Chapter 71

Rowan didn’t speak right away.

She sat back against the couch cushion, one ankle hooked over the opposite knee, wine glass resting loosely in her hand. Naomi watched her carefully, the way you do when you know someone’s about to say something that matters—but you don’t want to rush it out of them.

The room felt different now. Still. Like everything loud had already been said.

Rowan finally broke the silence, her voice low and even.

“Can I ask you something that doesn’t have anything to do with sex, or attraction, or… whatever this is turning into?”

Naomi’s brow creased slightly, but she nodded without hesitation.
“Yeah. Of course.”

Rowan stared into her glass, swirling the wine slowly, watching the color cling to the sides.

“How do you move past,” she began, then paused, choosing her words carefully, “the part where someone you care about looks you in the face and doesn’t tell you the truth?”

Naomi didn’t answer immediately.

She leaned back in her chair, lips pressing together, eyes drifting toward the window like she might find the answer written somewhere outside. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter than before.

“I don’t think you really move past it,” she said honestly. “Not the way people like to pretend you can.”

Rowan’s fingers tightened slightly around the glass, but she didn’t interrupt.

Naomi continued, measured. “I think you decide whether you’re willing to move through it. And whether the person who lied is willing to meet you there—without excuses.”

Rowan lifted her gaze. “Even if they didn’t mean to hurt you?”

Naomi nodded. “Especially then.”

She leaned forward now, forearms resting on her knees. “Lying out of fear still hurts. Avoiding the truth because you’re scared of losing someone… that doesn’t make it softer. Sometimes it makes it worse.”

Rowan let out a quiet breath through her nose. “That’s exactly what it felt like.”

Naomi didn’t rush to fill the silence.

Rowan went on, her voice steady but threaded with something deeper. “It wasn’t just that you left. It was the way Celeste said nothing happened. The way she shut down. Like she decided what I could handle without actually asking me.”

Naomi’s jaw tightened—not defensively, but with recognition.

“That’s control,” she said gently. “Not malicious. But still control.”

Rowan’s shoulders sagged just a fraction. “I don’t think she even realized she was doing it.”

“I know,” Naomi said softly. “She’s been surviving like that for a long time. Choosing the least explosive option. Putting off hard truths until they turn into bigger ones.”

Rowan nodded slowly. “So how do you trust someone again after that?”

Naomi met her eyes directly now. “You watch what they do after the truth is out. Not what they say. Not how guilty they feel. What they do when honesty costs them something.”

Rowan swallowed. “And if they keep avoiding it?”

Naomi didn’t sugarcoat it. “Then you decide how much of yourself you’re willing to lose waiting for them to grow.”

That landed heavy.

Rowan looked away, her jaw tightening, eyes glistening just slightly. “I don’t want to be the person who has to beg someone to be honest with me.”

Naomi shook her head immediately. “You shouldn’t be.”

They sat there for a moment, the weight of it settling—not sharp, but undeniable.

Rowan finally let out a quiet, almost humorless laugh. “You’re really good at saying the things people don’t want to hear.”

Naomi smiled faintly. “Yeah. It’s gotten me into trouble before.”

Rowan looked back at her. “Thank you. For not lying to me.”

Naomi nodded. “You deserve that much.”

Rowan stood slowly, setting her glass down. She hesitated, then added, “Whatever happens… I don’t want this to turn into a competition. Or a secret.”

Naomi stood too, meeting her where she was. “It won’t. Not on my end.”

Rowan studied her for a long moment, then gave a small, genuine nod. “Okay.”

She grabbed her jacket from the chair, pausing at the door.

“I’m going to talk to her,” Rowan said quietly. “Not to fight. Just… to be clear.”

Naomi’s voice was calm. “That’s all you can do.”

Rowan opened the door, then glanced back one last time. “I’m glad you picked up.”

Naomi gave a soft smile. “Me too.”

Rowan lingered by the door, her fingers resting against the handle but not turning it. She stared at the wood grain like it might give her answers if she looked long enough. When she finally turned back around, her shoulders had dropped just a little — not defeated, just tired.

“Can I ask you something else?” she said.

Naomi nodded immediately. “Yeah. Anything.”

Rowan hesitated, then spoke carefully. “Would you mind… going back to Celeste’s with me at some point? Not right now. Just—when everything’s calmer. So we can actually talk about all of this together.”

Naomi studied her face, reading the mix of hope and caution there. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stood up slowly and crossed the room until she was standing right in front of Rowan.

“Hey,” Naomi said softly.

She reached out and took Rowan’s hand — not pulling, not claiming. Just grounding. Her thumb brushed lightly over Rowan’s knuckles, warm and steady.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Naomi said honestly. “I care about her. And I care about you.” She paused, then added, quieter, “But I don’t think today should be about fixing her mess for her.”

Rowan’s brows lifted slightly. “You don’t?”

Naomi shook her head, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “No. I think she needs to sit in it for a minute. Just a day. Feel what it’s like to not have all the answers. To not be able to smooth things over immediately.”

Rowan let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “That feels… harsh.”

Naomi shrugged gently. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just honest.” She squeezed Rowan’s hand lightly. “She played it safe. She avoided the truth. That has consequences.”

Rowan laughed softly under her breath. “You’re kind of terrifying.”

Naomi grinned. “Only when necessary.”

She tilted her head toward the couch. “You can stay here tonight, if you want. I’ve got clean sheets, extra clothes, whatever you need. We hang out. We breathe. And meanwhile…” She lifted her wine glass slightly with her free hand. “Celeste can sweat for twenty-four hours.”

Rowan stared at her, then laughed — a real one, surprised and relieved. “You know what?” she said. “Yeah. Okay. She kind of earned that.”

Naomi’s smile softened, something proud and protective flickering in her eyes. She clinked her glass gently against Rowan’s. “To letting people feel the weight of their own choices.”

Rowan raised her glass. “Cheers.”

They both took a sip, and the tension in the room shifted — not gone, but calmer. Less sharp. Like something that could be handled instead of feared.

Naomi set her glass down and tugged Rowan’s hand again, guiding her back toward the couch. “So,” she said casually, dropping down beside her, their knees brushing. “Since you’re already here…”

Rowan leaned back, letting herself relax for the first time all day. “I don’t want to think for a while.”

“Perfect,” Naomi replied. “We can watch movies. Order food. Keep drinking. Keep talking.” She glanced at Rowan, her voice turning sincere. “Anything you want to know about me — ask. Anything you’re curious about. I’ll answer.”

Rowan met her gaze, something warm settling in her chest. “And… whatever happens?”

Naomi’s thumb brushed over Rowan’s hand again, slow and reassuring. “Whatever happens.”

Rowan nodded, squeezing her hand back.

The wine kept disappearing without either of them really tracking how. One bottle turned into two, glasses refilled unevenly, Naomi pouring heavy while Rowan protested and then laughed and drank it anyway.

Somewhere between the second movie trailer autoplaying and Rowan kicking her shoes off dramatically, the tension finally cracked.

“This is officially the drunkest I’ve been without crying,” Rowan announced, sliding down the couch until she was half-sprawled against Naomi’s side.

Naomi snorted. “Give it time. We’ve got at least one more glass in us.”

Rowan laughed — real laughter, the kind that shook her shoulders and made her cover her face. “I swear, if I text Celeste right now, it’ll just be emojis and chaos.”

“Please don’t,” Naomi said, laughing too. “Let her sit in her thoughts. It builds character.”

Rowan lifted her glass. “To character development.”

They clinked glasses, wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

The movie had fully devolved into background noise by now — something loud and ridiculous with explosions neither of them could follow. Naomi scrolled through a food app, eyes squinting in concentration.

“Okay,” she said slowly, “tell me when to stop.”

Rowan leaned over her shoulder, already giggling. “Add wings.”

“What kind?”

“All of them.”

Naomi tapped. “Bold.”

“Fries. But like… three kinds of fries.”

Naomi laughed, shoulders shaking. “This is irresponsible.”

Rowan grinned. “We’re emotionally starving.”

By the time Naomi hit order, the total popped up.

Rowan squinted. “Is that… real money?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Worth it.”

The food arrived fast and in excess — bags everywhere, fries spilling out, sauces forgotten until halfway through. They ate cross-legged on the floor, stealing bites off each other’s plates, arguing about which pizza was better, laughing until their stomachs hurt.

At some point, Rowan went quiet.

She leaned back against the couch, eyes on the ceiling. “She does this thing,” she said slowly. “Where she avoids the truth just long enough that you start questioning yourself.”

Naomi didn’t look away. “Yeah.”

“And when you finally ask,” Rowan continued, “she looks hurt. Like you’re the problem.”

Naomi’s jaw tightened. “You’re not.”

Rowan turned her head toward her. “Why does hearing that feel like relief?”

“Because you’re not wrong for wanting honesty,” Naomi said gently. “You’re just asking it from someone who’s scared of what happens after.”

Rowan swallowed. The space between them felt different now — heavier, closer.

She shifted, their knees brushing.

Neither of them moved away.

Rowan’s voice dropped. “This feels… dangerous.”

Naomi nodded once. “It does.”

Their faces were suddenly closer than either remembered moving them. Close enough to feel breath, close enough that the moment sharpened — the kind that made your chest tighten because you knew exactly what it could become.

Rowan’s eyes flicked to Naomi’s mouth.

Naomi noticed.

They hovered there, suspended, the world narrowed to that inch of space between them.

Then Rowan exhaled, shaky. “If we do that…”

“It changes everything,” Naomi finished softly.

Rowan pulled back first — not abruptly, but deliberately — pressing her forehead briefly against Naomi’s shoulder like she needed grounding.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “And I don’t want this to be because we’re hurt.”

Naomi rested her hand over Rowan’s, steady, reassuring. “Me neither.”

They stayed like that, close but restrained, letting the moment pass without breaking it — which somehow felt harder, and more honest.

The wine ran out. The food dwindled. The laughter softened into something tired and comfortable.

When they finally moved to the bedroom, it wasn’t rushed. Lights dimmed. Shoes abandoned wherever they landed.

They lay facing opposite sides at first.

It didn’t last.

Rowan shifted closer, instinctive. Naomi’s arm curved around her waist without thinking. Rowan tucked herself against Naomi’s chest like it made sense, like it was the safest place in the room.

“This is okay,” Rowan murmured, more question than statement.

Naomi kissed the top of her head — light, careful, nothing that crossed a line. “Yeah. This is okay.”

The morning light crept in slowly, pale and forgiving, spilling across the edges of Naomi’s bedroom. Rowan woke with a soft groan, her head heavy but not aching, her body warm in a way that took a second to place.

Naomi’s bed.

She lay still for a moment, listening. Somewhere beyond the bedroom, music played low and lazy—something old-school, smooth, threaded with a steady beat. The faint clatter of a pan, the hiss of something hitting heat.

Rowan rolled onto her side and reached for her phone.

The screen lit up immediately.

Celeste (6 missed calls)
Celeste (12 texts)

Rowan’s chest tightened. She didn’t open them. Not yet. Just stared at Celeste’s name like it might rearrange itself into something easier if she waited long enough.

Instead, she opened her work app and typed a quick message.

Hey—taking a personal day. Won’t make it in today.

Send.

She locked the phone and let it fall back onto the mattress. Just for today, she told herself. Just one day where she didn’t have to explain anything. Where she didn’t have to walk onto set pretending everything inside her wasn’t shifting.

Rowan swung her legs over the side of the bed and followed the smell of coffee down the hall.

The kitchen stopped her in her tracks.

Naomi stood barefoot at the stove, wearing an oversized shirt that slipped off one shoulder, her hair twisted into a messy bun that looked like it had been done with zero effort and complete confidence. A wooden spoon moved easily in her hand as she swayed to the music, hips rocking just slightly, completely unaware she was being watched.

She hummed under her breath, spinning once as she flipped something in the pan, laughing softly when it landed a little crooked.

Rowan leaned against the doorway, arms folding loosely over her chest.

For the first time that morning, she smiled.

Naomi turned, startled just enough to make it cute. “Oh—hey,” she said, grinning. “Morning. You’re alive.”

“Barely,” Rowan replied, voice rough but fond. “What are you making?”

“Breakfast,” Naomi said simply, like it was obvious. “Grease cures most problems. Coffee cures the rest.”

Rowan stepped farther into the kitchen, the warmth of it wrapping around her. “You always dance while you cook?”

Naomi shrugged, turning back to the stove. “Only when I’m in a good mood. Or avoiding thinking too hard.”

Rowan’s phone buzzed in her hand again. She glanced at it, then set it face-down on the counter.

Naomi noticed but didn’t comment.

Instead, she slid a mug across the counter without looking. “Drink.”

Rowan took it, fingers brushing Naomi’s briefly. “I called out today.”

Naomi paused, then nodded once. “Okay.”

“Left her to go in alone,” Rowan added quietly.

Naomi met her eyes then—not surprised, not judgmental. Just present. “You’re allowed to take space too, you know.”

Rowan exhaled, tension easing from her shoulders. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I think… I needed this morning.”

Naomi smiled, easy and unassuming. “Then you picked the right kitchen.”

The music swelled a little as Naomi turned it up, spinning back into her rhythm. Rowan watched her for a second longer, then caught herself drifting—thinking too much, like always.

Naomi glanced over her shoulder and grinned. “Hey,” she said lightly. “Stop thinking.”

Rowan arched a brow. “That’s a tall order.”

Naomi set the spoon down and crossed the kitchen in two steps, taking Rowan’s hand without hesitation. “Dance with me.”

Rowan laughed despite herself, a soft, surprised sound, but she let Naomi pull her in. They moved clumsily at first, bumping hips, stepping on toes, laughing louder when Naomi tried to spin her and almost knocked into the counter.

The laughter felt good. Real. Necessary.

For a moment, the world narrowed to music and warmth and the easy way Naomi fit right there in front of her. Naomi’s hand rested at Rowan’s waist, steadying her, grounding her. Rowan’s fingers curled lightly into the fabric of Naomi’s shirt, not holding—just there.

The kiss happened without planning it.

It started as a pause. A breath held too long. Naomi’s smile faded into something softer as her gaze dropped briefly to Rowan’s mouth, then lifted again, asking without words. Rowan didn’t pull away.

Their lips met gently at first—unrushed, almost careful—like both of them were testing the moment instead of claiming it. Naomi’s hand tightened just slightly at Rowan’s waist, thumb brushing the small of her back. Rowan’s breath caught, her body leaning in before she realized she was doing it.

The kiss deepened for half a heartbeat—not hungry, not demanding, just warm and certain enough to send a quiet shiver through Rowan’s chest. Naomi’s lips were soft, familiar in a way that surprised her, like they already knew each other.

Then Naomi pulled back first, eyes widening just a touch, breath uneven. “I—sorry,” she said quickly, voice low but sincere. “I got caught up in the moment.”

Rowan searched her face, the echo of the kiss still lingering like a pulse under her skin. Then she shook her head gently. “It’s okay.”

Naomi’s shoulders relaxed. “Good.” She glanced back toward the stove, grounding herself. “Breakfast will be ready in like ten minutes.”

Rowan nodded. “Okay.”

Naomi squeezed her hand once more—soft, deliberate. “If you want to shower and change, I already picked out some clothes for you. Everything’s in the bathroom.”

Rowan blinked. “You did?”

Naomi shrugged, a playful glint in her eyes. “I’m efficient.”

Rowan laughed again, quieter this time. “Alright,” she said. “I’ll be quick.”

As Rowan turned down the hall, Naomi went back to the stove, humming again like nothing had changed.

But everything had.