Chapter 24
Natalia
On day two of my week off, there’s an annoying, insistent pounding on my apartment door that wakes me from an impromptu nap. Notting Hill is still playing when my eyes open.
I’ve been on a nineties rom-com binge wearing my blanket hoodie and fuzzy socks with Binx curled on my chest, but she leaps off of me when the pounding continues, startling her.
My cat pads away to my room and I groan, forcing myself off the couch. I fear there might be an imprint of my body in the cushions, but I don’t check as I reach my apartment door and yank it open.
Isabelle’s beaming face is the first thing I see. “We know you don’t want to be disturbed on your mental health week—”
“But we brought you comfort food: Chinese!” Lana says with a grin, waiting for my approval.
“If you want to take the food and tell us to leave, you can,” Isa says. “We won’t be mad. We understand you, Nat.”
I can’t help the wetness that gathers in my eyes. “You can stay,” I rasp. “Thank you.”
“Aw, don’t do that,” Isa says. “You’ll make me cry.”
“I’m sorry.” I sniff and wipe my cheeks as the guilt washes over me. “I’m sorry.”
“No sorry’s here,” Lana says, stepping into my apartment and wrapping her arm around me to pull me into her side. “Just Chinese food and movies.”
“I’m binge-watching nineties rom-coms.”
“Fuck yes,” Isabelle hisses. “And you’re on Notting Hill, we’re right on time then.”
“Oooh, did she already give the speech?” Lana asks and turns to my kitchen.
“Not yet.” I snort and close the door.
“I brought some wine,” Isabelle says cautiously.
Lana chortles. “Guys, it’s fine if you want to drink wine. Even if I don’t drink, you can.”
“I’m sorry.” Isabelle grimaces. “I know Luca was a dick—”
“It’s fine,” Lana reassures us. “Friendsgiving shook Christian up a bit, but he’s okay.”
Luca and Christian were in some weird fight because of what he did on Friendsgiving with his secret drinking while he moped over Elena.
“I’m sorry about that.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Lana says a bit too sadly. “He’s okay now. He’s forgiven Luca and trust me, Luca groveled.” I laugh with her. “He sent gifts. Apology gifts, Nat.”
Isa guffaws. “He did?”
Lana nods. “I feel bad though.” She frowns. “I know we all miss Elena, but Luca…”
Luca bleeds for Elena—always has. Everyone knows it.
I sigh.
“Anyway,” Lana sighs. “Movie and food!”
My day ends with my friends sitting on either side of me on the couch. With each rom-com, we recite their love confessing speeches together—especially during 10 Things I Hate About You—with giddy smiles and butterflies in my belly while I think about a certain someone.
#
It’s day three when I wake up and drag myself into the shower. I wash my hair, deep condition, and style it with my creams and diffuser just because. I enjoy having my hair done, and since I’m trying to do things that make me happy this week, I’m styling my hair.
I diffuse it and spray my volumizing spray and hydrating mist, topping it off with a loose, messy bun to complete the half-up, half-down look. I lay the edges carefully then pull out the short spirals at my ears and…voilà. Not half bad. Might do this look more often.
My phone vibrates on the sink counter and without checking the caller ID, I hit the green button and put it on speaker. “Hello?”
“Hey,” he says. I would recognize that voice anywhere. “I’m coming over.”
“Oh.” I begin washing the product off my hands. “Why—”
“Dinner from Beetlejuice,” Rowan says. “Burgers and fries and some soda, if you want. I’m pulling into the market to grab some soda right now, never mind.”
I grab my phone and exit the bathroom, turning off the lights. “You don’t need to buy—”
“I’m already at self- heck-out.”
“Liar,” I snarl playfully, plopping right down across my couch.
“You didn’t hear the beep? I just scanned the bottle. Beep.”
I laugh. “You’re so—” I’m cut off by my own laughter. “Just—See now that was a beep.”
Rowan laughs. “I’m walking to the car now.” I hear the door shut and the engine turn on. “I’m basically around the block.”
“Okay,” I breathe, my cheeks warming and feet wiggling with the anticipation of him coming through the door.
I wait in a peaceful silence for a moment until he says, “I just parked down the block.”
“Okay.” I nearly trip over my feet as I skip over to the door. “I’m buzzing you in.”
“I’m in,” Rowan says. “See you in a minute.”
The line goes dead and I’m rolling my lips together to contain my smile. Just like the times before, I open the door just in time to see him jogging down the hall. “Running again?”
“Good for stamina,” he says with a wink, coming to a stop in front of me.
I chuckle. “I bet.”
Rowan gives me that boyish grin and I wonder if maybe his face was built for smiles because it’s one that radiates sunshine and rainbows. It’s like an injection of serotonin every time I look at him.
I miss him. Oh my god, I fucking miss him and he’s right here, smiling at me. But I haven’t felt him all week and Rowan hasn’t kissed me either, only brushes off his lips on my temple, forehead, and cheeks.
I’m starved and possessed, and I feel like I could ravish him and devour him whole.
It isn’t just the weight of his body on mine, it’s the weight and heat of his body beside mine in the dark with his arms around me. It’s the way his lips melt onto mine with adoration he doesn’t have to voice because he shows it to me every day.
This—Him. He is my place to rest and breathe.
“Are you hungry?” Rowan asks me.
I smile up at him. “Ye-Yes.”
I let him in, making room for him—in both the apartment and in my chest. Not that I needed to make space, he demands it on his own.
He pulled open my fourth and fifth ribs and forced himself through.
Then he got cozy there. Picked up a book, perched up his feet, poured himself a drink, and said, “I’m here to stay, sweetheart.
” And what was I supposed to do? Loving him…
Loving him is out of my hands.
He’s in the kitchen now—in my kitchen, that he tends to make his own, and I let him. Like I’ve said, he demands space. He commands the spaces he walks into. He’s someone everyone gravitates towards, someone anyone can feel safe with, someone so easy to love.
Rowan Asher is sunshine in human form, and I’m staring into the sun every time I look at him. Let me go blind.
I go to him in the kitchen where he’s pulling plates and our favorite glasses from the cabinets. My hand presses to the center of his back, feeling the muscle and his spine through his shirt. He’s warm and solid, and maybe the opposite of everything I am.
My hand moves across his back until my arm wraps around him and I bury my face in his back, holding him with my hands splayed on his chest. I breathe him in as I press my forehead to his spine. His hands stop their task and he slowly turns in my arms.
“Hey, you,” Rowan whispers and brushes his lips over my forehead.
I peer up at him, drowning in the ocean of his eyes. “Hey.”
“What’s going on?” he asks, the ridge of concern between his brows. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“I want you,” I breathe, my finger tracing the lines of his body over his shirt before my hands rest at his sides.
“Nat,” he whispers, pushing hair behind my ear. “I don’t come over for that, sweetheart. I come to be with you.”
“I know you do.” I throw my arms around his neck and stand on my toes, still barely reaching his face.
My fingers push through his unbelievably soft, blond locks and my nails scratch gently.
It takes a moment but his only reaction is his forehead lowering onto mine, skin pressing into skin.
His hands don’t find my hips or waist like they normally would, and his lips don’t find mine.
“It’s okay,” I whisper and lower myself back onto my feet. “I’m sorry.”
“No.” His arm winds around my waist, his left hand around the right side of my rib cage. “Stay right here.” He presses his forehead into mine, shaking slightly. “Stay.”
“I am.”
“I want you too,” Rowan breathes. “You have no idea, Natalia.”
“Show me then,” I whisper, running my nose against his and scratching at the back his head. “Show me.”
“What would you like me to show you, sweetheart?” Rowan says, his voice low and husky—the sound reaching between my legs. His hand around my ribs glides its way down my spine and curves around my ass, resting there.
I swallow. “Show me,” I breathe, reaching higher, for his lips. “Show me how much you want me.”
He kisses me deeper, slower, in a way that lets us both savor this, and lifts me off the ground with his hands on my hips. My legs wrap around him because even my body knows I can’t let him go.
Rowan turns and sets me down gently on the island, his hands caressing my thighs up and down, squeezing and gripping. And he holds me so perfectly, like his hands and my body were molded to fit. His body was built to fit with mine, and mine with his. Two halves of the same whole, I think. I hope.
“Rowan,” I moan. “I want to feel you.” By the time I’m removing my sweatshirt, he’s in front of me again, helping me remove it and throwing it aside. His hands skate across my skin again, trekking familiar terrain with patience and reverence.
“Rowan,” I whimper, his lips latching onto my skin. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” he murmurs and wraps his lips around my nipple before he slowly lowers himself onto his knees.
He’s patient, time passing slowly and still all too fast. I never want this to end, I never want us to part. I need him inside of me, consuming me for as long as he possibly can.
His hands hold my thighs roughly and tenderly, his touch as contradictory as it always is, as he feasts between my legs, releasing hungry growls.
Rowan refuses to relent until I’m yanking at his hair, fearful that I might create a bald spot. Then he’s on his feet and my hands know what they’re doing too.
I know him with my eyes closed. In the dark. When I picture him in my mind at night, it is like seeing him right before me.