Chapter 72

Rowan padded out of the bathroom wrapped in one of Naomi’s oversized shirts, hair still damp and curling at the ends. Steam clung faintly to her skin, but there was a tightness in her shoulders she hadn’t quite shaken. Her expression had shifted too—subtle, almost imperceptible, but Naomi caught it immediately.

The condo smelled like citrus cleaner, coffee, and something sweet—vanilla, maybe. Music hummed softly from a speaker on the counter, something mellow and warm.

Naomi glanced up from the stove and paused.

“Hey,” she said gently, turning the burner down. “You okay?”

Rowan blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah… why?”

Naomi wiped her hands on a towel and leaned against the counter, studying her without judgment. “Your shoulders are up here,” she said, gesturing lightly. “And your face changed when you walked out. Just wanted to check in.”

Rowan let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Wow,” she murmured. “You really don’t miss much, do you?”

Naomi smiled softly. “Only when I’m not paying attention.”

Rowan shrugged, rolling her shoulders a little. “I’m okay. Just… thinking. Processing. Nothing bad.”

Naomi nodded, accepting that without pushing. “Alright. If it turns into something more than thinking, I’m here.”

Rowan’s mouth curved into a small, appreciative smile. “Thank you.”

Naomi lifted two champagne flutes from the counter. “Breakfast is ready. And—” she raised one with a playful tilt, “—mimosas are mandatory.”

Rowan laughed, tension easing just a fraction. “You’re dangerous.”

“I try,” Naomi said, grinning.

They settled at the small table together. Pancakes stacked high, eggs, fruit, coffee steaming between them. Naomi slid a full mimosa toward Rowan before she could even ask.

Rowan took a sip, then another, watching Naomi over the rim of the glass. The oversized shirt, the messy bun, the way Naomi moved like she belonged in the space—it all hit her at once.

“You know,” Rowan said quietly, almost to herself, “you really are… wifey material.”

Naomi paused, eyebrow lifting. “Oh?”

Rowan nodded, cutting into her pancake. “You have this energy about you. It feels like home.” She took a bite, chewed thoughtfully. “And this—being here with you like this—it’s the first time I’ve been alone with you, really alone, and it feels like I could kiss you and then go to work like nothing’s wrong.” She laughed softly, shaking her head. “I don’t know if that makes sense, but… you feel safe. Familiar.”

Naomi refilled Rowan’s mimosa without even asking.

Rowan gestured toward the glass with a small smile. “See? That. That’s exactly what I mean.”

She looked up again, more serious now. “This might be the mimosas,” she admitted, “or just clarity… but I could fall in love with you so easily and not even realize it was happening.”

Naomi didn’t rush to speak. She leaned her elbows on the table, really looking at Rowan.

“Can I ask you something?” Naomi said gently.

“Yeah,” Rowan replied. “Of course.”

“When you say home,” Naomi asked, “what does that actually mean to you? Not the word—what it feels like.”

Rowan went still. She set her fork down, fingers wrapping around the glass as she thought.

“Home,” she said slowly, “is when my nervous system finally shuts up.” She let out a small, self-aware laugh. “It’s when I don’t feel like I have to brace for the next emotional shift.”

Naomi nodded, listening.

“It’s consistency,” Rowan continued. “Care that shows up in the little ways. Someone who notices without me asking.” Her eyes flicked briefly to Naomi, then back down. “Someone who doesn’t disappear when things get complicated—but also doesn’t crowd me when I need space.”

Her gaze lifted again.

“It’s knowing I could leave for work, come back exhausted, and still feel wanted,” Rowan finished. “So yeah… when I said you feel like home? That’s what I meant.”

Naomi exhaled softly, something settling in her chest.

“So that’s what makes you feel at home,” she said quietly.

Rowan nodded. “Yeah.”

Naomi smiled then—not playful, not flustered. Just real. “Thank you for telling me that. I didn’t want to assume.”

“I figured,” Rowan said, returning the smile.

They clinked their glasses lightly, the moment unspoken but understood—two people sitting in something honest, letting it exist without rushing to define it.

“Guess we’re both learning what home feels like,” Naomi said.

Rowan lifted her glass. “Yeah,” she replied softly. “And right now… it feels really good.”

Naomi glanced over at Rowan. “You okay?” she asked gently. “You got quiet again.”

Rowan nodded at first—automatic, reflexive—then stopped herself. She set the glass down, fingers lingering on the rim as if grounding herself.

“I’m trying to be,” she said. Her voice was calm, but there was a crack underneath it she didn’t bother hiding. “But you’re making it really hard.”

Naomi turned fully toward her now, brows knitting with concern. “Hard how?”

Rowan pushed off the counter without really deciding to. One second she was leaning, the next she was standing closer—close enough that she could feel Naomi’s warmth, close enough that the space between them felt intentional.

“You keep looking at me like that,” Rowan said quietly. “Like I’m… chosen.” She swallowed, her throat tight. “And I don’t know what to do with that.”

Naomi’s breath caught. “Rowan—”

“I know,” Rowan said quickly, softer now, like she didn’t want to scare her. “I know this is complicated. I know Celeste. I know all of it.” A small, incredulous laugh slipped out. “But I’ve been trying not to feel this since last night, and it’s not working.”

Naomi didn’t step back.

That felt like a decision.

Rowan lifted her hand slowly, deliberately, giving Naomi every chance to stop her. When Naomi didn’t, Rowan’s fingers brushed her wrist—just a graze—then slid into her palm, fitting there like it belonged.

“Tell me to stop,” Rowan whispered.

Naomi’s lips parted. Her voice came out low. “Rowan…”

Still, she didn’t pull away.

Rowan leaned in—not rushed, not drunk, not careless. The kiss landed softly at first, lips pressing together like a question instead of an answer. Warm. Intentional. The kind of kiss that asked are we really doing this? even as it already knew the answer.

Naomi inhaled sharply, surprise flickering for half a second before her hands came up—one settling at Rowan’s waist, steadying her, the other sliding into her hair, fingers curling slightly like she was afraid Rowan might disappear if she didn’t hold on.

The kiss deepened naturally. No rush. Just mouths moving together, learning, adjusting, like they’d been circling this moment without realizing it. Rowan sighed into it, her fingers tightening in Naomi’s shirt, the sound soft but honest.

Naomi kissed her back with a hunger she hadn’t meant to show, like something she’d been carefully managing finally slipped loose. The warmth of it startled them both.

When they finally pulled apart, they stayed close—foreheads resting together, noses brushing, breaths uneven.

Rowan let out a shaky laugh, half disbelief, half relief. “Okay,” she murmured. “So I definitely felt that.”

Naomi huffed a quiet laugh too, still holding her like she wasn’t ready to let go yet. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Me too.”

The room felt different now. Not chaotic. Not wrong. Just… charged. Like a door had opened that couldn’t be closed again.

Rowan searched Naomi’s face, her voice careful. “I’m sorry if I crossed a line.”

Naomi shook her head slowly, eyes steady. “You didn’t cross it alone.”

Naomi lingered close for a moment longer, her thumb brushing lightly over Rowan’s knuckles like she was memorizing the feeling. Then she exhaled and leaned back just enough to meet Rowan’s eyes fully.

“I would love to stay right here,” Naomi said softly, gesturing between them, the kitchen, the quiet. “I really would. But… we need to talk about how we’re going to talk to Celeste tonight.”

Rowan groaned dramatically, tipping her head back. “Wow,” she muttered. “Thanks for completely ruining the moment.”

Naomi laughed, shaking her head, the sound warm and genuine. “I know, I know. I hate me too.” She sobered just slightly, her tone shifting into something more deliberate. “But listen—after the last twenty-four hours with you? I can say this out loud now.”

Rowan stilled, watching her carefully.

“I want both of you,” Naomi continued. “Not as a mess. Not as some half-truth situation. I mean really doing this—life, love, the boring stuff and the hard stuff—together. As a couple. All three of us.” She paused, then added honestly, “But only if Celeste can get her shit together.”

Rowan’s breath caught, but she didn’t look away.

“And if she can’t,” Naomi said gently, not cruelly, just truthful, “I wouldn’t hate the idea of doing life with just you.”

The words hung there—bold, unguarded.

Rowan searched Naomi’s face for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I… I can agree with you on that.”

Naomi let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Relief flickered across her face before she smiled again, softer this time.

“Okay,” she said, lifting her glass. “Then one more agreement.” She tilted her head, playful now. “We’re probably going to be drunk by the time we get to Celeste’s. Can we promise to keep our hands to ourselves until then?”

Rowan smirked, lifting her own glass in response. “I’ll try,” she said. Then, with a glint in her eye, added, “No promises.”

Naomi laughed, clinking their glasses together. “That’s fair.”

Naomi glanced down at the plates, then back up at Rowan with a grin that cut through the heaviness like sunlight.

“Alright,” she said, lifting her glass again. “Enough emotional breakthroughs for five minutes. Let’s eat and finish these mimosas before they go warm and sad.”

Rowan laughed, the tension easing out of her shoulders as she slid back into her chair. “You know what? Yes. That sounds like an excellent plan.”

Naomi handed her the plate, fingers brushing briefly, intentionally this time but not lingering. She moved around the kitchen with easy confidence, topping off both of their glasses without asking.

“Drink,” Naomi added playfully. “You’ve got a long day of being calm and emotionally mature ahead of you.”

Rowan snorted. “Absolutely not my strongest skill.”

They clinked glasses again and took long sips, the citrus and champagne buzzing warmly through them. Rowan took a bite of pancake and closed her eyes for a second. “Okay, rude,” she said. “This is actually really good.”

Naomi smirked. “I don’t miss.”

They ate slowly, trading bites, teasing comments, letting the quiet settle back in—but this time it felt comfortable. Not awkward. Not charged in a way that needed to explode. Just… close.

Rowan leaned back, mimosa in hand, studying Naomi over the rim of her glass. “You know,” she said lightly, “this feels dangerously domestic.”

Naomi raised an eyebrow. “Careful,” she replied. “That’s how it starts.”

They laughed again, softer now, both aware of what waited later—but content to stay right here just a little longer, pancakes and champagne and unresolved feelings spread between them like a calm before the storm.