Chapter 33 It’s a good day
IT’S A GOOD DAY
VIOLET
Do you believe some people are meant to meet?
SilenceInMidnight: I want to believe some meetings are inevitable.
My eyes open, and for a brief second, I’m startled by the unfamiliar surroundings, then last night rushes back. So much happened that it feels impossible that it all fit into a single day. It feels like I lived through multiple moments all within a handful of hours.
The day had begun with missing Rowan.
And then he was there, standing just outside, looking so impossibly handsome.
Then came the kiss in the living room, a perfect beginning. He had promised me orgasms I’d missed, and God, he delivered on that promise… before finally giving me a taste of him.
I still can’t get over the way he looked at me, the way he felt in my mouth.
And after everything that happened, I could never have imagined it would end with so many emotions.
My eyes sting as his face comes back to me when he told me about his voice, about that night.
There was a fleeting moment where I thought he might speak, but I can imagine it’s not that simple for Rowan. It’s isn’t just a matter of trust but so much more.
With time, Vi. With time, if you’re meant to get there, you will.
I shake my head and put on a small smile. Yesterday was a good day—more than good, actually. We’ve gotten closer and that’s what matters.
My fingers drift absently to the hem of his shirt I’m wearing. At some point last night, he carried me into his bedroom, and when he realized our clothes were still in the solarium, he took out one of his shirts and handed it to me.
And it feels better than anything I own—safer and warmer, like him.
I slip out of the bed, but before my feet can touch the floor and reach my flip-flops, which have magically appeared, my gaze catches on a white note card resting on the nightstand.
Meet me in the kitchen when you’re up.
A smile spreads across my lips as I trace the purple ink with my fingers.
Without thinking, I pull open the drawer by habit. Every letter I’ve received from Rowan is tucked safely in my nightstand drawer so I never lose them.
When I spot the neat space, I slap my forehead.
Of course Rowan’s space would be clutter-free.
Before I close his drawer, a familiar white envelope with my name in the same purple ink catches my eye.
He wrote me another letter!
My pulse quickens as I pick it up and turn it over in my hands. He must have written this before I woke up.
I hesitate for a moment, tempted for just a second, but then I place it back carefully, exactly where I found it. I can wait for him to give it to me. Rowan always finds the perfect moment to share his written words with me.
When I walk into the kitchen, I find him making coffee, just like my first morning in the house. But today I don’t stop at the threshold. I walk inside and put my arms around Rowan’s waist, pressing my cheek to his back.
His hands cover mine where they rest over his stomach. He tries to pull me to the front, but I resist, keeping us right where we are.
After a moment, I lean forward and place a kiss on his back, right in the middle—just below the snowflake tattoo.
Rowan’s back trembles beneath my lips as I move to the right, peppering soft kisses along the top of the wings of his tattoos. I repeat the same on the other side, taking my time.
“Did you get these at the same time as the date?” I whisper against his skin.
This time when he pulls me to his front, I follow willingly.
He looks down at me, a small smile playing on his face. But it doesn’t quite hide the nerves underneath, and that vulnerability makes my heart squeeze.
“I want to know everything about you.”
“I want you to know everything about me,” he signs back, his eyes never leaving mine.
I wasn’t planning on having a heavy discussion first thing in the morning, especially after last night.
But that changed when I saw his back covered in black ink, the intricate wings sweeping from his shoulder blades to the small of his back, and the line, which I now realize isn’t perfectly straight.
By now, I know that everything about this man carries meaning. If he has marked himself permanently with these symbols, they mean a hell of a lot.
“Tell me,” I whisper.
“The snowflake, you know,” he signs.
I nod. Yes, that’s his good luck charm.
“The line is a sound wave. A flat A waveform with no peaks. It represents me. A sound that is present but not visible. It’s a reminder that I’m still something, despite my silence.”
My hands close around his, stopping him. There are suddenly too many emotions rushing in at once, my heart struggling to contain all of it.
“Rowan, you are so much more than something. For so many people, including me, you’re the whole world. I don’t know anything about my life before the accident, but I can’t even imagine a future without you in it.”
He tries to pull his hands free to respond, but I don’t let go.
“No. I don’t just want a future with you—I demand one. That’s how important you are to me.”
His eyes never leave my face, not for a single second.
I’d hoped he would smile, maybe even pull me in and kiss me until I forgot what words were. But instead, the same shadow of hesitation that crept across his face last night when I told him I was ready for us to have sex settles over his features again, quiet and unmistakable.
Why is Rowan so unsure about himself? About us?
His hands shift gently in mine, and then he signs, “I want you to hold on to that feeling, Purple. If someday you feel I’ve been untruthful to you, know that my future is just as incomplete without you.”
“Untruthful and your name don’t belong in the same sentence.” I don’t wait for his reply. I know I can’t erase Rowan’s doubts in a single morning. So instead I smile. “Now tell me about the wings.” I pause, my eyes drifting to his shoulder blades. “They’re beautiful, by the way.”
“They aren’t spread but folded. It’s a reminder to myself that as much as I want to, I can’t escape life. Or people. I have to stay right here, in the middle of it all. Even when it feels”—he corrects himself—“felt like being trapped.”
He exhales and finally pulls me closer, tucking his face into my hair just above my shoulder. I can feel his relief at the fact that it’s all over.
“Have you ever told anyone about them?” I turn and press a kiss to his neck. I don’t even realize I’ve kissed the scar until he pulls back and touches it with his fingertips.
“I love every part of you, Rowan. Even the ones you think are broken.”
To prove it, I kiss the scar again.
He shivers under my lips, then slowly shakes his head.
“Archer was with me when I got them.” He nods toward his back. “But he never asked why I chose those designs, in particular. I think he’s too afraid of the answer.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He blames himself for that night. He thinks if we hadn’t separated in the forest…” Rowan’s lips twist as his hands form the words.
“But he was just a kid. There was nothing he could have done.”
“I know. Everyone knows. But Archer has never accepted that. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make him believe it wasn’t his fault. It was just a bad day.”
“Thank you for telling me.” I rise onto my toes and kiss him softly.
His arms tighten around me before he pulls back just enough to sign, “Thank you for making me feel like not telling you wasn’t an option, Purple.”
I finally smile. “You know me too well, Night.”
The use of our nicknames and just like that the heaviness evaporates.
“Coffee?”
“Yes, please.” I flop onto the barstool. “The lunch was delivered early.”
I spot the stack of lunch boxes that are usually delivered at noon by the food delivery company Rowan uses for lunch and dinner.
He places my coffee in front of me and signs, “It was a special delivery.” He nudges one of the boxes toward me. “Open it.”
I smile. “So mysterious.” But the moment I lift the lid, a warm, sweet, and all too familiar scent makes my hand pause. “It’s… Pop’s Quesada Pasiega,” I whisper.
Rowan’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder. When I look up at him, he signs, “You remember?”
I glance back at the glass container, to the golden surface, the delicate scatter of toasted almonds and pistachios, the hint of caramelized orange zest glistening on top. All those details feel… well-known.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “It just… felt familiar. My grandfather used to make this?”
Until now, I’ve avoided asking any questions about my past or my family.
Rowan nods. “The nuts and orange… that was his touch. He made it every year on his birthday.”
“I read about it in the FYS’s app. We had a virtual date with this, right?”
His forehead furrows. “Is that how you guessed?”
I shake my head. “Actually, no. I saw it… and I remembered the taste. And the feeling of being happy.”
My fingers tighten around the edge of the counter. This is the first time something from my past has come back to me. To be honest, I’ve slowly been losing hope of remembering anything.
Rowan moves closer and turns my stool until I’m facing him, my legs caught between his. And just like that, it’s his turn to hold me together. His fingers tip my chin upward.
“Is it his birthday today?” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “No. I just wanted to give you a good morning.”
My hands tremble. “What does this mean?”
Rowan smiles, reaching up to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. “It means today is a good day. Don’t overthink it. You remembered something. That’s a good thing.”
Before I can respond, he picks up a spoon and scoops a small bite, then brings it to my lips.
The dessert melts in my mouth, and my eyes fall shut.
I don’t even know why the tears start. But the taste is like meeting a best friend after years and years of separation.
I hiccup and Rowan is already there, lifting a glass of water to my lips.
I take a sip before he sets it aside. When he pulls me closer, without thinking, I shift, settling into his lap, letting myself fold into the warmth of his arms.
“Thank you,” I whisper against his ear, my voice trembling just slightly.
I walk out of the shower to find Rowan sitting on my bed with two cups of fresh coffee.
“Thank you. I was just thinking about the coffee you made, and I didn’t even take a sip of it.”
Our last cups had been left untouched after I’d tasted the dessert. I tighten the belt of my bathrobe and slide onto the bed.
“Although you might not want to drink this,” he signs just as I’m about to pick up the cup from the tray.
“And why would I commit that crime?”
“Because you have a coffee date.”
“Where are we going?”
He smiles. “Unfortunately, it’s not with me. Your friends are coming over to pick you up in an hour.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You’re all going to check out a new coffee place in the neighboring town.”
“We actually talked about it when they were here, but I didn’t know they’d plan something so soon.”
I glance at the digital clock on the nightstand, calculating how much time I have, given I still need to take care of my freshly washed hair.
I take a slow sip of the coffee—it’s good, of course it is, he made it perfectly as I like—and walk toward my closet.
When I return with a green turtleneck, a knit skirt, and leggings, without thinking, I hold the clothes up for his approval as if this is something we’ve done a hundred times before.
God. When did we become so… domestic and intimate?
Before I can lower my hands, Rowan rises. He shakes his head and walks past me and into my closet.
Wasn’t it only last night when he confessed to touching himself at the thought of my lingerie?
While he searches for something in particular, I lean against the doorframe, the clothes I’d picked now bundled as I cross my arms. When he opens my lingerie drawer and lingers on it a beat too long, I push off the door and walk closer.
“Look at you. No longer scared of my bra and panties.”
But that teasing smile drops from my lips the moment he pulls me closer, undoing the belt so the robe falls open.
“Rowan!”
His smile catches me completely off guard. He curls his arms around my naked waist, pulling me flush against him. He doesn’t say a word, but the glint in his eyes says plenty. His hand travels lower, caressing my naked butt, and I shiver against him.
“Regretting that you didn’t make love to me last night? You could’ve been an un-virginized man by now.”
His body shakes with silent laughter, and his hands leave me just long enough to sign.
“Why do I feel like you’re obsessed with my virginity?”
“I’m obsessed with the fact that you still are one.” My hands travel across his chest, drifting south to the waistband of his track pants and lower still. “How long are you going to keep us both waiting?”
“Soon.”
His hands tremble slightly as I wrap my fingers around him through the fabric and stroke him softly.
“You know, your restraint is only making me bolder.” To prove it, I squeeze, and he shudders against me.
His large hand travels up slowly from my stomach, caressing my belly button, my ribs, before pinching my nipple and cupping my breast. When he finally wraps his hand around the back of my neck, his other hand palms my sex.
Oh.
I’m on my tiptoes when his finger parts my lips and draws slow circles along my clit. My grip on him loosens for just a moment.
I’m so freaking wet that when Rowan slides his finger inside me, it goes smoothly, and he pauses, his eyes finding mine.
“I told you. I’m ready for you.” I squeeze him again.
He looks at me with a mix of surprise and quiet awe, and then his lips crash into mine.
While we kiss, his hand doesn’t slow, and neither does mine. Our mouths make love without any need for hurry or dominance, and I already know that when we finally do have sex, it’ll feel something like this. Unhurried. Certain.
But for now, I’m going to love him the way he allows.
I’m going to show him I’m in this fully.
I’m going to eradicate whatever doubt he has.
My hand slips inside his waistband, and I stroke him in earnest. By the way his breath shifts against my mouth, I think he’s having the same thoughts about me.
His finger moves in and out, matching my pace, like we’ve always known each other’s rhythm.
Soon, my sex clenches around his digit, and my whole core trembles.
“Ro…” His name falls from my lips like a prayer as I come apart in his arms, my eyes fluttering shut, my hand stilling against him.
But Rowan, it turns out, doesn’t need friction. He just needs me falling apart to come.