Chapter 18 Rowyn
Rowyn
After grabbing an Uber home, I shower, slip into a towel, and pad barefoot into my closet. My fingers trail over hangers until they land on my usual work uniform, a pale blouse and a pencil skirt that says: I’m professional, but not trying too hard.
I can’t stop smiling. My reflection gives me away, hair still damp, cheeks flushed, lips a little too pink. I lean closer to the mirror and spot the faint rash on my jawline, souvenir of Jaxon’s scruff. As I think about the souvenir I left him, I touch my face lightly, and the grin spreads wider.
I slept with my longtime friend.
Correction: I had incredible sex with my longtime friend.
And now, tonight, I get to see him again.
My stomach flutters at the thought, half nerves, half pure anticipation.
I’m also looking forward to seeing Jaylynn and Penn.
I’ve known them both forever, though we never really hung in the same circles.
Penn and I were both loners in our own ways, and it’s kind of beautiful that he and Jaylynn found each other after all these years.
Maybe some things really are worth the wait.
I flick on the morning news as I swipe on mascara and smooth a bit of gloss over my lips.
The anchor’s droning on about the rising price of gas, but I’m only half listening.
Now that everyone at work knows I’m dating Jaxon, I can already predict the curious smiles and not-so-subtle questions coming my way.
But those details?
They’re mine.
Private. Precious. Something I’m not ready to share, or cheapen with office gossip.
Once I’m finished getting ready, I turn off the TV and head outside. The air is warm, the sun catching on my bare legs as I slide into my car. For a second, everything feels right, simple.
Until I look up and realize where I’ve driven.
Golden Grinds.
Muscle memory. It’s funny how the body moves before the brain catches up.
I stare at the familiar storefront, the chatter of early morning customers spilling out the open door.
Maybe I should skip it today. Office coffee might taste like warm dishwater, but it comes without running into Matt, and a reminder of why I was really in Jaxon’s bed.
I’m about to put the car in reverse when my phone pings.
I grab it, heart skipping, hoping it’s Jaxon. It’s not. Just a message from work. Something about rescheduled meetings and reports due yesterday. I sigh, toss the phone back into my purse, and reach for the gearshift when…
A shadow darkens my window.
I glance over.
Matt.
He’s standing there with a coffee in one hand, sunlight flaring behind him. He motions for me to roll down the window, and I do, forcing a polite smile.
“Hey,” he says. “You were sitting here a while, and it was getting busy inside, so I grabbed you a coffee. Thought I’d save you the wait.”
“Oh.” I blink, caught off guard. “That’s really nice of you.”
I reach for my wallet. “Here, let me pay you back.”
He waves me off. “Nah. You can get the next one.”
He holds out a small paper bag, and curiosity gets the best of me. Inside, I find sugar packets and a few creamers.
“Wasn’t sure how you took it,” he says with a shrug.
My throat tightens, not from the gesture, but from what it reminds me of—Jaxon last night, learning exactly how I like things, paying attention in a way no one else ever has. Heat curls through me at the memory, and I force myself to focus on Matt’s kind, open expression.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I manage, clearing my throat. “It’s just… unexpectedly warm this morning.”
He nods toward the park. “Want to go for a walk? Just a quick one?”
“I can’t.” The lie slips out easily. “Got a text from work this morning. Need to get in early.”
His brows pull together. “Yeah, you did look like you were leaving.”
“Yeah,” I fumble.
The silence between us stretches, just long enough to make me wish I could rewind to a week ago, back to when I might’ve said yes.
Matt takes a small step back, smile polite but a little tight. “Well, I should let you get to it, then.”
“I really do appreciate the coffee,” I tell him, lifting the cup in thanks. “Tomorrow’s on me.”
He nods once, gives a faint smile, and walks away.
I watch him go, then look down at the coffee in my hand.
I pull the plastic lid off and inhale before adding cream.
It smells good. Familiar. But when I take a sip, it tastes a little like guilt.
Guilt for using crazy tactics to get Matt to finally see me.
And guilt because these so-called lessons Jaxon’s giving me.
.. Ugh. They might not be about Matt anymore. Not really.
I roll up my window, let the hum of the engine drown out my thoughts, and drive to work.
When I get there, I shuffle from one meeting that could’ve been an email to another round of calls that go absolutely nowhere. By the third—let me check with my supervisor and get back to you—I’m gripping my pen so tight my knuckles ache.
You like your job. You like your job.
I chant it silently, working hard to convince myself. I answer a few more emails, my replies blurring together until the words lose meaning. By noon, my stomach growls, reminding me that ambition doesn’t fill you up the way a sandwich can.
I didn’t have time to pack lunch, and normally I’d grab more than coffee at Golden Grinds. But yeah—no surprise there—I was too chicken-shit to go inside.
I stand, grab my light coat, and stick my head into Violet’s office. “Hey, I’m going to grab a sandwich. Want anything?” She doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just stares at her screen like it’s hypnotizing her. A flicker of worry pricks at me, and I step farther inside. “Violet?”
She startles, blinking herself back into focus, and I catch the dark smudges under her eyes. “Sorry,” she says, voice rough. “Didn’t hear you.”
“I think you were asleep. Sitting up. Eyes open.”
She lets out a hollow laugh. “Yeah, feels about right.”
“That takes real talent, or real exhaustion.”
“Parker was up half the night again.” She stretches, bones cracking. “At this point, I’d trade a week’s salary for six uninterrupted hours of sleep.”
I drop into the chair across from her. “You were only off four months, right?”
“Four and a half weeks,” she says, yawning. “And thank God for my mom during the days. Jeremy’s been on the road again, so it’s just me and the baby most nights.”
My heart tightens. I picture her in this same chair, juggling clients, deadlines, and exhaustion while her husband’s on the other side of the country.
Then, without meaning to, I think of my own mom, how she gave up everything when she had me.
No backup plan, no partner flying home on weekends. Just her.
The guilt cuts deep, slicing through the armor I wear to work every day.
She sacrificed her career so I could chase mine, and sometimes I tell myself my success is her reward.
But on days like this, when my phone won’t stop ringing and every conversation feels like a dead end, I can’t help but wonder, is this really anyone’s prize?
Because maybe life is about more than a title and a paycheck. Maybe I want the things I’ve been pretending I don’t—slow mornings, a messy kitchen, a hand reaching for mine in the dark… children.
But my mother warned me not to chase those things. Said they’d only distract me from what’s important. Said love and babies can distract from what’s important, and can leave you alone and struggling.
Maybe though, what’s important to her isn’t what’s important to me.
I know women can do it ‘all’ these days. I hear it all the time. I see it around me. Just look at Violet. She’s exhausted, yes, but she’s doing it.
Only problem is… I don’t want to do it all.
God, did I really just admit that to myself?
It’s such a twisted mess. Women are shamed for working when they have kids. Shamed for not working when they have kids. Shamed for wanting both. Shamed for wanting neither. There’s no right answer, just a constant shifting line you’re expected to walk without tripping.
I think about how hard I’ve worked to get here, how many nights I’ve stayed late, chasing the next rung.
How much my mom gave up—her time, her dreams—so I could have this career, this independence, this life she never got.
If I walked away now to raise a family, she’d never say it out loud, but I’d see it in her eyes.
That look that says, after everything I gave you, you’re throwing it away.
The guilt settles heavy in my chest, a weight I can’t quite shake.
With those thoughts still clinging to me, I head to the café across the street.
I grab sandwiches and strong coffee for Violet and myself, and when I get back, the rest of my afternoon unravels into the same frustration as the morning—calls, follow-ups, small wins that don’t add up to anything that feels solid.
Then, out of nowhere, one conversation pulls me down a rabbit hole, and by the time I finally hang up, the office is half-empty and the sky outside has gone indigo.
I stretch my neck, rub my temples, and shoot Jaxon a quick text to let him know I’ll be running late, stopping for wine, maybe a salad. My phone buzzes almost immediately. His name lights up the screen, and just seeing it makes my pulse lift, like a tiny reset after a long, draining day.
“Hey,” I say, a little breathless. “Sorry, I lost track of time.”
“It’s okay,” he responds, voice warm and steady, not at all upset. “I can pick up the wine. I already made some food.”
Some of the tension drains out of me. “Of course you did. My man who’s great in the kitchen.”
In so many ways.
He chuckles softly. “Everything okay?”
“Yes, just busy. How about you? Practice go okay?”
“Yeah, it was good. Met up with the guys at the Nook beforehand.” There’s something in his tone I can’t quite place. “You were right about Gina. She’s run off her feet.” A low whistle. “It’s crazy in there.”
“I know. I wish there was a way I could help her.”
“Same, but—”