Chapter 23 #2
Rowan’s laugh comes through the phone like a symphony. “I’d like to think we’re all equally as talented with our food.”
I huff. “Okay. Um, I’m home.”
“I know.” He chuckles. “I’m already on my way.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that,” he says. “Would you like me to stay on the phone until I get there?”
“Um—” I drop my thumb from my mouth and twirl the hem of my shirt around my fingers. “How far are you?”
“About three minutes,” he says. “Two now.”
I snort wearily. “Don’t speed.”
“Never. I’m not you.”
“Hey!” I chuckle. “I don’t speed. I’m lead-footed.”
“Tomato, toh-mah-to.” Rowan laughs softly.
“You’re such a dork,” I mutter.
“I’m parking,” he says. “Lucky me, I got a spot right in front.”
“Okay.”
“Buzz me up?”
“Okay,” I squeak and tiptoe toward the door, Binx’s paws padding behind me. I press the bottom button and say, “I’ll be here.”
“Okay.”
The line goes dead.
And it’s fine because he’s almost here and I’m okay with it.
Partly, maybe, because I don’t think I need a break from him.
I never thought I would be lucky enough to have someone I would never need a break from, but here I am, opening my front door just in time to see that person jogging down the hall to my door with his golden hair bouncing around like a prancing dog and a grin on his lips.
It’s the rush I get from seeing the person who makes me incredibly, inhumanely happy walking toward me that tells you all I need to know, I think.
Almost everything I know about love I’ve learned from my friends and my parents.
That’s why I’m certain that whatever is brewing in my chest the moment he stops before me with a heavy breath and a smile that could make me cry, is exactly what I’m scared of.
“I’m here,” Rowan exhales. “I’m here.”
I stifle my grin. “You didn’t have to run.”
“Of course I did.” He gives me that golden boy grin that makes my heart sputter. “I was…excited.”
“To see me?”
“Always to see you.”
I huff, smiling and mentally kicking my feet. “Come in.”
I step aside and open the door wider. Binx circles around each of his legs as he steps out of his sneakers, nuzzling her head against him, an obvious tell that she missed him. He kneels to show my cat some love.
Binx purrs and he smiles down at her, and it feels like a pretty perfect world when it’s like this.
I mean, pets often become their owners’ children, right?
Okay, so it’s like watching my child with Rowan, and Rowan looks great with children.
He would probably also look great with real children, enough to make my ovaries explode just imagining having a child with him.
Should I really be thinking about having his kids right now?
Hmm, probably not. But imagining a little boy that looks like a mix of us with curly, spiraling, golden hair and eyes a mixture of ours.
Damn it.
Rowan stands, cradling Binx in his arms like a baby—really driving my thoughts home with that—and kisses her little head.
Her eyes close, happiness written on her face as he scratches around her ears.
Then, the man with beautiful golden hair, tanned skin, a smile to die for, and ocean eyes finally looks at me.
“How has your day been?”
“G-Good, yours?”
“Better now.”
Do his cheeks not hurt from all this smiling?
My cheeks heat and I shift on my feet. “Hey, so, I’m not…” I take a breath. “I’m not in the mood for—”
“I don’t care,” he says and sets Binx down gently in her living room cat bed. “I didn’t come here for that.”
“Then why—”
“I came for you,” Rowan rasps, taking a step toward me. “After all this time, you still don’t get that?”
“Why?”
“You know why, sweetheart,” he says, his voice low and deep, as his arm comes around me. He splays his hand at the small of my back and steps into me. “How are you feeling today?”
“Good,” I rasp. “Fine.”
“I hate that word.”
“I hate you,” I say, almost too lovingly. I say the three words as though it were a synonym for the other infamous three words I can’t say.
“No you don’t.”
I shake my head, agreeing silently. Rowan walks around me now, taking himself through the apartment like he lives here.
He hits the fridge first, grabbing some filtered water to pour into a glass—the same glass he uses every time he’s here.
He uses it, washes it, dries it, and places it in the same spot on the top self.
And there the glass sits, patiently waiting for him, every day.
He grabs my glass—my favorite mason jar I use for soda, juice, and water—and fills it next. I sit on the couch, watching as he opens and closes a cabinet, opening a bag of extra butter popcorn and putting it in the microwave.
“What should we watch?” Rowan asks as the popcorn pops, walking toward me and sitting beside me.
I rub my upper arms, warming the sudden chill. “I don’t know.”
Rowan grabs the remote and flips through the movies until he clicks on one, then presses play.
As the opening title begins, he races to the microwave for the popcorn before sprinting back, opening the bag of popcorn and holding it in one hand.
He winces from the heat as he tries to unfold my throw blanket with one hand, so I grab the bag and guard it.
Rowan throws the blanket across my lap and sits, pulling some over his legs and scooting closer to my side. He makes himself comfortable quickly and then pulls my legs across his lap, coaxing a yelp out of me from the sudden action.
“Rowan.” I giggle.
“What.” He smiles. “We’re getting comfortable.”
I snort. “Sure.”
“Okay.” Then I’m pulled the rest of the way over, my ass on his lap and my body curled against his chest.
“Rowan!”
“Now we’re comfortable.” He sighs, proud, and I grin as I rest my head in the crook of his neck.
The movie finally begins and we sit in comfortable silence as we watch The Nightmare Before Christmas, his arm around my body, resting on my hip, and his other arm across my thighs. I have to admit, this is much more comfortable. Much warmer and homier.
“You okay?” Rowan whispers and brushes his lips over my temple.
“I’m okay,” I say, and Rowan smiles.
“I like that word better.”