looked a little… off.”

Abigail paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. The table went still.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I guess I just felt… tired. Like, everyone wanted something, and I didn’t want to be wanted like that. I just wanted to be seen, not chased.”

Emma’s hand slid over hers gently. “You are seen.”

Ashley nodded. “And safe.”

Megan softened. “Okay. That’s all I needed to hear.”

The tension melted, replaced by the soft clinking of forks against plates, the occasional laugh, and the cozy comfort of pancakes on a lazy morning.

“I don’t regret going out,” Abigail said after a beat. “But I’m glad I came home.”

Emma kissed her cheek. “Me too.”

Megan grinned. “Just… maybe next time less tequila.”

Ashley raised her glass of juice. “To fewer shots and more cinnamon swirl.”

The apartment had quieted to a gentle hum after Megan and Ashley said their goodbyes, leaving behind empty mugs, crumpled napkins, and a bit of lingering laughter in the air. The late morning sun streamed in through the tall windows, catching on the rim of plates stacked in the sink and glinting off Abigail’s glass as she stood at the counter, rinsing the last of them.

Emma leaned against the fridge, arms crossed, watching her.

“You don’t have to do all that right now,” she said softly.

Abigail shrugged, not turning around. “It’s just a couple dishes. I don’t mind.”

Emma stepped forward, her bare feet silent on the tile as she wrapped her arms around Abigail from behind, resting her cheek between her shoulder blades. “You always do this,” she murmured. “Clean up to distract yourself.”

Abigail froze for half a second, then chuckled softly. “Can’t get anything past you, huh?”

Emma shook her head gently, her voice muffled. “Not a thing.”

They stood like that for a while, the water running softly, the world outside quiet. Then Abigail shut off the tap and turned around, her hands still damp, towel forgotten on the counter.

Emma looked up at her, eyes soft but steady. “You okay? Really?”

Abigail sighed, leaning back against the counter, shoulders slightly slumped. “I don’t know. I think last night just… caught me off guard.”

“The flirting?”

“No. I mean, yes—but it wasn’t about that. It was about how easy it was for people to treat me like something to win. Like a prize at the bar. Not a person. Not… me.”

Emma reached up, her thumb brushing just under Abigail’s eye. “You’re not a prize. You’re a miracle.”

Abigail looked at her, heart caught in her throat. “Sometimes I still feel like I have to prove I belong here. With you. In this home. With this baby on the way. I didn’t plan any of this. I just… I love you, and now we’re building something I’ve never seen before, and it’s beautiful and terrifying.”

Emma’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You don’t have to prove anything. You’ve already given me more than I ever thought I could have.”

Abigail swallowed hard, emotion thick in her throat. “I don’t ever want to let you down.”

Emma stepped in close, their foreheads touching. “Then don’t. Stay. Keep showing up. That’s all I want. That’s all we need.”

Abigail let the breath go she didn’t know she’d been holding. Her hands found Emma’s hips, cradling her gently. “I’m scared sometimes.”

Emma smiled, brushing their noses together. “Me too.”

A pause. Then a shared breath.

“But I’d rather be scared with you,” Emma whispered.

Abigail pulled her into a hug, tight and grounding. “Same.”

They stood there, holding each other in the quiet, nothing needing to be fixed or figured out. Just two hearts choosing each other over and over again.