The Snowball Effect - pt. 2 (Patreon)

Hi, all!

Coming in hot as the month closes out, starting with the next 17,000 words of Regan and Emma's story!

I'm attaching the entire document thus far, but part 1 was posted last month, which included the prologue and chapters 1+2. If you'd like to skip over anything you have previously read, jump right to chapter 3!

the document is attached at the bottom as a pdf, but I recently received a comment that some people have an easier time viewing/reading posts directly on patreon, so the entire story is also right below!

-----------The Snowball Effect------------

Prologue 

Would Regan Gallagher say that working at a coffee shop was “her calling” so-to-speak? Not exactly. Was it what she wanted to do for the rest of her life? Definitely not. But it happened to be something she was really fucking good at. Maybe it was the frenetic pace during rush hours, never dipping into a boring lull or letting Regan get too distracted. Maybe it was the freedom she was granted during the slower hours – especially now that she was an assistant manager – that allowed her to get hands-on with multiple aspects of the cafe, indulging her curious nature. Maybe it was simply the scent of caffeine in the air that fueled her coffee-addicted can-do spirit. 

Whatever it was, Regan had been working at Topped Off for five years, and she was something of a one-woman show at the moment. 

Topped Off rarely experienced true emptiness – it was a 24-hour hipster shop located in the heart of New York University’s Manhattan campus, serving some quality grounds. They had a revolving door nearly constantly, with students holing up at tables and booths throughout the night. It was more likely to be busy than not. 

Usually, though, Regan wasn’t the only person working during finals week. In fact, as the person who made the schedule, she made it a point to never put anyone as the one and only barista manning the front of the store during this time. 

Today, though, she was the ringleader and entertainment all-in-one, and she just might kill Rochelle and Pat for both calling out sick today. Regan was no dummy; she was well-aware that they’d gone out the night before and had gotten blasted. The “sickness” they were enduring today was undoubtedly alcohol-related. 

“I deserve a medal for this,” she said to herself, swiping her arm over her forehead to brush away any strands that had escaped her ponytail in the three hours since she’d had time to redo her hair. “Gold, too, because I fucking killed that.”

Really, she did. She’d just handled the never-ending morning line of stress-addled nerds, single-handedly. And after she prepared this drink, she was going to call Jacklyn out from the kitchen and have her cover so Regan could take her well-deserved fifteen minute break. 

The drink in question that she was prepping was… questionable. Even to her own palette. 

Regan considered herself a rather daring coffee drinker – whatever batshit sounding specialty orders came down from corporate, Regan tried them all herself. It was somewhat of a special activity here. At the beginning of every month when the monthly specials list was received, everyone would gather around to try them. In particular, as the main event, Regan would assemble a small size of every single special, then go down the line and try them all. Even the one that had both lemonade and pumpkin spice in it. 

In Regan’s humble opinion, the taste-testers – or whoever the hell came up with the flavors at their northeast-based chain – had no fear. Occasionally, when they sent down the recipes for some of those wild flavor combinations,  she wondered if they even had taste buds. 

She gave the final pump of liquid sugar, before finishing with the caramel drizzle over the top, unable to hold back her grimace. But she worked quickly, because the girl who’d placed this order of a “steaming hot extra-large dark roast, two shots of espresso, four shots of chai, five pumps of liquid sugar, finished with caramel – keep them coming” had preemptively tipped Regan a hundred bucks, before she’d made herself at home in one of the back booths next to the windows, two hours ago. 

Topped Off didn’t typically provide table service, either, but when this woman had wordlessly flashed another hundred at Regan as a promise of an additional tip… well, Regan was going to provide table-side delivery. 

As she hustled out from behind the counter, she frowned down at the cup as she tried to snap the lid on. 

“This fucking thing,” she muttered. The most recent shipment of lids for their large hot cups weren’t snapping onto the cups quite right, and –

Regan gasped in surprise as she bumped into someone, hot coffee leading the way. 

A cold terror slid through her veins and she swore she watched the next few seconds play out in slow motion. As the shitty, malfunctioning lid popped right off, and the literally steaming hot liquid dumped from over the lip of the cup, down the woman’s shirt. 

“Shit!” She shouted in the middle of the packed café, because she was a professional. “Oh, god! Fuck!”

While she was yelling, the other woman grit her jaw, grimacing deeply in pain. Which made a ton of sense. 

That drink had been hot; the bit that had splattered on Regan’s fingers had hurt, even. So she could only imagine how it felt, all over this woman’s chest. 

Her very ample chest, that was only a couple inches lower than eye-level for Regan, who was level with this woman’s strong jaw. 

And this woman’s pale blue long-sleeved button up had already been form-fitting, but it was utterly soaked through, now, clinging to the woman like a second skin. Regan could clearly see her bra and how hard her nipples were. 

Fuck, those must be burning, too! Regan’s own nipples were so sensitive, she’d have probably been in tears if hot coffee had been poured on them. 

Out of pure reflex,  she dropped the cup and reached out, grabbing both sides of the woman’s shirt so she could rip it open, trying to get some cool air on her. 

Regan would be the first person to say that sometimes her… impulsivity got ahead of her. But this was the right decision; she knew it was. It was what she’d want someone to do for her. 

She could hear the scattering of buttons over the wooden floors, and she could feel the stares of most of the patrons. Which wasn’t shocking, first because Regan had dumped coffee on her, and now because, like, seriously, this woman had breasts to die for. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” The woman finally spoke. Rather, growled. 

“Helping!” Regan shouted back, laser-focused on the task at hand. 

She grabbed the woman’s hand and started to pull her toward the employee break room, barely pausing as she shouted, “Jacklyn! I have an emergency! Please come cover the front!” 

Without another second to waste, she tugged the woman into the back room, her thoughts racing. They had to check her for burns; everyone thought that warning on the McDonald’s cup was funny, but liquid burns were no joke! Then– 

Before Regan could lead the woman to one of the chairs at the break table, the woman yanked her hand out from Regan’s, repeating, “What the fuck are you doing?!” 

Only, this time, it wasn’t a quiet hiss, but a demanding shout. 

It didn’t bother Regan, though. This was a stressful situation, and stress begot yelling from time to time. Especially if she was hurt. 

Regan turned, leaning in closer to inspect the skin of the woman’s chest, where the majority of the liquid had made direct contact. Though the smooth, pale skin was pink from the heat of the coffee, it didn’t appear to be blistering or have any other lasting repercussions. She lowered her gaze, looking at the woman’s gently rounded stomach, which was also blushing from the heat, but –

The woman jerked her arms across herself, as she repeated in a low, dangerous voice, “I don’t want to ask again: What. The fuck. Are you doing?”

Satisfied that the woman wasn’t going to endure any serious burns, the relief that slid through Regan was swift and immense. God, that could have been terrible. As it was, it seemed like a ruined shirt was the only victim!

Turning on her heel, she pulled her unlocked locker open and started rooting through it. She definitely had a sweatshirt in here, somewhere. “I saw this totally gross video once about this guy who spilled boiling water on his legs, and basically, he ended up with these sick burns because his pants had clung the hot liquid onto his skin, right? And the doctors had said the burns would have been way less severe if he hadn’t had the pants on.” 

She shuddered from the visual she could still clearly see in her mind’s eye of the burns. God, that had been so disgustingly awful. They really had been so lucky just now. 

Oh – there it was! Her sweatshirt. 

“Got it!” She called out in triumph, pulling it out from where it was nestled between her cosmetics bag and spare rain jacket. 

Her very well-loved, soft, blue and gray Brandeis sweatshirt – from the single year of college that she’d attended – that she kept here for when the air conditioning was turned up too high. 

She turned to give it to the woman, finally taking a good look at her in a non-clinical way. 

She had a long, graceful neck and a very strong jaw, that led down to that expanse of soft-looking skin of her chest. She had a light smattering of freckles, that stood out starkly against the pink irritation, and Regan’s gaze, again, was drawn to her white lacy bra that was very much on display, now. It seemed to only be slightly dampened, though, which was great. Because unlike the sweatshirt, Regan most definitely did not have a bra lurking in her locker that would be able to accommodate this woman’s band or cup size. 

“My eyes are up here,” the woman grit out. 

Summoned, Regan snapped her own eyes up to meet them. The eyes in question were an icy blue, and it was the only way Regan could possibly imagine to describe them. Even right now, when they were undoubtedly fiery? Ice blue. 

“I see that,” she agreed, as she felt twin chills at the base of her spine and the pit of her stomach from the look she received, which fascinated her on a whole other level. That was a new experience for her! 

The woman’s hair – caught between a dark blonde and a light brown – had been spared from the coffee fiasco, pulled up into an elegant braided twist, which added to her previously professional look, with the button-up and the well-fitted black pants. 

“What the hell is the matter with you?” The woman demanded to know, before she crossed her arms tighter, and then grimaced in disgust at – what Regan guessed was – the wet stickiness of the coffee that still soaked the material. 

“I mean, adult-identified ADHD. But I don’t really like to look at it as something being the matter with me.”  

The set of the crazily strong jaw, along with an entirely unamused sigh told Regan that this woman did not find any levity here. Which was a shame, because Regan was usually pretty good with levity. 

She stared up into the woman’s eyes, hoping that how deeply apologetic she felt was mirrored there. “I’m just, it’s been totally hectic here, and I didn’t look before I turned around, which was a really dumb rookie mistake, and I didn’t see you. I swear, I didn’t mean to–”

“No, I got how you spilled the coffee. What I don’t get is where the hell you get off, ripping my shirt off at all, let alone in front of fifty people!” 

“It was more like twenty people, tops, and I thought you were going to have third degree burns!” She gesticulated wildly, a curl of remorse about the shirt-incident sliding through her stomach; that was how it always happened. She acted first and then everything else came later. “I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking.”

“Yeah, clearly,” the woman snapped in her low, clear voice. “Do you ever?”

“Well. Ouch.” She cradled her sweatshirt in her arms and leaned back on her heels.

“Not only do I have my first meeting with my advisor with a coffee soaked and stained shirt, but one that doesn’t have any fucking buttons,” the woman absolutely fumed. 

“Oh!” Thankfully reminded of what she’d been doing, Regan pushed her sweatshirt toward the woman. “Here. Take this. I mean, it’s no fancy ironed button-up – you know, I didn’t realize twenty-somethings owned irons anymore? I definitely don’t – but it is from Brandeis, which is a, uh, really… good… school.” 

Her words came out slower as the woman whipped off her shirt entirely, her chest heaving in the white bra as she muttered unintelligible but clearly angry words under her breath, before she grabbed Regan’s sweatshirt and tugged it over her head. 

“Well, thank god I like to buy my sweatshirts a couple sizes bigger,” she commented with an appreciative nod. 

Regan liked to cuddle into that sweatshirt for comfort and she’d bought it with that purpose in mind. So it sat baggy and low on her, ending at her mid-thighs. On this woman, conversely, it hugged her chest and sat flatteringly fittingly on her curved hips. 

She only realized her words could be taken the wrong way when the woman’s mouth fell open in offense and she gave Regan a look that she could only explain as – this woman definitely thought she was legit out of her fucking mind; she was somewhat familiar with it. 

“Unbelievable.”

“Not that I’m, like, calling you fat,” she quickly explained, shaking her head, before she thought for a second and wrinkled her nose at herself and added on, “Or that there is anything wrong with being heavy, either, for that matter, I just meant, like, it fits well–”

The woman clearly did not want to stick around to hear the rest. She huffed out a breath and balled up her wet shirt in her fist as she cut Regan off, “I’m leaving, now.” 

She strode to the door before she paused, and took a noticeably deep breath. She squared her shoulders and it only then occurred to Regan that this woman was embarrassed to walk back out through the café full of people who’d seen her without her shirt. 

“I’m really–” she started, stepping towards the woman. Who strode out of the back room without a backward glance, as if propelled away by Regan’s voice, “Sorry.” 

If she would have given Regan a moment to speak, Regan would have offered her an exit through the back! 

***

Regan had nearly forgotten all about that terrible, no-good morning a month later. 

The semester was re-starting after winter break, and business was picking back up at Topped Off, but that wasn’t Regan’s problem tonight! Because tonight, she was having a night in with her best friend/roommate, Sutton. 

Sutton was on her way back from her first day of classes, officially halfway through her second year of grad school, and had texted Regan an hour ago to say:

I hope you didn’t order dinner already! I’m going to leave campus soon, but I’ve been hanging out for the afternoon with Dr. Woods’ new teaching assistant and showing her the ropes. I invited her to have dinner with us, if that’s okay?

Regan’s reminder alarm to order dinner had just gone off, so… 

You got me just in time. Hit me with the order. Can’t wait to meet your new school friends, sunshine!

She’d just received their order and laid the spread out on their kitchen table when their apartment door opened. “And your fortunate timing continues, Sutton-lucky-Spencer!” She shouted, wiping her hands on her thighs as she moved to step through the doorway into their short front hall. 

Only to stumble over her feet and come to a stop at the sight of the woman next to Sutton. Tall – just as tall as Sutton was, in fact – with familiar icy blue eyes.

Sutton grinned, bright and oblivious, as she nodded toward Regan. “Emma, this is my roommate, Regan.” She gestured at the woman. “And this is Emma, my fellow teaching assistant.” 

Those icy blue eyes seemed to frost over as they widened, then narrowed. “We’ve met,” she’d muttered, darkly.

Even though it had been weeks, Emma’s glare was just as sharp as it had been that day. Regan was fairly certain right then and there that they were not destined to be friends. 

Chapter One

Emma Bordeaux yawned widely as she blinked her eyes open, staring up at the ceiling of her bedroom.

For the briefest of moments, her morning awakening was peaceful.

Waking up without the assistance of her alarm was incredibly rare. So rare, actually, that it was unheard of for her. Typically, her first alarm went off at six-thirty. Followed by her alarm at six-forty-five. Followed again by the alarm at six-fifty. And finally, the alarm that annoyed her enough to really rouse her, her seven o’clock.

With that thought in mind, she rolled onto her side to tap the screen of her phone to check the time.

Only to frown, sitting up straighter in bed as her stomach started to sink.

Because her phone screen remained dark, even as she continued to tap on it, each touch more compulsive than the last.

“No. Nooo, no, no. Come on,” she hissed, all semblance of her calm welcome into the world washed away in panic.

Was her phone broken?! It wasn’t the newest model… all right, it was far from the newest model. But it had been working perfectly fucking fine last night! It had been at ten percent battery when plugged in to charge when she’d gone to bed just after eleven. She’d had her nighttime playlist going to lull her to sleep, and it had all been completely normal.

She cut her gaze to the window as she threw the sheet away from her body, hopping out of bed. The sun was high in the sky, brightly shining into her room, and she could hear the sounds of the city, very much awake, muffled from the street below.

It didn’t look or sound like it should when she rolled out of bed at seven.

Adrenaline-fueled panic coursed through her veins, as she threw open her bedroom door and ran into the kitchen to check the clock over the stove.

Which did nothing to help, as the digital clock flashed the time back at her in blinking numbers that read 12:13.

She rushed back down the hallway with her bedroom, where the artful yet functional – and battery-operated – clock hung on the wall, and informed her that it was currently 8:02.

Even though she’d already been stressed, her stomach now tied in knots so tight, she thought she might be sick from them. 

“Fuck,” she swore under her breath, wheeling around so quickly, she needed to brace her hand on the opposite wall to keep from falling in her haste.

Bathroom. She needed to get into the bathroom and brush her teeth and hair and get herself as presentable as possible. She’d have to skip her morning shower, but that was… fine. What wouldn’t be fine would be arriving even later to work than she already would be.

She’d only started at Olly three weeks ago, and she was pretty certain that Allegra Pantone, her boss, hadn’t taken a  special liking to her in that short time. Emma wasn’t really sure if Allegra had taken a liking to anyone, ever.

Reaching out, she tried to open the bathroom door, only to find that it was locked.

Which – locked? What the –?

“Regan? Are you in there?” She called out, hearing the desperation in her own voice.

Showing a vulnerability to anyone at any point in time made her feel uncomfortable, but she absolutely loathed displaying it to Regan even more.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, however, and she banged on the door with her palm. “Hello? Regan?”

“This is she,” Regan’s smart-alec voice replied from the other side of the door. “Who’s asking?”

Ah. There it was, that sharp feeling of annoyance at Regan. Honestly, this was such a terrible morning, she welcomed that feeling right about now.

She narrowed her eyes at the door, huffing out a breath. “Obviously Emma.”

“I thought so. But since you asked if I was the person occupying the bathroom in our two-person apartment, I figured I would make sure that you were the person doing the asking.”

Emma’s foot started to tap against the hardwood floor as agitation, impatience, and anxiety twisted together inside of her. She took a deep breath, before she set her jaw and let go of the retort she normally would have said.

Instead, she asked, “Are you almost done in there?”

There was a beat before Regan responded, “Um… I guess I could be. Why?”

“Because I need to use the bathroom!” She couldn’t control the growl that escaped as she spoke.

But, jesus, she swore Regan Gallagher made it a point to be as irritating as possible. She couldn’t say yes or no to a simple question, couldn’t make anything easier.

Typical.

“Like, a pee-emergency?”

“Oh my god.” Emma strove for control, dropping her forehead to the door jamb and closing her eyes. “No.”

Though, now that Regan mentioned it, Emma was due for her morning pee.

“A little,” she amended. “But I overslept, and I need to get ready for work literally as fast as humanly possible, okay?”

She jumped as the door only inches from her face suddenly swung open.

“Why didn’t you just say that?” Regan asked, stepping out from where she stood in the doorway.

Emma wasted no time as she stepped past Regan, not even bothering to snap the door closed as she jammed her phone charger into the bathroom outlet, hoping it would work.

Relief rushed through her when her phone buzzed with a sign of life, even if the battery was completely dead.

Without wasting time, she immediately started brushing her teeth with one hand, using the other to open her side of the mirror to rifle through her toiletries.

If she got herself together in the next fifteen minutes, skipped her morning coffee, and arrived at her subway stop in record time – and if the subway didn’t experience any delays – she could make it to work less than ten minutes late.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so panicky.” Regan’s voice cut into her rushing thoughts.

Emma slid her gaze toward the doorway that Regan still stood in, having not realized she was even still there.

She ran her eyes over Regan, actually taking her in for the first time. Regan was wearing only a towel, wrapped snugly around her lithe body, knotted between her breasts, and her long, dark hair was thrown casually into a knot on the top of her head.

“Because I’m not,” she muttered back around her toothbrush, turning away from Regan to spit into the sink and wash her mouth out.

“What’s going on this morning, then?” Regan asked, making herself comfortable in the doorway. Instead of doing what Emma would classify as the normal thing, and going away.

It was what every other roommate Emma had lived with in her adult life would have done, anyway. And it was most definitely what Emma would prefer.

“My alarm didn’t go off,” she answered curtly, as she quickly started tugging a brush through her hair. Typically, she kept it just below her shoulders, but it was several inches longer now; she’d been so busy in the last month, she hadn’t had the time to get it cut. “Do you know why the stovetop clock isn’t working, either?”

“Ohhhhh,” Regan drew out, snapping her fingers. “Yes. I do.”

Emma huffed out an impatient breath, snapping her eyes up to meet Regan’s in the mirror. As she could have predicted, Regan was wearing a shit-eating smile on her irritatingly perfectly full lips.

“And?” She grit out.

“And, there was a power outage just after midnight. It’s this crazy freaking heat wave; I can’t believe you didn’t wake up!” Regan tossed her hands in the air dramatically, as if unable to even fathom it.

Emma continued to stare her down in the mirror, wondering if Regan even understood the absurdity of her comment. “Why would I have woken up from a power outage?”

“Because! It was so hot,” Regan explained, her eyebrows flying up high on her forehead as she stared at Emma like Emma was the insane one, here. “The air conditioning shut off, obviously. I was laying on the kitchen floor with ice packs all over my body.”

“Of course you were,” she murmured, shaking her head.

The dramatics.

“It was, like, ninety degrees in here. Literally. For at least an hour, before the power came back on, and then I could finally go to sleep.”

“And yet, you didn’t set the clock on the oven,” she pointed out, unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

Because, of course, Regan had been awake and in the kitchen, and hadn’t taken it upon herself to set the clock again.

Regan looked uncharacteristically sheepish, then. “… that’s a fair comment. Sorry. I forgot.”

The apology sounded sincere, but it was the fact that Regan hadn’t set the damn clock that was the root of Emma’s perpetual irritation with her. Therefore, she ignored it.

“My phone was plugged in all night,” she commented, instead, gesturing down at her charging phone with her elbow as she quickly started braiding her hair over her shoulder. “Do you know why it didn’t start charging again after the power came back on?”

Regan seemed to perk up, previous sheepishness forgotten, as she nodded. “Yeah, actually! So, obviously the apartment is in good shape, even though the building is, like, a hundred years old.” She fondly patted the wall next to her. “But, there’s a little snag when the power goes out – everything we have plugged into the outlets in our bedrooms needs to be unplugged and then plugged in again before it starts working.”

Emma could only stare at Regan through a confused, narrowed look.

Regan held up her hands, though, as if anticipating Emma’s bafflement. “I’m not an electrician, so I don’t know how it works! But everything in the kitchen and living room turns back on like normal. It’s just our bedroom outlets that are weird.”

“This might have been useful information to have been told when I moved in,” she pointedly said, arching an eyebrow as she snapped her hair tie on to secure her braid.

This time, it was Regan who shot her an incredulous look. “First – like, yeah, I guess so. But secondly and most relevantly – you would have still been sleeping when the power came back on, and I’m not allowed in your room except in case of emergencies, in your own passionate words. So… how would you have charged your phone, even if you knew about the outlets?”

Emma pursed her lips, hating that she couldn’t think of anything to say to counter that point.

She hated even more that Regan’s dark eyes lit up with an obvious gotcha.

“Fine.” Maybe Regan had a point; even a broken clock was right twice a day, she supposed. Much like the clock over the stove right now. “Regardless, I have to go.”

She unplugged her phone as she started toward the door.

Regan didn’t really move out of her way, only turning her body slightly, so Emma couldn’t avoid brushing by her. This was something Regan did frequently when they ran into each other in the hallway, and Emma always wondered what compelled her to not do the polite thing, and scoot out of the way.

Emma did her best to give Regan her space whenever they passed one another, but the simple reality was that Manhattan apartments were not spacious, and Regan was, like, half Emma’s size. At five-foot-nine, Emma was at least five inches taller than Regan, and outweighed Regan by at least forty pounds. She didn’t know if Regan was simply used to living with Sutton – a waif – or what, but it was yet another thing that irked her.

“Anyway, you’re welcome I paused as I was literally about to step into the shower,” Regan called to her as Emma rushed back to her room.

Which gave her pause, and Emma tossed Regan a look, once again taking in the whole towel-situation. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

A bright, annoyingly luminescent smile slid over Regan’s face. “Was that so hard?”

Without a verbal response, Emma stepped into her room and sharply shut the door.

***

“You’re late,” Brynn, Allegra’s other assistant, commented as soon as Emma entered the open space their desks shared.

Emma dumped her bag onto her desk, immediately searching into the glass-walled office next to them for Allegra. “Is she here, yet?”

“Today’s your lucky day,” Brynn informed her. “She texted early and said she was going to be taking a last-minute meeting over coffee.”

Even though Emma had felt far from lucky this morning, the relief that flooded her veins was so heady, she could have passed out from it. “Thank god.”

“Seems unlike you to be late,” Brynn commented, arching her a sharp look. “Or have you just been on your best behavior for the last month?”

“The former,” she was quick to answer. “Definitely the former.”

She all-but collapsed in her desk chair, feeling like she was finally able to breathe. She reveled in that for a few seconds, before looking up and catching Brynn’s amused look.

“Apparently, the outlets in my new apartment are tricky when there’s a power outage, and my alarm didn’t go off,” she explained, as she started unpacking her bag.

Brynn hummed in acknowledgement. “I guess you’re lucky it was my day for Allegra’s morning coffee, too. I know she ended up taking a meeting but imagine if she’d texted you at seven-thirty to inform you and you didn’t answer!”

“Honestly? Yeah.” Because Emma hadn’t even thought about that, and she shuddered at the very idea.

She and Brynn were on a rotating schedule to fetch Allegra’s food and drinks, and fortunately, Emma had been on duty yesterday.

Brynn was two years younger than Emma’s twenty-nine and had been Allegra’s assistant for nearly a year, already. She’d gotten her foot in the door at Olly, the digital magazine they worked for, before she’d even finished her bachelor’s degree, because her aunt worked in the fashion department.

Emma had long accepted that there would be people like Brynn or Sutton, who were able to have easier access in the world because of their connections. She could still appreciate that Brynn was good at the job – always prompt, polished, and organized, and she’d been more than magnanimous in showing Emma the ropes, giving her the insider information on not only Allegra, but everyone else at Olly.

After Emma organized her desk for the morning, she blew her hair out of her eyes and looked across the small reception area to find that Brynn was watching her with an amused smile.

“Look, Allegra should be out for another twenty minutes. Why don’t you go down to the cafeteria and grab a coffee. Gather your bearings a bit. We have an all-hands meeting for two hours this afternoon, so…” She trailed off forebodingly.

Emma winced, not needing Brynn to say anymore. Allegra was the editor of the human-interest department – the fastest growing area at Olly. And while Emma admired her boss for being an amazing writer and editor, as well as a woman who’d carved her place out in journalism for decades, Allegra did not take kindly to the writers she handpicked turning in sub-par work. And it was no secret Allegra had not been pleased with several pieces as of late.

This meeting was going to be a long one.

“Thanks. Want anything?” She asked, standing from her desk.

Brynn shook her head and gestured to her half full iced coffee as she turned back to her computer.

As she made her way down to the third-floor café, Emma felt like she could breathe normally for the first time all day.

Having wanted to preserve the small amount of battery she’d accumulated before leaving the apartment, she hadn’t really checked her phone on her commute, other than scanning to see if Allegra had called or emailed.

But, as she started to take in all of the notifications that had popped up since she’d turned her phone on, that easy feeling fled yet again.

By all accounts, Emma’s life should have been in a great place right now.

Her grandmother had settled into Primrose Grove, an assisted living community in Astoria that she actually seemed to enjoy. Not a lot, but a little bit, and for now, a little bit was enough.

She’d finally graduated with her master’s degree last month. She had landed a more-than decently paying job at Olly. Assisting Doctor Magda Woods for the last two years while getting her graduate degree had been hard as hell, given that Woods loved to bust her ass, granting no favors and giving no slack. Ever. Not even when Emma had the flu.

But it had paid off when Woods had met with Emma as graduation approached, and granted Emma her stamp of approval. And in the literary world in this city, Magda Woods’s professional recommendation held a lot of weight. That referential phone call she’d made to Allegra had made all the difference for Emma getting this job.

She finally – finally – wasn’t living with her three vampiric roommates in the apartment right next to the fucking subway in Jackson Heights, anymore. No, she was living in Greenwich Village, in a cozy two-bedroom. It was, undoubtedly, the nicest place she’d ever lived in, quirky bedroom outlets or no.

Unfortunately, that apartment was shared with Regan Gallagher, so that really put a damper on things.

Forgetting to set the time after the power had gone out was so typical of Regan, Emma should have expected it.

While Emma hadn’t loved her previous roommates and how they’d been jammed into their small apartment like sardines, she had appreciated that they all seemed to want to have the same level of involvement with her that she wanted with them – very, very little. They’d stayed out of her business, and they’d all adhered to their roommate agreement to a T.

Living with Regan couldn’t be more different.

When Regan had approached her with the offer to move in, Emma had been baffled, before she’d found herself laughing, certain that Regan was telling her a ridiculous, nonsensical joke.

But, no. She’d been serious.

Regan was near the very bottom of the list of people Emma would choose to live with, wedged firmly between the friendly-yet-unhygienic girl that sat next to Emma in their Shakespeare course, and the smarmy know-it-all guy that worked at her favorite bookstore.

But when she offered her Sutton’s bedroom, in a much safer, nicer, and more convenient neighborhood, for the same monthly price that she was paying for her last lease… well, Emma figured she could manage any roommate for that.

She debated daily if that was the truth.

The day Emma had moved in, Regan had overzealously knocked a box out of Emma’s arms, resulting in it crashing to the floor. The box that had, naturally, contained one of her grandmother’s porcelain bird figurines that she’d given Emma when Emma had moved out. The figurine had, of course, broken in two.

And things hadn’t really improved since then.

Regan loved to sing loudly to herself while she cooked and cleaned. Hell, while she tied her shoes. She questioned Emma incessantly whenever they ran into one another, and if she wasn’t peppering her with inane questions, she rambled about her own day with stories Emma didn’t ask for. She was consistently banging around in the kitchen at all hours of the night.

She didn’t stick to a bathroom schedule of any kind. In fact, her entire schedule was unpredictable for Emma. She knew Regan managed Topped Off, a coffeehouse, but there was no semblance of normality or consistency in the way she flitted about her days.

Once, less than a week into Emma moving in, Regan had exuberantly thrown Emma’s door open when she’d returned home from work at ten in the evening. Emma had startled, barely pulling up the shorts she’d been changing into before climbing into bed to cover her ass, before she’d whirled around to demand, “Is there an emergency or something?”

To which Regan had given Emma an absurdly confused look, before answering, “… not that I know of? Why?”

“Because that is the only reason you should ever be opening my door without knocking,” she’d snapped back, incredulously, before gesturing for Regan to get the fuck out.

So, while things on the home front were geographically the best they’d ever been, logistically, it was a nightmare.

And, as she stared dismally down at her phone, somehow Regan didn’t manage to be the most stressful thing in her life right now.

Not when she was faced with five texts and a missed call from Kimberly.

Hurricane Kimberly – 6:52AMGood morning Emma-bo-bemma!

Hurricane Kimberly – 7:27AMSorry for calling so early. I know youre probably getting ready for work at OLLY!!!

Hurricane Kimberly – 7:29AMI was just trying to nail you down for a dinner confirmation sometime in the next few weeks before your schedule fills up again

Hurricane Kimberly – 7:31AMId just like really REALLY like to see you, soon. I miss you. And so do Mandy and Michelle!!

Hurricane Kimberly – 7:48AMBut I know youre busy. Ill try again in a bit!

Mixed in with those messages, unsurprisingly, was one from her grandmother.

Gram – 8:18AMShe’s really trying, honey.

Emma reached up to rub intently at her temples upon reading her mother’s texts. Somehow, Kimberly always managed to give Emma the beginnings of a headache. It was like she was conditioned for it at this point. Pavlov’s Migraine. 

As if summoned by Emma’s thoughts, her phone started buzzing in her hand – apparently, waiting for less than two hours was the “bit” of time Kimberly had meant.

She pursed her lips as she stood in line for her coffee, automatically hovering her thumb over the decline option.

One of the last things she wanted this morning was to talk to her mother.

But the literal last thing she wanted to do in life was upset her grandmother. Whose latest text of encouragement was only the most recent in her attempts to help bridge the gap between Emma and her mother.

With that in mind, she sighed and hovered her thumb over the answer icon. And when she reasoned that Kimberly wouldn’t give her texting/calling a rest until Emma answered her, she finally did so.

“Hi,” she greeted, shortly. Feeling uncomfortable, as she often did, when interacting with Kimberly.

“Emma!” Her mother’s voice shouted in her ear, with both obvious delight and surprise. “I finally got a hold of you!”

Emma gave the barista a flash of a polite smile, and placed her coffee order, before she stepped to the side to wait. “Yeah, well, you did call on a work morning,” she reminded her.

“Oh, I know. And I know you’re very busy and all. I just can’t wait until you finally have some free time to come over for dinner and tell me all about your glamorous job?” There was an undeniable edge of hope in her mom’s voice that tied Emma’s stomach into knots for the second time before ten AM.

“It’s not really glamorous,” she returned, before she threw a look over her shoulder, just to make sure Allegra hadn’t appeared in the café that she rarely ever stepped foot into. But, just in case.

When she confirmed the coast was clear, she continued, “I’m only an assistant. So. There’s not much to tell.”

That was a slight lie; Emma’s days were incredibly busy, and there was always something going on. Kimberly would never need to know that, though.

“I’d love to hear the boring details, then,” Kimberly readily responded, as if anticipating Emma’s not-so-subtle shut-down. “I figure that things have been settling down enough for you to book in a dinner, now that you’ve been there for almost a month?”

Emma rolled her lips together, holding in her sigh.

Kimberly had moved back to New York three months ago, and had been doggedly trying to nail Emma down for “bonding” ever since. Emma had an easy way out at first – it was the end of the semester and she had a ton of work to finish as she ended her master’s program. And for the last month, she’d had the reasoning that she was extremely busy at work as she found her footing at Olly.

“Your gram said that you’ve been doing so well,” Kimberly added, very enthusiastically. “She said you told her you even got an official nod of approval from that stern boss of yours!”

Emma dropped her head back on a silent groan. She knew that Kimberly was her gram’s daughter and all, but was nothing safe, anymore?

If she wasn’t jam-packed at work, what could she say now? Short of, actually, I just don’t want to see you, anyway? Which she couldn’t say, because her gram had already had two heart attacks in the last three years, and Emma refused to be a cause of any additional stress in her life.

“Uh… yeah, I mean, work is settling down, I guess.” And it was. Allegra had given her a considering, thoughtful nod last week, when she’d overheard Emma discuss an article with one of the staff writers, who’d been waiting to see Allegra.

Emma had ridden that high for days.

“The thing is, I’m still kind of swamped. Now that work is calming down, I have to switch gears to focus on my new living situation,” she lied through her teeth.

Regan was chaos personified, but that was never going to change, and Emma was never going to get used to it.

“Oh, yeah! I haven’t heard just about anything about this new apartment, other than that it’s in the Village, right?” Kimberly asked, eagerly.

Emma smiled at the barista as she accepted her coffee, bringing it over to the fixing station. “Yeah,” she confirmed, drawing out the word as she tried to figure out what to add on. “It is. And it’s, you know, it’s a really new circumstance for me, because I’m not living with my old roommates or anything. This isn’t like I was just moving in with some random strangers I found online. Regan is… different…”

She trailed off, and this time it had less to do with her mother, and more to do with the fact that she had no idea how to summarize the entirety that was Regan and still keep this conversation as brief as possible.

Her mom gasped, the sound so jarring in her ear that Emma fumbled with the lid for her iced coffee. “I didn’t know this new roommate of yours wasn’t just a roommate! You never mention your romantic partners!” 

Dumbfounded, Emma nearly dropped her phone, as she wracked her brain to think over what she’d just said, trying to figure out if her words alluded to Regan being anything more than what she was – that was, Emma’s pathologically irritating housemate.

She didn’t think so, but it wasn’t crazy that Kimberly had made that leap. After all, when her mother had been Emma’s age, her life had been consumed by her various love interests.

“I remember the first time I moved in with Johnny. Do you remember him?”

The dreamy quality of her mother’s voice did absolutely not align with Emma’s memories of Johnny, whom she absolutely did remember. He’d been her mom’s most long-lasting and prevalent on-and-off boyfriend throughout Emma’s early childhood. He’d also been an abusive alcoholic, resulting in Kimberly moving back to Gram’s in tears.

“Sure do,” she confirmed, grimly.

“The first time we moved in together, it was so… encompassing. We were so wrapped up in each other and in making the apartment our little home. It’s a big thing, moving in with someone like that.”

Emma remembered very well how wrapped up in Johnny her mother had been. So wrapped up that Emma didn’t recall her mother coming back to visit her at Gram’s for weeks.  

“Yeah,” was all she said.

“I understand, Em. I really do. You should take some time now to revel in living with your Regan, for a little while. I’ll just keep reaching out and when you’re ready, we’ll confirm dinner plans? You can bring Regan, too!” Kimberly readily added. “I’d love to meet her.”

Emma couldn’t hold back her scoff as she walked back toward the elevators. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Before her mother could say anything else, she cut in, “All right, I have to get to work. Have a good one.”

“Bye! I love you!” Her mother managed to get in before Emma disconnected the call.

As she rode the elevator back up to the thirtieth floor, she shook her head. If her mother believed Regan was her girlfriend rather than just her roommate, Emma would gladly take that excuse as far as it would take her from making any dinner plans.

At the very least, she supposed she’d found the silver lining to her new living situation.  

Chapter Two

As Regan’s phone rang, signaling an incoming video call from Sutton, Regan jumped to answer it.

Literally, jumped from where she’d been browsing pasta types at the grocery store to where her phone was snugly resting in the top part of the carriage.

As she slid her thumb up the screen to answer, she was thrilled that she already had her earbuds in, as she’d been listening to music while shopping. She still would have taken Sutton’s call in the middle of shopping, but she figured it was way less annoying for the other shoppers this way.

And while she recognized that, she got to speak to her best friend so infrequently while Sutton was in Rome, she couldn’t summon enough shits to give to not answer a public FaceTime.

Besides, she’d chosen to go grocery shopping in the middle of the morning on a weekday as to avoid any and all crowds. She hated grocery shopping on her own – she was indecisive at best, and overwhelmed at all of the choices, even with her list, at worst – and ever since Sutton had left, she’d taken to doing all of her shopping at the least busy times.

Regan could already both feel how widely she was grinning, even before she saw her little, grainy image in the bottom right of her screen.

She couldn’t help it, though.

Nor could she help the excited, “Ahhh! Look at you! A sight to behold!” From escaping her at a decibel that was slightly louder than publicly appropriate.

 Sutton was smiling just as brightly back at her, even as she rolled her eyes. “Regan, I look the exact same as I did the last time you saw me. Less than a month ago.”

“Pfft,” she dismissed, leaning in and narrowing her eyes to really look at Sutton’s image. The quality of her video connection in the back aisles of the grocery store wasn’t great, so Sutton was a bit grainier than usual. “Let me do a visual sweep,” she jokingly-but-not-jokingly commanded.

Sutton’s smile dimmed slightly, as she stared right into the camera. “Regan.”

“Sutton,” she parroted her tone. “Girl, you are halfway across the world! You’ve never been so far away from me for so long! Prove to me that you’re whole, please.”

Even though Sutton quietly protested, she did set her phone on a perch and took a step back, holding out both of her arms, and doing a quick spin so Regan could inspect. The whole process only took three seconds, which was why Regan figured Sutton indulged her.

“You know, my mom doesn’t even make me do this,” Sutton grumbled as she settled back into the seat at her desk.

Satisfied, Regan shrugged. “Some might say that I’m more protective over you than your mom is.” She cut her gaze to Sutton, warning, “But don’t tell Katherine I said that.”

Sutton laughed. “As if I would.”

Regan would never say it to Katherine Spencer, either, because she respected, feared, and loved that woman too much to say anything to her that had the chance of impugning her in the least. But she did think it was the truth.

After all, while Sutton was closer to her mom than the average adult was, there were only so many things Sutton disclosed to her mom.

Regan, as her best friend, knew all of Sutton’s stories. All of her truths, all of her heartbreaks.

Regan was the person that knew about every manipulative boyfriend, every date that didn’t call, every person that took advantage of Sutton’s giving nature over the years. She took her duty as Sutton’s closest confidante and fearless mouthpiece very seriously, ever since they’d become friends in the second grade.

While she was so fucking proud of Sutton for obtaining her master’s degree and getting into a prestigious internship in Italy for the remainder of the year, it didn’t mean Regan didn’t worry about her.

“Rome seems to agree with you,” she noted, taking in the tan on Sutton’s fair skin. “You have a lot of time out of the Archives for sightseeing?”

Sutton shrugged, pulling her legs up so that her feet were perched on her chair in front of her, and she could rest her chin on her knees. “Not a ton, yet. I was just granted access to the oldest files on record last week,” she reminded Regan, and there was an edge of undeniable excitement in her voice.

Regan smiled, affectionately. “Such a fuckin’ nerd.”

Sutton flipped her off, even as she continued, “But – when we aren’t working with the physical files – we’re allowed to work in the courtyard. And it’s so beautiful – filled with all of these natural plants and…” She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s great.”

“Good. I’m happy for you.” And she really, really was.

Regan jumped when someone pointedly coughed behind her, spinning around to face a middle-aged man. Who pointed at the rows of pasta behind Regan, annoyance clear on his face.

She grimaced. “Sorry!” Before she hopped out of the way.

When she looked back at her phone, Sutton was frowning. “Where are you? Are you at the store?”

Regan looked around once more, making sure that – other than that man – the aisle was still empty, before turning her attention back to Sutton. “Sure am,” she confirmed, trying to hold back her frown.

Unsurprisingly, Sutton caught it, and she sat up at attention and leaned in to try to look closer at Regan. “Are you okay? What’s up with you?” She demanded.

Well, demanded in the way Sutton demanded things. Delicately. Sweetly.

As always, Regan had trouble lying in the face of that concern. “Uh…” she hedged. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Tell me,” Sutton flat-out said, now. “Come on.”

Regan squeezed her eyes closed, leaning into the handles of the grocery cart as she admitted, “I am okay. It just – I…” She huffed out a breath. “I’m struggling a bit. With Emma.”

There. She’d spoken the unsurprising truth that she’d been trying to tiptoe around with Sutton for the last few weeks.

As she predicted, at her words, Sutton’s frown deepened, concern etching into her features. “Oh. I thought you said everything was okay? When I texted with Emma the other day she said it’s all fine?”

“Well, for Emma, I’m sure it is fine!” Regan felt the words burst out of her, throwing a look over her shoulder at the man behind her. Good, he was gone, and she was alone.

“Do you want me to set up a call to try and mediate?” Sutton offered, biting at her bottom lip as she studied Regan.

Regan shook her head, groaning. “No, I don’t, I…” She deliberately slowed down and made herself take a deep breath. “I don’t want you to be stressing about this while you’re literally in Rome, okay?”

And that was the utter truth.

Sutton had been so worried about how Regan would fare without her, that she’d seriously considered not taking her spot in this elite European internship. She hadn’t even told Regan she’d applied for it! Admittedly, Sutton had also been going through an intense heartbreak, so there were some other factors at play, and Regan didn’t delude herself to a grander level of importance than she deserved.

But it didn’t change the fact that Sutton had sobbed in Regan’s arms only four months ago, confessing about this internship and apologizing to Regan. Telling Regan that she didn’t have to worry, that Sutton wouldn’t go.

It had been somewhat of a wakeup call for Regan herself, at that moment.

A wakeup call that while she would always be Sutton’s best friend, one of the closest people to her in the world, she didn’t ever want to be someone that held Sutton back. Especially not when Sutton was capable of so many things, and had such a bright future ahead of her, while Regan… didn’t.

So, even though she didn’t want to say goodbye to Sutton for over six months, even though she didn’t want to live with Emma Bordeaux – a woman whose dislike for Regan had never wavered in the last two years – Regan had womaned up and done what needed to be done.

She’d filled out Sutton’s acceptance form and reached out to Emma to broker a deal. And she’d resolved right from the start that she would be a Big Fucking Girl, and handle her roommate business with Emma, without needing Sutton to stress about it.

“But, I know that you’re only living with her because of the situation, and–”

Regan cut Sutton off with a sharp shake of her head. “Look, it really is… fine. Emma and I haven’t killed each other. We haven’t even gotten into a brawl.”

“She’d kill you,” Sutton deadpanned. “So, yes, I can see that you’re telling me the truth, due to the fact that you are alive.”

Offense slid through her, and Regan’s mouth fell open with it. “Excuse you! She may be bigger than I am, but I think I have a much scrappier spirit than she does!”

Sutton’s silence, paired with her skeptical look, was incredibly insulting, and Regan reeled from it, gasping.

“Wooow. I can’t believe you think Emma would take me in a fight!”

Sutton offered her a placating look. “You wouldn’t go down without getting in some licks, I’m sure.”

Regan sniffed.

“Before we go any further down this road, I sincerely hope that I will never have to find out how true these conjectures are.”

“You won’t,” Regan assured her quickly, and knew that at the very least, that was true.

Regan and Emma both might have loud, fearless personalities, but they’d never gotten physical. Not even close.

She heaved a sigh, giving in to a question she’d been holding out from asking. But since they were on the topic… “Can you just, like, give me some pointers? How to woo Emma, maybe?”

Sutton choked out a surprised, incredulous laugh. “Excuse me?”

“In a friendly way! Emma liked you from day one, and she hated me. So, how do I do it? How do I get her to like me? Or at least tolerate me?”

She knew she sounded desperate, and she didn’t even give a fuck.

Because the reality of her situation was that Regan was floundering at home, with Emma. Regan, she’d been rapidly discovering, did not do well living in close quarters with someone who didn’t even want to have a simple conversation with her.

She’d known it would be an uphill battle to get Emma to like her – at least, to stop disliking her – but, “Nothing I do works, Sutton. Nothing. And I really am trying.”

She stepped back so Sutton could fully see her, holding up her hand as she counted on her fingers. “I tried to help her with her boxes when she moved in. But we had a, uh, miscommunication. And the box fell. And some stuff broke.” She winced, holding up a second finger. “Every time I try to make casual conversation, just asking about her day or telling her about mine, she gives the shortest answers and goes to her room.” She held up a third finger. “This morning, I was about to get in the shower – like, literally. I’d waited until after she usually has already left for the day. I was naked. I’d just put my hair up. And when she knocked and asked to use the bathroom, I put on a towel and let her!”

Emma had hardly even spared her a glance.

“Even then, she barely even thanked me.”

Not that Regan needed Emma to kiss her ass in gratitude or anything, but a simple acknowledgement without Regan needing to ask for it would have been nice! Especially because, “I highly doubt she would have done the same thing for me, had I asked her.”

She stared challengingly at Sutton, daring her to disagree. They both knew it was the truth.

For her credit, Sutton didn’t deny it. Instead, she let out a slow, deep breath, and reached up to rub her fingers over her eyes.

“So, what do I do?” Regan beseeched.

For a few seconds, Sutton was quiet. But, even on this blurred video, Regan could recognize her thinking-face.

“First,” Sutton started, slowly, “You should approach this knowing that you two may never be… friends.”

Regan stared at Sutton in disbelief. “What a profound psychological insight.”

“Shut up. Secondly.” Sutton rolled her lips, as if searching for how to say her thoughts. “Look, you operate – on an average day – at a seven out of ten level of energy.” She lifted her hand to be level with her forehead. “Emma operates at a three and a half.” She lowered her hand to just under her chin. “She’s very level. Even when she’s emotional, her emotions are–”

“Level,” Regan cut in, thoughtfully drawing out the word.

“Yes. Therefore, when you show up, in Emma’s face, at a seven – even at six in the morning or after a long day of work – Emma is automatically going to want to, um… get away.” Sutton winced. “I couldn’t think of a more delicate way to say that.”

Regan waved away the apology. “It’s fine, I get it.” She tapped her index finger against her lips in contemplation. “So, what you’re saying, is that I need to meet Emma where she’s at. Vibe on her energy level.”

Sutton snapped her fingers triumphantly. “Yes! Exactly that. Start there.”

***

Regan was pretty fucking pleased with herself, as she heard Emma’s key scrape in the lock of their apartment later that night.

She’d just finished plating her home-cooked dinner that she’d been working on for the last hour and a half. Two plates. Timing couldn’t have been better. And, if she was being entirely honest, it looked objectively delicious.

Rather than do what she wanted to do, and rush to the doorway of the kitchen to announce her culinary triumphs, she drew in a long, deep breath through her nose. And simply stood next to the table, waiting for Emma to walk by the doorway.

She smiled brightly as Emma slowed to a stop, scanning her eyes over the kitchen, before landing on Regan. “Hey!” She cleared her throat, reminding herself three and a half. “How was your day?”

Ignoring her question, Emma’s gaze dipped to the kitchen table and landed on the dishes there. “Are you expecting company?” She reached up and pointed to the large calendar she’d put up on the side of the fridge when she’d moved in. “If you put your schedule up on there like I’d asked, then I would made myself scarce when you’re going to have people over. It’s kind of the point of the shared calendar system.”

Regan darted her eyes over to the calendar in question, noting Emma’s small, neat handwriting on it that listed her work schedule. “Ah. Right. I keep meaning to do that.”

And she did. Only, then she’d forget.

Either way, she was on a mission, and was determined to not get distracted. Regan shook her head. “Either way – no. I’m not expecting anyone over. I had the day off and went to the grocery store by myself, and while I was there, I thought… why don’t I make us both dinner, tonight?”

“With all of the pans in the cabinets, I see,” Emma commented, sliding her gaze beyond Regan into their kitchen.

Where, admittedly, Regan’s wreckage was on display. “The small size of the kitchen makes it look worse than it is,” she promised. “I’ll clean it up after we eat; it’ll be fine.”

After all, Regan had lived here for seven years – cleaning up after her cooking messes hardly took long at all.

Emma dubiously nodded, looking back at Regan.

Who did her best not to bounce up onto her tiptoes from the weight of the uncertainty of the unspoken dinner invitation. “I remember you telling Sutton how much you love Chinese food one night, but that you never order it. Tonight, I made General Tso’s chicken!”

She gestured to their plates, feeling very victorious. Especially when Emma’s eyes lingered on their food – after living with Emma for nearly a month, Regan knew very well that Emma often came home after six or seven in the evening, without having had time to eat anything since lunch.

Calmly, Regan pulled out her chair and sat, before gesturing to the seat opposite her at the small table. “I had some extra time on my hands today. I promise, you having a meal with me doesn’t mean I’m going to be giving you a homemade friendship bracelet.”

Though, Regan had been absolutely incredible at making friendship bracelets back in the day. She bit back that fun fact.

Slowly, Emma nodded. She carefully set her bag down on the ground before walking over toward the table.

Regan could feel her excitement mounting as Emma sat down across from her.

Be cool. Be cool.

She waited as Emma picked up her fork and poked curiously though the dish – which was, admittedly, very simple. Rice, broccoli, chicken, and sauce. Apparently, it passed inspection, though, and Emma took a bite.

No matter how much she silently chanted it to herself, though, Regan couldn’t help the broad smile that overtook her face when she watched Emma’s eyes slowly close as she chewed, a soft sound of enjoyment escaping her.

When Emma looked back up at her, Regan was still smiling. “Good?” She asked, as chill as possible.

“Delicious, actually,” Emma answered after she swallowed, studying Regan carefully. “I feel like I haven’t seen you cook that much since I moved in?” She held Regan’s eyes as she deadpanned, “Other than whatever it is that you’re doing in the kitchen at night when I can hear pans clanging together.”

Regan shrugged, ignoring that last part, as she used her own fork to slide her food around as she answered, “Oh, that’s because I kind of haven’t done much actual cooking in the last few weeks?” She felt the ramble coming, but couldn’t tamp it down in time, before it came spilling out, “The thing is, I really hate cooking meals for myself. It makes me so… sad. You know?”

Emma’s simple, arched eyebrow reflected to Regan that no, she did not know.  

“It’s so much work,” Regan explained, gesturing around the kitchen. “To get all of the ingredients and then spend all of the time prepping and cooking, and then the cleanup – all to, what? Sit here and have dinner by myself for twenty minutes?”

It was one of the things she was struggling with, in having Emma as a roommate.

Even though she wondered if she should stop her ramble – feeling like the vibe was a higher frequency than a three – Emma took another bite, and seemed to be listening to her, so…

“But, maybe, if you like my cooking – I’d totally be happy to make something for the both of us a few times a week,” she offered, eagerly. “We could chat, a bit, and maybe start to wipe our slate clean? I think it could be good, you know. For the both of us. Since we’re here together, and we used to have Sutton to hang out with, and now it’s the two of us.”

She stared expectantly at Emma, waiting for an answer.

Instead of giving her one, Emma was staring down at her plate, her fork frozen in her hand as she started breathing more heavily. She sounded almost pissed off?

Regan slumped down in her chair. What could she have possibly done now?! Like, honestly?

“Emm–”

“What did you put in this?” Emma asked, her voice commanding. She was breathing even heavier, as she dropped her fork and looked up at Regan.

Regan blinked at her in confusion. “Huh? I told you what it was.”

“Did you use some kind of nut?” Emma asked, putting her palms flat on the table.

“What? No. Why?” She was shaking her head, before she remembered. “Oh, well, I did use almond flour to coat the chicken. We had a ton of excess at the café and it was the wrong order, so I was able to get it for free, and… what is going on with you?” She asked, concern curling through her as she started at Emma.

Whose breathing could only be defined as labored, now.

“I’m allergic to almonds.” Emma’s voice was tight, and she squeezed her eyes closed as her cheeks started to pink. “Regan, I know you obviously don’t pay attention to anyone but yourself. But I’m going into anaphylaxis, now, and I need you to get my EpiPen.”

Regan’s hands fell to her lap with a heavy thump as she stared, her blood rushing through her ears, everything in the world turned motionless.

Before Emma took a loud, gasping breath, and that shocked Regan’s system back to the moment.

“What do I do!” She shouted as she jumped up, knocking her chair down behind her.

Emma’s breathing continued to labor – only worse, by the freaking second it seemed.

“In my bag. Front… pocket,” Emma managed, pointing weakly toward where she’d placed her back in the doorway.

Regan couldn’t feel her legs as she ran to it, dropping to the ground as she frantically ripped through the front pockets until she found it.

“I got it!” She screamed in relieved triumph. She cradled it carefully as she scrambled back over to Emma.

Terror pounded through her at the red hives outbreaking over Emma’s arms, chest, neck, and face, and how audibly she seemed to be struggling for air.

“You – do it,” Emma wheezed, weakly tapping at her thigh.

Regan didn’t need to be told twice.

She thanked whatever higher power there might be for the fact that she’d gotten basic medical training when she’d done management training for the café, and quickly took off the emergency cap before she stabbed the needle into Emma’s thigh.

As she held the pen firmly to Emma, she stared up at her from the ground, feeling her heart racing as she watched for signs that it worked.

After several seconds, Emma weakly waved her away. “Take it out. It’s done.”

Regan carefully did so, her hands holding steady until she dropped the EpiPen to the floor next to her. Only then did she start shaking, uncontrollably.

“Are you okay?” She sat up on her knees, reaching out to take Emma’s hands in her own, squeezing gently. “You seem like you’re breathing better. You’re better?”

Emma’s head was bowed, and she was covered in a cold sweat, but she nodded. “It worked,” she confirmed, quietly. “But I still need to go to the ER.”

***

The nurse that had been tending to Emma since they’d arrived at the hospital three hours ago gave them both a small smile after she checked the nearly empty bags on an IV drip into Emma’s arm. “Everything looks good, here. Doctor Allen will be in to see you again soon, but then you’ll be ready for discharge.”

Emma nodded, before readjusting her head on her pillow and closing her eyes. “Thanks,” she whispered, sounding completely wrung out.

“Thank you so much, Sarita,” Regan said, finally feeling her own heart return to normal, after getting that confirmation that everything really would be okay. She’d been on edge for hours, watching Emma for any sign of distress.

Emma hadn’t seemed to enjoy it, but she’d also seemed to not have the energy to argue. Regan would take it.

They’d arrived via ambulance, so they’d thankfully been taken right back to a room. Since then, Emma had gotten all of her vitals checked several times, she’d been administered more epinephrine, and, in the last hour, she’d had both intravenous fluids and steroids.

But she’d been stable for the last two hours, was looking entirely normal, and Regan could have absolutely melted from relief.

“I’m sorry, Emma. I’m so sorry,” she apologized, her throat tight with emotion.

She’d been entirely responsible for this, and that bore heavily down on her. Every time she looked at Emma, whose cheeks had alternated between having an alarmingly ghostly pallor to abnormally pinkened hues, she’d felt her insides churn so much that she was glad she hadn’t had time to eat anything at dinner, or it would have already made a reappearance. She’d done this.

They hadn’t exchanged many words in the last couple of hours, which was fair. But given that Emma was cleared now, it finally felt like the appropriate time to really apologize. And Regan was bursting with remorse.

“So, killing me wasn’t part of your plan tonight?” Emma asked, her eyes still closed as she laid her head back.

Regan wasn’t sure if she was joking or not, but she gasped from the question, anyway.

“No! God! What a terrible way to go about doing that, I’d be the only suspect!”

Emma blinked her eyes open, then, and nailed Regan with an unamused look. Okay, apparently Emma hadn’t been joking.

Sobering, Regan intently shook her head. “No. I promise you, I had no idea that you were allergic to almonds! I made sure that I didn’t use peanuts because that’s what you’re allergic to. I thought, anyway,” she mumbled, dropping her head down as she silently berated herself.

“I am,” Emma confirmed, turning her head completely to look at Regan. Truthfully, she was kind of relieved to see that angry fire back. “I’m allergic to peanuts. And to all tree nuts.”

Contrite, Regan grasped at Emma’s hospital sheet; she was fairly certain Emma wouldn’t be receptive to Regan holding her hand for comfort. “Now that I know, I swear, I will rid the house of everything–”

“Did you even read the roommate contract I sent you when we decided to live together? That you agreed to?” Emma’s irritation was clear, and Regan couldn’t begrudge her that in this moment.

Guiltily, Regan shifted in her chair. “Um. Well. Not the entire thing,” she hedged, before her desperation got the best of her. “Emma, the contract was over six pages long, single-spaced!”

“Well, excuse me, for thinking you were capable of reading at a second-grade level. I guess that was my mistake,” Emma snapped.

“No! It’s – I just mean…” She took a deep, stabilizing breath. “I thought that you would move in, and we could go over your contract together,” she emphasized. “You know, like two adults who are now sharing an apartment would usually do. Talk about the expectations and share the important facts about the apartment and each other. Like about the bedroom outlets. And deathly allergies.”

Emma glared at her, wordlessly.

And Regan’s stomach turned in on itself all over again, as she conceded, “But I should have read it. I really should have. I’m sorry. This is the last thing I would have ever done intentionally, and I really hope that despite whatever it is that you think of me, that you know that.”

Emma’s strong jaw set, and she didn’t speak for several seconds. And when she did, she ignored Regan’s apology entirely.

“I need this to sink in for you: we are not friends. We don’t need to be friends to live together. In fact, I haven’t ever been friends with my roommates, and I lived with them for over three years. I’m not a replacement for Sutton now that you don’t have her at your beck and call every single day. You will live your life, and I will live my life, and despite the fact that we share a bathroom, those lives are separate. I think you’ll find that way, we’ll have far less chances of killing each other.”

Her blue eyes glinted challengingly up at Regan, and she – for once – found herself powerless to disagree.

Chapter Three

Sheryl Bordeaux was a card shark.

It was something Emma had learned about her grandmother so long ago, it was simply ingrained knowledge at this point. Her gram hadn’t pulled any punches when playing card games with Emma when she’d been too young to even shuffle, and she certainly didn’t give anything away now that she was an adult.

Emma kept that in mind now, as she always did, whenever they played cards. Some of her most frequent and fond memories were of sitting around her grandmother’s card table in the small Brooklyn apartment that she’d been raised in, the same table they were playing around now.

She was so close to gin rummy, she could taste it. And it was so rare that she won against her grandmother, it was all the more exciting. Still, she maintained her poker face, acting as nonchalant as she could when her gram picked up a card from the deck.

Only for her façade to drop a moment later, when her grandmother triumphantly set down her own cards and declared, “Gin.”

“Are you kidding me? I was so close!” Emma set her own cards down so that her gram could see exactly how close.

The smile that played around her grandmother’s lips was fond and amused, as she tutted at Emma. “Close only counts in horseshoes and–”

“Hand grenades. Yeah, yeah, I know,” Emma finished with a grumble, unable to hold back her own smile, though, as she gathered the cards up in her hands. “You taught me that life lesson a long time ago.”

“You have time for one more game?” Gram asked as she readjusted in her seat, leaning in with an undeniably hopeful glint in her eyes.

“Sure,” Emma readily agreed, even though she didn’t check the time first. With her new job, she’d only had the time to stop by and see her grandmother once a week, which weighed on her enough to never cut the visit short. She slowed her shuffling down, peering out the window.

Primrose Grove wasn’t a palace by any means, but it was one of the nicer independent living facilities on the outskirts of the city. They’d been lucky to get her gram into a private room here, at a more than fair price, given that her grandmother had worked with the mother of the director of the facility for decades.

As it stood, her grandmother had a small bedroom, living room, kitchenette, and bathroom, with a large window in the living area that overlooked the courtyard. And Emma couldn’t be more grateful.

“Do you want to go for a little walk, instead?” She suggested, keeping her voice light and conversational. “I could use one; sitting at the desk all week is killer on my back.”

A little fib, given that her workspace included an adjustable standing desk. But what her grandmother didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

But if there was one thing Emma knew about her gram, it was that she’d do a lot of things for Emma that she wouldn’t necessarily do for herself. Like agree to voluntarily go for a walk around Primrose.

Her grandmother watched her carefully, before nodding. “Why not?”

Even though her gram was still slow to move, she’d stopped needing to use her walker in the last month. Still, as they stepped out of her grandmother’s suite and into the clean, well-maintained hallway, Emma was careful to subtly hover an arm behind her.

“I know what you’re doing,” her grandmother whispered, turning her head to look up at Emma, with a smart, sharp smile. It was the same smile she’d given Emma throughout her life, whenever she’d caught her engaging in anything she shouldn’t be doing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she side-stepped, reluctantly dropping her arm back to her own side.

“The cardiologist said I’m fine to be walking on my own, honey. I’ve been doing my walking every day to make sure.”

“Have you been doing any of that walking with any of the exercise groups here?” She asked, already knowing what the answer was.

“No,” her gram muttered. “You know me; I like to keep to myself.”

Emma knew that wasn’t necessarily the case, but her heart ached with sympathy for her grandmother.

Her gram had always thrived on stability. She’d kept the same schedule for Emma’s entire life, only deviating when life necessitated an emergency. She’d liked to talk to her small handful of friends who’d all lived in the building Emma had grown up in, she’d liked to go to her job as the head administrator at Messner Prep, and she’d enjoyed indulging in her hobbies – cards, gardening, and baking – during her free time.

When she’d had her first massive heart attack four years ago, she’d been sixty-six, and while she’d eventually made a full recovery – thank god – her healing process had necessitated somewhat of a forced retirement. And with that forced retirement had come Sheryl’s loss of ability to pay the rent in the apartment she’d lived in for nearly forty years, even when Emma having been paying her own portion of rent and bills.

She’d resolutely demanded that Emma, who’d already been working full-time to put herself through undergrad with as little debt as possible, not quit school to take on more work.

Instead, they’d both left the apartment. Emma had found herself sharing her shitty little place with her roommates, and her gram had found a studio that she’d been able to just manage to afford.

And that had worked… for a little while. Her grandmother had adjusted to her new life – away from her social network, out of the job she’d had since she’d been in her twenties – but she’d managed.

Until, four months ago, when she’d had her second heart attack.

This one had been even worse than the first, and she’d been in the hospital for nearly a month.

She’d vehemently resisted going to Primrose Grove, citing the fact that she wasn’t even old enough for “that place” yet.

Which was somewhat true; her grandmother was only seventy, and she was, admittedly, one of the youngest residents here.

But Emma knew her grandmother. And she knew that she’d been terrified of moving into a brand new locale, surrounded by brand new people, and brand new routines.

Emma had felt fucking terrible about it – she still did – but the reality was that her gram needed to live somewhere that had medical staff on-site, and Emma was far, far from a place in her life where she could afford providing something like that for the woman who’s raised her.

She wished things were different, but they weren’t. So mostly, she wished her grandmother, who’d never been comfortable pushing outside of her comfort zone, could somehow find a way to slip into making some friends. To find something that would make living here more enjoyable. Better.

“Maybe we could take a look at the events calendar when we swing through the lobby?” She suggested. “They might have something going on that you’d like?”

Her gram hesitated ever so briefly, before she shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she murmured, before she cleared her throat and aimed a very direct look at Emma. “You know, little lady, I’d like to talk about you rather than me, for a while. How about that?”

Emma couldn’t help but scoff out a smile at the little lady nickname that her gram had used for her entire life. Even when Emma had hit her growth spurt at thirteen and stood a solid six inches taller than the short, slight older woman ever since. “What do you want to know?”

“First of all, I want to know how you’re feeling. You keep looking at me like my health is in question, but you were in the hospital far more recently than I was!”

Emma’s eyes rolled involuntarily as she thought about her almond flour induced allergic reaction last week. “Yeah, I guess so,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes at Regan’s total disregard for her roommate contract.

Like, who said they read a roommate contract, said they agreed to abide by it, only to be a total fucking liar?!

She wished she could say she was shocked by it, but unfortunately, given that this was Regan she was dealing with, she wasn’t.

Shaking her head, she pulled herself back to the present, and looked at her grandmother. “But I’m one hundred percent okay. I haven’t had any other issues since that night. Good as new.”

The one and only thing she would give to Regan was that Regan had insisted on handling all of Emma’s hospital bills, including the ambulance. Emma hadn’t wanted to call one, knowing the hefty charge she’d receive for it after the fact, and she’d been fairly certain that after her first epinephrine dose, she could reasonably take the subway to the closest hospital; it wasn’t very far.

Regan had called the ambulance, anyway, gently keeping her hand on Emma’s shoulder to keep her sitting down at their kitchen table.

Then again, she supposed that paying exorbitant hospital fees to someone like Regan, who had a hefty trust fund to rely on, wasn’t such a big deal.

Her gram studied her closely, before nodding. “All right, I trust you to be able to take care of yourself.”

Emma nodded, feeling that sense of pride that she’d gotten since she’d been a teenager, knowing that she had her grandmother’s trust.

As they turned another corner, Emma spotted the group of women she’d hoped to find on their walk. There were five woman who were all under eighty, who’d seemed to clique up. Emma had noticed that they all did a modified calisthenics routine in the air-conditioned patio several days a week, and all seemed to enjoy hanging out in the communal kitchen during a lot of their free time.

She needed toward them. “Oh, hey – have you chatted with those ladies yet? We could go over and see what they have going on?”

Her grandmother looked at them for several beats, before she looked back at Emma and hesitated, before she shook her head. “No, little lady, I don’t think so. Not today.”

Before Emma could try to insist, her gram beat her to the punch, as she asked, “Have you made any plans with your mom, yet? She said she may be coming by this evening.”

Ugh, Emma felt the question land in her stomach like she’d swallowed a lead weight. Though, she was admittedly thankful she’d come to hang out with Gram early, so she could easily leave before evening time.

“Um… not yet,” she answered honestly. Because she wasn’t great at lying to her grandmother, but mostly because she knew Gram would find out the truth from Kimberly, anyway.

She stared straight ahead down the open, airy hallway as they turned a corner, starting the second half of the loop that would lead back to her grandmother’s room. But she could feel her gram’s eyes on her, studying her expression.

Emma knew her grandmother wouldn’t push, wouldn’t try to force her to reconcile with Kimberly. Not really. But she also knew how badly her gram wanted it to happen.

“She was here Thursday night, again,” Gram mentioned, a grin playing on her lips. “She brought the girls, and we all went out to dinner. Just to the place down the street, but it really was so lovely.”

Emma could feel her grandmother’s eyes studying her profile closer, as she quietly said, “You’re always more than welcome to come to Thursday dinners, if you want. I think it would be great to have us all together.”

She could feel her throat tighten at her grandmother’s words, at how hopeful and intent she sounded.

“Yeah, sometime,” she allowed. It was the most she could concede, and… granted, if she was ever going to give her mother the “bonding time” that she wanted so badly, Emma supposed that not being alone with Kimberly would probably be preferable.

She heard her phone buzz in her pocket, and she was relieved for any excuse to check briefly out of this conversation.

Her gram nodded at her. “You should check it. It could be important.”

Regan Freaking Gallagher – 2:31PMHey! Just letting you know that it’s BLAZING hot today – the power went out after you’d left but should be back on soon! Make sure you unplug and re-plug everything in your room!

Maybe she’d spoken too soon about that relief, after all. For a brief moment, she debated not answering, before she grumbled to herself and sent off –

Emma Bordeaux – 2:32PMThanks for the update/reminder.

“And?” Her grandmother prompted.

Emma felt herself flush slightly as she locked her phone quickly, before her grandmother could potentially sneak a peek.

“Uh, it was just Brynn. You know, my coworker. But it’s not urgent.”

It was such a lie, but she didn’t want to disclose the truth.

As far as her grandmother knew, she’d moved in with her friend, Regan – a stretch of the imagination – and that was the way she liked to keep it. After her grandmother’s first heart attack, when they’d had to move, Gram had very clearly felt terrible regarding Emma’s living situation. And over time, she’d found that holding onto these little pieces of life and keeping everything – family, relationships, friendships – separate worked very well for her.

Even when she’d told her grandmother about how Regan had put her in the hospital last week, she’d been careful to keep her ire out of her voice.

“Oh, well give me the work updates!” Gram encouraged, excitedly.

That, Emma would happily do.

***

Emma made it home from Astoria by five, thankful that it seemed the air conditioning in their building had, indeed, kicked back on sometime in the last couple of hours.  

She was nearly desperate for this heat wave to come to an end. In the ten-minute walk to her building in the thick, muggy air, she was sweaty and uncomfortable and wanted nothing more than to strip her sweat-soaked shirt off at the quickest convenience. 

“Regan?” She called out into the apartment, feeling cautiously optimistic as she quietly closed the door behind her.

She stilled, straining to keep an ear out to detect any signs of life from within. When there was no response to her shout, she nearly did a little victory dance. If she weren’t still so freaking hot, she might have.

She didn’t need to call out again, not when she was met with resounding silence. No music playing from behind Regan’s closed bedroom door – she could always hear it, from anywhere in the apartment – and tv wasn’t playing from the living room, either.

Entirely unsurprisingly, Regan did not exist quietly. Ever. When she was home, Emma was very well aware of that fact.

Walking into the kitchen, she checked the calendar on the side of the fridge. The one that Regan had finally started to fill out in the last week, ever since she’d nearly murdered Emma.

Things had been better between them since then, Emma would admit. It took almost killing her, but Regan had started to actually adhere to the contract she’d apparently pretended to agree to weeks ago.

In the last six days, she’d given Emma a wide berth, only making short, direct conversation when they incidentally ran into one another. She’d made a point to text Emma a picture of everything that had any mention of nuts on the label in the trash the morning after the ER trip. And she’d taken to writing her work schedule on their calendar.

The schedule in question informed Emma that Regan was working a double today, and wouldn’t be off shift until eleven, which meant she wouldn’t be home until at least midnight.

Emma found herself grinning brightly; it seemed she was able to experience a lucky break from time to time, after all.

With that knowledge, she reached down to tug off her T-shirt right there in the kitchen, relishing the feeling of the air-conditioned temperature directly on her body.

And with Regan at work tonight, Emma had the perfect opportunity to sit down and try to get some real writing done, for the first time in weeks. During the week, Emma was so busy with Allegra’s schedule, it was impossible to find the time and energy to do any writing of her own. And during the last few weekends, it seemed something had consistently popped up – first, she’d been unpacking from her move, the weekend after she’d taken her Gram to one of her physical therapy follow-ups and had spent the day with her, and last weekend she’d been recovering from her near-death almond flour experience.

She’d just have a simple dinner, first. She definitely had the remainder of her chicken salad in the fridge that she’d had for lunch at work in the last few days…

Emma stopped short as soon as she actually opened the refrigerator. Because it was empty.

Not completely; there were still condiments lining the door, and drinks lining the top shelf. But all of the actual food that had been in there was gone.

Squeezing her eyes closed, she dropped her head back in annoyance as she closed the fridge.

Only to snap her head up a moment later, as she heard the front door open and close in one quick motion, before footsteps seemed to bound down the short hallway leading to the archway of the kitchen. In several short moments, Regan came into her view, stumbling to a stop upon seeing Emma.

Regan’s eyebrows lifted high on her forehead as she dipped her gaze from Emma’s face and stared for a few seconds. “Huh.”

Confusion slid through Emma, but only for a few seconds before she realized that she was standing in the middle of their kitchen, topless.

Cheeks flaming with embarrassment, she tugged her balled-up T-shirt up over her chest and stomach. She recovered from her surprise enough to question, “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” Regan shot back, and Emma honestly wasn’t sure if Regan was just stating a fact or if she was trying to be a smart aleck, but it still rankled.

Clinging to that annoyance – because it was better than embarrassment by a mile – she grit her teeth. “I’m all too aware of that. But you were supposed to be at work until eleven.”

The calendar to prove it was hanging on the fridge, right next to her!

Regan was still staring at her, unrepentant, as she shrugged. “Right. Yes. I should still be at work. Only, Topped Off – and, actually, that entire block – is experiencing a total blackout. Just like the one we had here. So, after an hour, I made the executive decision to shut down for the evening. God forbid people decide to start crowding into our non-air-conditioned confined quarters, demanding caffeine from machines that aren’t working!” Regan shuddered. “Anyway. Here I am.”

As she finished, she brought herself back to the present, and a large smile was starting to grow on her face. “I definitely didn’t think I’d be interrupting your special alone time.”

“You aren’t,” she bit out, even though Regan kind of definitely was. But not any sort of naked alone time, as Regan was clearly implying. Pivoting away from that before Regan could run with it, she gestured at the refrigerator. “Where’s my chicken salad?”

Regan’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment in obvious confusion, before something dawned on her. “Oh! I had to throw it out. And the few other perishables we had in there. The power was off for a few hours, and I was worried that something smelled… off in there? I couldn’t determine what it was but I didn’t want to chance it.”

Emma stared at her. “So, you got rid of everything. Even my things.”

Regan stared right back. “Obviously. I was responsible for you going to the hospital for food-related causes last week; I wasn’t going to keep something in the fridge that could make you sick again.”

Reaching up to rub her temples, Emma tried to breathe through her irritation.

Especially when Regan clapped her hands once, garnering her attention again. The feeling Emma had in her stomach definitely did not align with Regan’s bright smile in any way.

“I think this calls for a roommate grocery shopping trip!”

“I think not,” Emma deadpanned back.

“We have no real food,” Regan astutely pointed out. “Even before I got rid of your chicken salad, you barely had anything in there. And I haven’t gone shopping since the debacle last week, because I’ve been terrified to buy anything that has the wrong ingredients in it; I don’t want to bring anything in here that you could be allergic to.”

There was something in Regan’s tone that was both factual and beseeching, almost like it had been practiced. It was enough to raise Emma’s suspicions about her chicken salad not really being off.

She narrowed her eyes. “Can’t you just read the labels, if you’re so concerned?”

Regan’s smile was guileless, her dark eyes wide. “Emma, I couldn’t even properly read a roommate contract. You trust this noggin not to kill you by mistake?” She tapped her index finger against her own temple.

Emma wasn’t an idiot; she had a very real belief that she was being played into spending more time with Regan.

On the other hand, she wasn’t sure she could trust Regan to properly read food labels. Plus… Regan wasn’t technically incorrect in saying that Emma really hadn’t had anything else by way of groceries.

She let out a long-suffering sigh. “I’m only doing this because I actually do need to grocery shop.”

Regan’s grin, revealing her pearly white, perfectly straight teeth, was far too wide.

***

Were groceries all that important?

Emma pondered that important philosophical question as she pushed the cart up and down the aisles at the store, following Regan. Who – surprise, surprise – seemed to like to talk through all of her choices, before depositing things in the cart.

“I’m better with a list,” Regan told her, though Emma didn’t ask. She hadn’t commented on anything for over ten minutes, as she held steadfastly onto the belief that her silence would make this experience go quicker.

Her lack of response didn’t seem to hinder Regan in the least, though, as she continued to chatter their way down the next aisle.

“You know what I miss the most about living in a suburb? Like, back in Massachusetts, before I moved here?” Regan posed the question as if Emma could possibly know the answer to that, as she maneuvered their carriage around a woman who was wondering pasta sauces.

“I’m aching to know.” The sarcasm escaped her, breaking her quiet streak.

Regan continued, seemingly unaware of Emma’s lack of sincerity. “The side of the grocery store aisles. Everything here is so cramped, you know?”

Emma turned to look at Regan as she registered her words. A question that she genuinely wanted the answer to formed in her mind, one that she couldn’t help but ask. “Why did you even move here?”

It was a question she’d never really thought to ask. Granted, she’d tried her best not to think too deeply about Regan for the last two years.

Now that she had thought about it, though, she couldn’t help but really wonder. “I mean… you don’t have a location-specific job.” Regan could be a barista literally anywhere. “And you don’t have any ambitions you’re pursuing in Manhattan. Or any family here. You’re not going to college here. You didn’t even move here the year after high school, right?”

The more she spoke, the less sense Regan made to her.

Regan had grown up in a wealthy family in Massachusetts, grew up with everything available at her fingertips. And she’d just decided to move to Manhattan at nineteen, with no academic or career pursuits? She’d decided to move to one of the most expensive places in the country, away from her family, to work at Topped Off?

Regan turned to look back at her, and – for once – she didn’t have a quick, enthusiastic, glib response. Her full lips were quirked to the side, and there was the slightest crinkle between her eyebrows, before she answered, “Sutton moved here.”

Her words were thoughtfully spoken, but they didn’t explain anything to Emma. If anything, they incited more questions.

Incredulous, Emma slowly asked, “You moved to Manhattan… because your friend did?”

Of all of the coming-to-Manhattan stories Emma, as a New York native, had heard in her life, that was quite possibly the most baseless one.

As they turned into a new aisle, Emma found herself so focused on Regan, she didn’t realize she’d bumped into someone else’s cart until after the damage was done.

Jarred back into the moment, the apology was already falling from her lips, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t–”

Abruptly the apology fell away as she realized exactly who she’d run into.

Felicity Hammond. Whose eyebrows rose just as high as Emma’s were on her own forehead, clearly surprised. “Emma. Hey.”

“Uh… hey,” she returned, shifting uncomfortably.

She hadn’t seen Felicity in over two years. Not since she’d accepted a position for a doctoral program in Oregon and had then promptly broken up with Emma, after having been together for over five years. After planning a future together, one they’d intended to really start after Emma finished grad school.

“Hey,” Regan inserted herself into the moment, and Emma wasn’t sure if she was more annoyed by that fact or grateful for it. “Sorry we bumped you.”

“It’s – it’s fine,” Felicity cleared her throat, looking from Emma to Regan. “Not a big deal.” Her gaze slid back to Emma. “I’m surprised to see you here. Far from your own neighborhood…?” She trailed off, obviously waiting for an answer.

Emma shook herself out of it, gripping the handle of the carriage to center herself. “Yeah. This is my neighborhood, now. I’m surprised to see you here, since this is far from your neighborhood. In Portland.”

She’d been determined not to show Felicity just how deeply cut she’d been by their breakup, and thus, had continued to follow her on all social media. Determinedly not looking at Felicity’s updates as she moved on and started her life without Emma had boiled down purely to Emma’s own self-control.

It hadn’t been easy, that first year. But she’d done it.

Felicity smiled slightly, breathing out a chuckle. “I’m back for the summer. Staying with my sister, so.”

Ah. Emma nodded with the info. Of course, she remembered that Felicity’s sister lived only four blocks away. She tapped her thumbs slightly against the handle, wondering what the hell was appropriate to say when you ran into the woman who broke your heart while accompanied by the roommate you only ended up living with because that plan for the future hadn’t come to fruition. A situation that was only made better by how much she didn’t want said roommate to ever be privy to this part of her life.

“Sisters, right?” Regan jumped in, looking between the two of them.

Looking, much to Emma’s chagrin, entirely too interested in this awkward interaction.

Felicity nodded, giving a small, suspicious smile in Regan’s direction. “Yeah, right.” Her eyes fell back to Emma. “Speaking of sisters, I should probably get back to Jan’s.”

“Yeah, you probably should,” Emma agreed.

“My sister totally hates when I run late,” Regan added.

The reminder that Regan was there made Emma grip the handles of the carriage even tighter, and she started to walk blindly ahead. It didn’t matter which aisle, as long as it wasn’t this one. Not only was seeing Felicity again on the bottom of her wishlist, but having that experience with Regan?

A nightmare.

“Maybe I’ll see you around this summer,” Felicity added as they passed by one another.

Emma couldn’t help but look at her, despite her previous resolve to move staunchly ahead. “I doubt it,” she murmured, before clearing her throat.

Within the first few steps she took, she heard Regan let out a low whistle. “Oh my god, that was stone cold. I love it; it’s really nice to see that part of your personality isn’t strictly reserved for me.”

Embarrassed irritation heating the back of her neck, Emma grit her teeth and did not respond. “I need to grab bread. Why don’t you go down the next few aisles yourself and meet me in the back?” She firmly suggested.

As she’d unfortunately predicted, Regan’s hurried footsteps kept pace a step behind her. And with every step she took, she could feel Regan’s stare boring into her.

It only made her will to ignore it even stronger.

“Sooo,” Regan drew out, amusement gratingly clear in her tone. “Who the hell was that?!”

“No one. Never seen her before a day in my life,” Emma dryly answered.

Regan huffed out a laugh. “Emma, the vibes were vibing. Hard. I’m not an idiot.”

This time, Emma did turn to aim a pointed stare at Regan, arching her eyebrow.

Regan tossed her head back and laughed, reaching out to lightly push at Emma’s shoulder. “If you aren’t going to tell me, I’m going to have to guess.”

“You making conjectures about random people in the supermarket is your own business.”

Regan hummed, the sound still entirely too entertained. Emma swore she could practically feel Regan skipping with glee, and it made her stomach tighten.

Emma worked hard to maintain boundaries between all of the aspects of her life, and the Felicity part did not mesh with the Regan part. It went against everything inside of Emma.

“Well, my first guess is that this was some sort of Pretty Woman situation. You picked her up – oh, wait. No. I think she’s a little older than you are. So, scratch that. She picked you up, and you two engaged in a torrid affair. Before things ended, miserably, because her shitty coworker hit on you.” Regan paused, tilting her head up in thought, before she shook it. “Nah, that one isn’t really working for me.”

“Really? It sounded very plausible to me.”

“Okay! What about Notting Hill. You were at work one day, years ago. Just a normal gal, living your life. She’s a celebrity…” Regan trailed off, shaking her head again. “Nope, that one doesn’t work, either.”

“And why is that?” Emma regretted the fact that she’d asked the second the words left her mouth. It was like adding fuel to a gas fire.

Regan stared at her, incredulous. “Because if she was a celebrity, I would know who she is. Obviously. I was raised on tabloids. Celeb gossip is one of my favorite subjects.”

“Right. That’s what makes that plot impossible.”

“Yup,” Regan popped the p sound. “Oh! Okay – what about The Proposal?”

“You gave up on Julia Roberts plots so quickly,” Emma remarked, steering the cart toward the very back of the store, where the bakery breads were.

“You’re not giving Julia right now.” Regan studied her critically. “I guess you would have been Hugh Grant, in that scenario. Either way–”

“Oh my god.” The words burst from Emma’s throat with a groan. “If I give you the most basic of information, can we stop with the movies?”

The satisfied smile on Regan’s face told Emma that this had been exactly her plan all along. Emma hated that she was almost impressed. At the very least, she could somewhat appreciate that Regan had known she was being a shit.

“Her name is Felicity. We were together. We broke up.”

The six-word overview of her only adult relationship felt like so little, like it wasn’t nearly enough to describe what had transpired between them.

But it was also all she was willing to give Regan. Plus, brevity was the soul of wit, and all that.

Regan gasped so loudly, so dramatically, Emma jumped. “You’re into women!?”

“Keep your voice down,” she hissed, looking over her shoulder. The last thing she wanted was for Regan’s shout to carry and actually reach Felicity.

“Well, sorry!” Regan’s tone and expression was anything but. She, thankfully, lowered her volume as she whisper-shouted, “I just – we’ve known each other for two years! How did I not know this information?”

“Probably because you know very little about me,” she succinctly summed up.

“And whose fault is that?” Regan needled, tapping her finger insistently on Emma’s shoulder.

Emma cut her a glare.

“Does Sutton know?” Regan asked, dropping her hand back to her side, tilting her head in thought. “Because she never mentioned it to me, either.”

“No,” Emma clarified. “Because Sutton never pries for information, and it was never relevant to bring up.”

“Not relevant?!” Regan cried out, making Emma wince at the volume yet again, as she tossed her arms into the air. “Sutton – your friend – went through her own sexual awakening crisis last year, and you said absolutely nothing! Nada! Zilch!”

“Her sexual awakening wasn’t about me,” Emma pointed out, baffled as to how that was relevant. “And I never went through any sort of crisis, so I don’t really think our experiences were comparable.”

And the truth of the matter was that Sutton never asked Emma for advice or expressed that she was actually in crisis, as Regan proclaimed. Sutton had talked to Emma about her burgeoning sexuality, but it had always felt to Emma that Sutton had appreciated Emma merely lending an ear rather than commentary.

Regan stared, clearly dumbfounded. “You are so… weird.”

And Emma simply could not control the way her mouth fell open in disbelief. “Pot calling the kettle black, in a major sort of way.”

Regan was unrepentant. “Yeah, but at least I own it!” She jabbed herself in the chest with her thumb, before doing the same to Emma, “You think you’re normal!”

Good. God.

She reached out and grabbed her favorite sandwich rolls, before turning on her heel. “On that note, I’m going to peruse the store at a normal pace. Less focus on me and more on grocery shopping, because we’ve had more than enough sharing time today.”

Chapter Four

When Regan had lived with Sutton, the weekend mornings that she didn’t have work were fun. They were times she looked forward to.

Mornings where she and Sutton could enjoy coffees together and catch up, watch some television, enjoy one another’s company. She hadn’t had a cozy, pleasant weekend morning hanging out with her roommate in over a month, now.

Quite frankly, it was driving her crazy.

As she sat in the kitchen, stirring her coffee Sunday morning, she had to admit something to herself, and that was – this living situation was approaching DEFCON 1 levels.

The last week of living in uncomfortable timidity had put Regan on edge, and she wasn’t quite sure how long she could continue living like this.

Not to be dramatic, but she was going crazy.

Getting Emma to go grocery shopping with her had been an unexpected and very welcome twist but it had left Regan feeling more unsettled than anything, in retrospect.

Because running into Emma’s… ex-girlfriend? Ex-lover? Ex whatever, had lead to the only somewhat meaningful interaction Regan had shared with the person she’d lived with in what felt like forever. And she would only refer to it as meaningful because she’d learned something brand new about Emma.

But Emma hadn’t even wanted to share it with her!

Emma was into women! Was she bi? A lesbian? Simply, queer? Regan had no clue how she identified. She had no idea how the woman she literally shared nine hundred square foot apartment with identified her sexual orientation.

“It’s so weird,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head as she paced in the kitchen.

Weird enough that she’d fixated on it all night, long after they’d returned home, and Emma had ducked into her bedroom. Weird enough that it sat uncomfortably in her stomach, and that feeling had woken Regan up at six o’clock.

Six o’clock! On a Sunday morning, when she didn’t have to be at work until this afternoon!

That wasn’t normal and she most definitely did not care for it.

Everything about their living situation made Regan desperate for change.

“Only, what do I do?” She asked herself, spinning on her heel to face the kitchen counter, and the miniature classic French fruit tarts she’d made this morning.

The custard she’d made had set very nicely, and was holding up under the fruit slices impressively. The last time she’d attempted a classic French fruit tart, her shortbread had cracked and her custard had been just a little too loose. That tester recipe had still gone over well at the café, but these… oh, she was sure these were going to do even better. Being awake so early this morning had been good for one thing, at least.

Carefully, she placed them inside of their containers to put into the fridge. At least something was doing well, while she was floundering.  

She had no problem admitting that she didn’t do well when left to her own devices for too long. When she didn’t have a person to rely on. To quality spend time with and feel close to.

Not romantically; Regan’s serious romantic relationships could be counted on one hand, and she’d very rarely ever felt truly connected to them. But… she needed to feel a connection to someone. Without it, she felt so untethered.

She’d always had a tether in Sutton. Even when Regan was at her most impulsive and chaotic moments – which, admittedly… there were quite a few of those times – Sutton was there for her. She was never too much for Sutton, even when Regan knew she exasperated her.

And she knew that she still had Sutton in her life, but having Sutton exist on a different continent, in a different time zone, was so very, very different than having her here.

While she hadn’t thought that living with Emma would be easy, she’d figured – for some insane reason – that they’d settle into a rhythm together.

“Four weeks later? No rhythm.” She sighed, slumping against the counter as she took a sip of her coffee.

Her self-talk was interrupted by a knock on the apartment door, and Regan snapped her head to face the direction of their entryway. Not that she could see the front door from the kitchen, but, still.

Eyebrows crinkled in confusion, she waited for several moments. Maybe she was hearing things? It wouldn’t be the first time that she’d mistakenly thought a knock on their neighbor’s door was for her.

After a beat, three more tentative raps came. Even though they weren’t sharp, demanding knocks, they were definitely on Regan’s door.

She pushed herself off the counter to glance at the clock on the stove – 9:31. Okay, so she wasn’t crazy. Someone was actually knocking on their door before ten in the morning. Given that Emma wasn’t awake, it couldn’t be for her.

Regan frowned, placing her mug down on the counter before she headed for the door.

She peered through the peephole, her eyes landing on a woman standing on their doormat. Almost bouncing where she stood, she seemed… nervous? She had a small white bag in her hands and a large tote bag slung over her shoulder.

“Huh.” She hummed to herself, pushing onto her tip toes as she looked to the left and right of the woman – to her best ability, with the limited view – to ensure she was alone.

Regan had read many horror stories about young woman living in apartments, far too many to take no precautions and open the door to a stranger, all willy-nilly.

But it was silent in the hallway, with no hint of another person. And Regan was nothing if not curious.

As the woman lifted her hand to knock again, Regan unlocked and opened the door.

The woman’s hand that had been primed to knock dropped to her chest in surprise. “Oh! I didn’t expect – hi! Good morning.”

“Good morning to you, too,” Regan greeted, taking the chance to peer her head out and look up and down the hallway, just to confirm that they were alone.

Once satisfied that they were, she dropped back to really look at the woman. She was several inches taller than Regan was, and older – maybe mid-forties. Still, she wore a short skirt, cut off at the thigh, and an animal print blouse, with red lipstick. Her hair was obviously dyed, but Regan got the sneaking suspicion that the woman had chosen this muted blonde because it was close to her natural color.

There was something familiar about her, but Regan had no idea where they’d met, if they ever had.

“Are you a solicitor?” Regan couldn’t help but ask, dipping her gaze down to the woman’s large tote bag. Maybe it was filled with flyers or handouts or a sign-up sheet. “I gotta tell you, there are very few things I’ll bite on these days.”

Typically, their doorman caught anyone who was attempting any door-to-door canvassing, but sometimes people slipped through the cracks. And Regan was very good at sending them on their way, except in the off-chance they were selling something she was interested in.

The woman smiled, the corners of her blue eyes crinkling with it, as she let out a confused laugh. “A sol – no. No, I’m not. I’m just looking for Emma Bo Bemma?”

Regan’s eyes widened so far, she thought they might fall out of her head, as she barked out a laugh. “I’m sorry. Did you say Emma Bo Bemma?”

She glanced over her shoulder just to see if Emma had heard those cursed words. Deep inside, Regan felt like Emma would have woken from the deepest of sleeps at being referred to in such a silly way.

Huh. Nope, apparently it hadn’t woken the sleeping beauty.

The woman’s grin settled in, obvious affection in her expression. “I sure did. And you’re… Regan?”

Surprise slid through her at the idea that anyone in Emma’s – Emma Bo Bemma’s – life would know who she was. Because Regan simply couldn’t imagine Emma offering that information up willingly. “Why, yes. Yes, I am. And you’re…?”

“Kimberly.” She offered her hand. “Kimberly Hayes. I’m Emma’s mom.”

Regan could hear the record-scratch in her head, her hand going momentarily link in that handshake. Maybe she’d misheard?!

“Her mom?” Yeah, she could hear how doubtful she was in her own tone, but… this was Emma’s mom?

She was… young. And she smiled a whole damn lot!

Regan hadn’t put in that much thought to where Emma had come from, but in this moment she realized that she’d always assumed Emma came from a very straight-laced, organized background. Much like Emma, herself, was in everyday life.

She eyed the woman – Kimberly – closer, and huh: maybe that was why she seemed so familiar. Her height, the icy hue of her eyes, the high, sharp slash of her cheekbones. Regan lived with the person who shared all of those characteristics!

Kimberly’s smile faltered slightly, becoming sheepish. “Yes. And I know Emma’s been so incredibly busy lately, so I understand if she may not have told you very much about me. I’m sorry if I’m interrupting your morning together.”

Regan slowly shook her head, finding herself laughing at the absurdity of that comment. “Uh, no, you’re not interrupting our morning together.”

Emma’s mom really had a sense of humor, she’d give her that; she could only imagine what Emma had told her family about living with Regan, especially post-hospital disaster.

“Emma’s still in bed,” Regan explained after a beat, when Kimberly didn’t laugh at her own joke. “Given, you know, she’s not exactly a morning person.”

Not that Regan generally considered herself a morning person, either. She was more of a whatever-sleeping-schedule-fit-the-bill-that-day kind of person. But she definitely did mornings better than Emma did.

Kimberly laughed, a light, tinkling sound. “Oh, that’s always been Emma.”

Regan found herself grinning out of the sheer curiosity of this woman, who just didn’t match Regan’s vision of Emma’s mother at all. What a fascinating twist.

“Do you want to come in?” Regan offered, pulling the door open wider as she stepped back. “Sorry, I should have offered earlier.”

“I’d love to!” Kimberly stepped into the entryway, immediately peering around at the pictures on the walls, before she turned to look apologetically at Regan. “I don’t mean to be nosy. It’s just…” She bit her lip, and those nerves Regan thought she’d seen when watching Kimberly through the peephole became evident once again. “I’m sure you know this, but I’ve never really been in Emma’s apartment, before. I just want to take everything in.”

Regan’s eyebrows lifted high on her forehead. Absolutely fascinating.

Before she could comment on that, Kimberly let out a self-deprecating laugh. “I mean, I’ve never met her romantic partners before, either, which I’m obviously more excited about.”

“You never met Felicity?” Regan asked, her interest notching up even higher.

Regan had always been a curious person. About most everything, but people in particular. And with how very little she actually knew about Emma being highlighted yesterday, she was voracious to learn as much as she could.

“No, I was living in Florida, as I’m sure Emma’s told you, and…” She cleared her throat, looking slightly embarrassed as she tucked her hair behind her ear. “But I’m so happy I get to meet you.”

“Yeah, I’m utterly thrilled to meet you, too,” Regan returned, sincerely.

This was the most in-depth look she’d ever been offered into Emma’s life, and she hadn’t even done anything rude or invasive to get it!

“You’re such a cutie pie; I can see why Emma’s so excited about this new phase of your life together.”

All semblance of a smile disappeared into bafflement as Regan stared at her. “You said – Emma’s excited?”

Emma had told her mom she was excited about them living together?!

Kimberly scoffed, a wry smile on her lips. “Well, of course! And who wouldn’t be? Graduating with her master’s, getting a job at a big publication, and moving in with her girlfriend! Those are all amazing milestones, and I’m just so, so happy for her.”

Regan could only stare, replaying Kimberly’s last few comments.

I’ve never met her romantic partners before. You’re such a cutie pie. Girlfriend.

Girlfriend.

Girlfriend?

“Girlfriend,” Regan slowly repeated, feeling like she was operating at a much slower speed than usual. She didn’t typically feel like someone else easily pulled a gotcha! on her, but Kimberly came in swinging.

But Kimberly was, like, middle-aged, right? And older people sometimes used the word girlfriend to mean girls that were friends, she reasoned. Which still didn’t quite fit her relationship with Emma, but –

Kimberly looked stricken, waving her hands in front of her. “Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I never really asked if that’s what you two call one another. Is it better to say partner?”

“Partner,” Regan repeated, dumbfounded. Because, no. It didn’t seem like Kimberly meant to say girlfriend as in girls that were friends. She really meant –

“Partners it is! I love how that’s become such a mainstream reference for couples, nowadays.”

Yeah. She really meant that Regan and Emma were romantically involved.

Regan could only stare for several more seconds. Finally, the sense of bafflement and the need to know what the fuck was going on kicked in, and she snapped out of it.

“Um… you know what? I’m just going to go wake Emma up for you. That crazy sleepyhead.”

“Thank you. And let her know that I brought bagels!” Kimberly called after her, shaking the white bag in her hand.

“Sure!” Regan shouted over her shoulder as she rushed down the hallway toward Emma’s bedroom.

The door was directly across the hallway from Regan’s own, and was always firmly shut, whether Emma was home or not. She’d gone from living with Sutton, who had lived in this very room with an open-door ninety percent of the time, to living with someone who acted like her room held state secrets.

After Emma bit her head off for opening her door a few days after she’d moved in, Regan respected her wishes to treat her room as a restricted area.

Until now. She gave herself full permission to go into Emma’s room under this circumstance.

She shot Kimberly, who’d watched her charge down the hallway like a crazy woman, a smile, before swiftly opening Emma’s door without so much as a knock.

“Oh, honey! Rise and shine!” She called out loud enough for Kimberly to hear her, before closing the door with a sharp snap.

Emma merely groaned from where she lay in her bed.

She was entirely wrapped up in her covers, cocooned tightly in her comforter, so only her head poked out at the top. Kinda cute, all wrapped up like a burrito.

Regan looked around the room, momentarily distracted.

All of Sutton’s belongings had been moved to storage, and Regan hadn’t gotten to peek in here after Emma had settled in from her move. Not really.

Unsurprisingly, everything was neat and tidy. No clothing was on the floor or strewn over the desk chair or anything. The only furniture Emma had brought with her was her bed, a desk, and two bookshelves that were stuffed to the brim. Regan wasn’t actually sure she’d ever seen so many books crammed onto shelves; did Emma know about kindles? Oh, and a tall plant next to the window. That was a nice touch.

Emma sheets and pillowcases were a stone gray, the duvet she was rolled up in like a burrito a mint green. Cute neutrals.

She turned, taking in the room as a whole, before her eyes landed on a giant calendar on the wall. Regan gasped, loudly, her feet immediately walking over to it.

Especially as she was met with sleepy blue eyes blinking up at her. “Regan? What are you doing in my room?” Her voice was hoarse and raspy from sleep, and Regan found that she very much enjoyed the husky timber of it.

“Emma, do you literally have every second of your life planned on this calendar?” Regan asked, gesturing to the poster board size calendar next to her.

Every single day was written in for the month, with Emma’s clear and concise writing listing out everything she did. Holy shit.

“Do you know that we have the internet? You could do this in a magic little thing called your phone, and have it with you all of the time.”

“I like to have it written out where I can physically see it,” Emma grunted back, seemingly unaware that she would typically be livid at Regan for doing this.

Only for a second, though, as it seemed she was more awake by the second. She pushed herself onto her elbows so she could face Regan across the room. “Is there an emergency? Is the building on fire?”

There was a look on Emma’s face, like she was torn between being pre-emptively annoyed with Regan for coming into her room and waking her up, and genuinely concerned there might be something wrong.

Regan shrugged, dropping her hands to her waist. “You know, it’s kind of hard to say.”

Emma’s stare could not have been less amused. “Regan, I swear–”

“I guess,” Regan swiftly cut in, sending Emma a look. “It all depends on what you call an emergency. See, there I was: minding my own business in our kitchen. Wearing my sleep shorts and ripped tank top. Drinking my coffee. Contemplating life. When there was a knock on my door.”

“Oh my god.” Emma’s words came out on a whine, as she fell back onto her mattress, bringing her hands up to cover her face. “I’m going to choose to believe that there’s not a fire out there, right? Please tell me you aren’t keeping us in here because of a fire.”

“No fire. Anyway,” Regan cleared her throat, and… she didn’t quite know at what point in the last couple of minutes her bafflement had mixed with entertainment, but she found herself highly entertained, now. “Imagine my surprise when your mom knocks on the door.”

All of Emma’s agitation swiftly disappeared, as well as any lingering sleepiness. She sat straight up, her blanket slipping down to her waist as she stared wide-eyed at Regan. “What? My mother is here?”

Regan held up her hand. “No, no, the story isn’t over. This part is really interesting: imagine my even bigger surprise when your mom tells me that you and I are in a relationship!”

There.

Satisfied, she crossed her arms and nodded at Emma. “Your turn.”

Emma didn’t immediately launch into her usual commentary, however. Instead, her jaw went slack as those blue eyes widened even more. When she did speak, she didn’t offer an explanation. She offered a murmur of, “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Did I miss somewhere in that contract that we’re apparently dating?” Honestly, it was the only thing she could think of that made any sort of sense, even though… it also didn’t.

Emma’s eyes narrowed to a glare. “Of course not.”

“Hey, don’t snap at me! I’m not the one who has any fucking clue what is going on!” Regan whisper-shouted, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at Emma’s closed door. “It’s not my mom that showed up before ten AM on a Sunday morning to blindside us!”

Even though what she said was the complete truth, she hadn’t expected Emma’s response.

Because, typically, Emma was always just so… short with her.

In this moment, though, Emma deflated. Her typical agitation that she wore like a second skin during their interactions was gone, and her shoulders slumped, as she bowed her head. For a few seconds, she closed her eyes, as she took a deep breath.

“You’re right,” she admitted in a soft voice. “I’m sorry.”

Regan’s eyebrows flew high up on her forehead in surprise. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

That might have been the most surprising thing to happen all morning! Which was saying quite a bit.

Those icy blue eyes narrowed at her, but Emma still didn’t respond angrily. “I said I’m sorry,” she repeated, her voice low.

Emma brought both of her hands up and scrubbed them over her face, taking in a deep breath and holding it, before slowly letting it out. She looked back up at Regan.

“Long story short: my mom got this idea in her head that we moved in together because we’re in a relationship.”

“Good thing I already found out that you’re queer, or this would be doubly confusing,” Regan quipped.

Emma stared at her for a few seconds before her lips ticked into the briefest of smiles. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Regan’s mouth dropped open as shock coursed through her.

Emma really must be out of her element, if she was cracking a grin at one of Regan’s jokes!

“Can you make a long story a little bit longer? Because my brain is not computing this.”

Emma’s smile was gone as soon as it came. “Look, things with my mom are complicated, okay? It’s really… complicated–”

“Wait – are you saying that things with your mom are complicated?”

Emma shot her a dirty look as she trailed a hand through her sleep-tousled hair. “Given how complicated it is, I just went along with her supposition because it made things easier.”

There was a gentle vulnerability in her voice as she explained, something raw and very real. Something, when it came to complicated family dynamics, Regan could very much understand.

It was also a side of herself that Emma never showed Regan, and it made the exuberant ribbing that she desperately wanted to give Emma dim. The impulse was undeniably still present but the prospect of teasing Emma about it seemed remarkably less enjoyable when Emma was giving Regan a rare moment of true, unfiltered interaction.

Instead, she simply commented, “Well, your situation with your mom must be dire if telling her that you’re in a relationship with me was your best choice, huh?”

Emma swore under her breath, throwing her blanket off of her as she said, “Clearly, right now, I am regretting it.”

Regan watched with interest as Emma stood up with an irritated huff, noting the black sleep shorts that just barely covered her incredibly impressive ass. Regan could do squats every day for months – she had – and never get an ass like Emma’s, whose hips, butt, and thighs seemed to have first dibs on any weight she put on. Regan had no idea if Emma appreciated that as much as Regan, herself, did.

Emma didn’t often hang out in the common areas of their apartment, so in the last few weeks Regan hadn’t really her in anything less than the bevy of gray, black, and blue professional outfits she wore – slacks and button-ups, a smattering of blazers.

Other than when she’d walked in and had seen Emma standing in the kitchen in her bra. The red lace of it had surprised Regan – she’d have figured Emma for a much more neutral tone lingerie woman, if she wore lingerie at all.

“In my defense, I didn’t expect that she’d ever show up here,” Emma continued muttering, and Regan honestly didn’t think these words were even meant for her. Especially not as Emma started rifling through her dresser, no longer paying Regan any attention. “Why the hell would I? I don’t even know how she got our address!”

Utterly riveted by this rare look at Emma, while Emma wasn’t focused on being pissed at Regan, she was unashamedly curious to hear even more.

Like… Emma had never given her new address to her mother? She talked to her enough that her mom got the idea that they were dating, but wasn’t close enough with her to believe she’d ever show up to visit her at home?

Emma snatched a pair of joggers from her drawer, shaking her head as she muttered. “Gram. Obviously. I just – ugh.”

Regan’s eyebrows raised high on her forehead when Emma’s hands went to the waistband of her shorts. Only to lower again when Emma blew her hair out of her eyes and shot Regan a dark look. “Do you mind not staring at me while I change?”

Shrugging, Regan made a show of turning around and staring at the calendar again. “Well, for a second, I really didn’t think you even remembered I was still here.”

“And that meant you had permission to watch me strip?” Emma shot back, though still lacking her usual Regan-inspired vigor.

“Hey, we’re both women, here. I’ve seen Sutton change a million times.”

“And, for the millionth time, I’m not Sutton.”

Oh my god, did Emma really write her twenty-minute nighttime routine in her calendar? Regan leaned in for a better look, and… yeah. She sure did.

As well as her reading block before sleep.

Wow.

“I was also curious to know if you had matching cute red underwear to match your bra,” Regan unthinkingly and honestly remarked, scanning her eyes over the details of Emma’s day-to-day life that she normally wasn’t privy to.  

She could hear Emma pause. “I – just – you… that’s none of your business.”

Even though Emma couldn’t see her face, Regan’s mouth dropped open from the sheer shock of Emma not having the mental energy to zing back at her.

She never thought she’d see the day!

Clearly, it was because Emma had re-focused her attention back on the situation at hand. Man, Regan wondered what it was like to have a brain that was able to prioritize and execute so deftly. “And of course, she shows up at an ungodly hour on a weekend!”

“Ehhh, I agree it’s a little early to come calling without prior notice, but I wouldn’t necessarily say after nine is ungodly.”

“Whose side are you on?” Emma hissed.

Regan spun around, shocked and thrilled, as she asked, “Wait. Do you want me to be on your side? I think this is a momentous occasion for us.”

She could tell from Emma’s glare that she took Regan’s comment as teasing, but she’d been very serious.

Emma didn’t verbally acknowledge her, though. “And now, not only do I miss out on my day to sleep in, but I also have to go out there and figure out how to tell her in the most delicate way possible, that I lied to her about my relationship status to avoid spending time with her!”

Regan hadn’t known what to expect from Emma beyond it’s complicated, but… huh. Okay.

Maybe it was a relief to know that while Emma didn’t seek out Regan’s company, she seemed to slot higher on Emma’s list of preferred company than her mom?

Seeing the flush on Emma’s cheeks and the obvious stress riddled through her expression drove the words from Regan’s mouth before she could even fully process them. “Why do you have to tell her that?”

Emma paused in the midst of combing her fingers through her soft, honey-colored hair, staring blankly at Regan. “What?”

“Why do you have to tell her the truth?” Regan clarified.

Emma’s hands fell heavily to her sides. “What are you saying?”

Tapping her fingers together in thought, Regan tilted her head to the side as she tried to work out her thoughts. “I don’t know. I just – what’s the big deal if she thinks we’re in a relationship if it helps you out? I don’t care if she thinks that.”

“You don’t,” Emma slowly repeated, staring at her.

Regan shook her head slowly, trying to sort through her feelings on the matter as she did so to make sure she was telling the truth. But she wasn’t getting that weird, gnawing feeling in her stomach like she did when she felt like she was doing something wrong. “It’s not like I’m actually dating anyone.” Which she imagined might be her biggest issue, if she felt like she was being unfair to anyone she was in a legitimate relationship with. “It’s just having a bagel with a woman I barely know, while calling you snookums.”

Emma shuddered. “Do not.”

Regan’s grin crept over her face. “My little sweetie baby honey pie.” She winked, before making an exaggerated kissy face at Emma, taking a far stronger delight in it than she’d imagined.

“I think I’d rather tell her the truth,” Emma deadpanned.

“Your prerogative.” She shrugged.

They stared at each other for several long moments, before Emma let out a deep breath. “I cannot believe I’m saying this…”

Regan felt a buzz of anticipation slide through her, just as surprisingly potent.

It made sense, she reasoned, because – this was bonding!

“Regan, will you do me a favor and simply not disagree with the notion that we’re dating while my mom is here?” Emma’s blue eyes searched hers.

In them, Regan found that same rawness from minutes ago. The one that made her take this a little more seriously, as she agreed, “I’ll do you one better, and make her believe without question that I’m besotted.”

She offered Emma her hand.

Emma stared down at it before hesitantly sliding her warm, soft hand into Regan’s. “This is the most ludicrous situation I’ve ever gotten into.”

“Probably,” Regan agreed, lightly stroking her thumb over Emma’s as she gave her hand a slight shake. “And, in what I’m sure is the worst part for you, it’s a situation in which you need me.”

She leaned in closer to Regan, then, and Regan felt the tiny hairs on the back stand up, her shoulders snapping back at Emma’s proximity. They’d never stood so close; she could feel Emma’s warm breath on her cheek, as she murmured, “Believe it or not, that’s actually not the worst part for me right now. So don’t flatter yourself.”

Emma dropped her hand and stepped back, brushing her hands through her hair as she quickly started to tie it up into a ponytail.

And Regan stared for a baffled, silent second before she regained normalcy. That was weird. “I’ll do my very best not to flatter myself. But I do have to say that I’m sure your mom might be wondering what we’re getting up to, in our bedroom, since we’re taking all this time.” She fluttered her eyelashes, dramatically faux-swooning. “She probably thinks you’re having your way with me this morning. Or, I guess, that I’m having my way with you. Since I came to wake you up and all.”

Emma’s gaze snapped to hers in disgruntled alarm, her cheeks turning pink, as Regan started laughing in amusement at the idea.

“Let’s go,” Emma immediately directed, walking toward the door.

Regan dropped her swooning act as she diligently followed, still chuckling to herself.

They found Kimberly right where Regan had left her, in the archway that led into the kitchen. She was clutching the bag containing the bagels like it was a lifeline, and the smile that bloomed over her face when she laid eyes on Emma was so bright, Regan was sure that it supplemented the sun streaming in through the windows to illuminate the kitchen.

“There’s my Emma Bo Bemma!” Kimberly dropped her other hand to the top of the paper bagel bag, looking as though she was trying to contain herself. Trying to stop herself from reaching out toward Emma, maybe?

Curiously, Regan shot Emma a side-long look. And was entirely unsurprised to see how tense Emma was, a tight smile on her mouth. Almost like she didn’t know if she really wanted to smile a little or if it was entirely forced. Her face couldn’t decide.

“Mom. Hi,” Emma stated, stiltedly, before falling quiet again.

Quiet enough that Regan could start to feel the awkwardness settle into the air, like a heavy, physical presence.

Luckily for Emma, she had Regan. And Regan had never met an awkward silence that she couldn’t dissipate.

She cleared her throat to pull both of their attentions to her rather than the uncertain eye contact they were making and then dodging with each other. She scooted in close to Emma, in a way that was far more familiar than she’d ever date act around Emma in any other situation.

For all she knew, if she bumped her hip into Emma’s before settling so close they were touching from hip to ankle, Emma would bite her head off.

Not this morning, though!

Because right now, they were in love.

“I didn’t know I was in a relationship with one of the famous New York City Bo Bemma’s!” She teased, angling her head up at Emma as she bit her bottom lip.

Kimberly laughed at her joke as Emma cut her a look. It was – surprisingly – not annoyed. Regan didn’t think, anyway.

She arched her eyebrows, darting her eyes to Kimberly and back to Emma’s. “Don’t worry, honey, you’re my favorite Bo Bemma, no matter how many relatives of yours come calling for a visit.”

All right, was Regan milking this?

Maybe a little bit.

She reached out, easily sliding her arm around Emma’s waist, as the grin on her face dipped into a questioning look. But Emma gamely accepted the embrace, even if she looked like she might be developing a jaw twitch.

Regan would count that as a win.

“Thanks, babe. You know how much I love it when you’re so peppy and joke-y so early in the morning.”

Emma’s resounding sarcasm made Regan snort out a laugh, even as Kimberly watched them with such warmth.

“Right – and since I’m sure we’re both aware Emma isn’t much of a morning person, why don’t we go into the kitchen and grab a coffee?” Regan suggested, gesturing just a few feet away, at the small round wooden table.

“Best idea you’ve ever had,” Emma murmured, relief evident in her voice as she stepped out of Regan’s hold.

“I just brewed a pot before you knocked, Kimberly,” she informed the woman easily ushering her into one of the three seats clustered around the table. “I can grab some plates for the bagels?” She offered.

Kimberly pulled a chair out and perched in it as she carefully placed the bagels onto the table. Way too carefully for bagels, to be honest, but Regan got it – there was some emotionally charged shit happening here. She didn’t know exactly what kind of emotionally charged shit, but sometimes people needed their emotional support bagels.

Kimberly shook her head, shooting Regan a small, appreciative smile. “Um, I’ll just take a coffee for now. The bagels are mostly for Emma – er, the two of you,” she rushed to amend, lightly patting the paper bag. “There are four bagels in here. Two everything, since they’re Emma’s favorites. Remember how we’d go and get everything bagels with scallion cream cheese at that deli down the street from your gram’s apartment?”

There was so much hope laced in those words, Regan felt compelled to turn at the emotion and look at Emma.

Who was standing facing the counter with her back to the table and them. But Regan could still see the tense set of her shoulders. She could also note that Emma wasn’t actually making a coffee, but merely… standing in front of it.

“Um, yeah,” Emma agreed, after a beat of quiet.

Kimberly’s expression went from tentatively excited to downtrodden in seconds, and oof. Regan stepped up next to Emma at the counter, nodding at the table next to them, silently telling Emma to sit.

Emma frowned, shaking her head.

Regan nodded toward the table more insistently, jerking her thumb in Kimberly’s direction.

Emma’s jaw twitched again, before she sighed and relented, maneuvering around Regan to pull out one of the other chairs.

She quickly poured them both a mug, fixing Emma’s with a dash of milk and a single pump of the simple syrup Regan kept on her antique metal serving tray. Not only did she love the way it looked, but when it was no longer time for coffee, it was so easy to hide off the counter – Regan regarded it as one of her best decorative finds.

She turned around, placing Emma’s coffee in front of her. “The way you like it.” She put Kimberly’s in front of her as well. “Dairies and sugars are right behind you.”

“This is fine, thanks a bunch.” Kimberly shot Regan a grateful smile.

She returned it with a one of her own, as she retrieved her own coffee that she’d been drinking earlier. Blessed be, she needed this caffeine.

Admittedly, getting roped into this kind of shenanigans did jazz her up, as well. Especially because she was curious as hell to know the backstory, here.

Never in her life would she have expected this from Emma.

“Mm,” Kimberly hummed brightly as she placed her mug down on the table, her eyebrows lifted high on her forehead. “This coffee is delicious!” She laughed, a light, tinkling sound, as she put her hand against her chest. “Believe me, I drink a lot of it – most of it not so good. What brand is it?”

Regan perked up, pride pushing through her. “It’s my own blend, actually! It’s a medium blend, with Brazilian and Ethiopian coffee beans.”

Kimberly sipped again, nodding effusively as she swallowed. “It’s delicious.”

“I’m a barista by trade,” Regan offered. “It’s kind of… my thing.”

“She makes my favorite coffee. It’s perfect every time,” Emma supplied, sipping slowly on her own coffee. She spoke the words so casually, so flippantly, but they snagged all of Regan’s attention.

She shifted to look at Emma in surprise, studying her profile. “Really?”

Emma turned to meet her gaze, looking confused at Regan’s interest. “Yeah? I mean, I’ve gone to Topped Off for years; it’s not like that’s the only coffee shop near campus.”

Feeling a pleased warmth slide through her at the compliment, Regan leaned back in her chair.

“That’s so sweet,” Kimberly’s voice cut in, regaining their attention.

Regan watched Emma furrow her eyebrows as she looked at her mom. “So… what are you doing here?” Emma asked.

She’d have to hand it to Emma – she really cut straight to the point. She supposed there was something to say about that directness.

Honestly, it had always been Regan’s favorite thing about Emma.

“Right!” Kimberly lit up, her shoulders straightening as she cleared her throat. “Well, I finally finished going through all of the boxes we’d put in the basement after the move. You know, filled with the things we don’t use day-to-day.”

“Sure…”

Kimberly nodded, as if thrilled by Emma’s validation. “Yesterday morning, I found Mr. Cuddles.” She leaned down to rummage through her tote bag, before she emerged with a faded purple stuffed bear, with a faded embroidered heart on the tummy. She held it up, looking both victorious and nervous. “I, um, I just remembered how much you loved him when you were little, and I thought it would be nice to give him back to you.”

Regan slowly slid her gaze to Emma, who sat shock-still for several moments. From her side view, she could see the slight ticking of Emma’s jaw.

If Regan was Emma’s supportive girlfriend, she would do something here.

So, she did.

Leaning forward, she put her hand on Emma’s knee and squeezed, sending Kimberly a delighted smile. “He’s so cute!”

Which was true.

Mr. Cuddles was clearly well-loved, though also well-taken care of. He was in a much better state than Regan’s favored childhood stuffed animals were. Or would be, if they still existed outside of the landfill they’d likely ended up in when she’d turned thirteen, and her parents had thrown out her stuffed animals.

Kimberly looked relieved at Regan’s response, and she offered Mr. Cuddles out to her. “He is! I, uh,” she glanced at Emma, “I got him for Emma when she was two. She was so sick; she had a hundred-and-four fever. It was terrible. She loved Mr. Cuddles, though, the second she got her hands on him.”

Regan carefully took the bear with her free hand, squeezing Emma’s knee with the other.

“I can see why.” She studied the well-kempt companion; not even a patch of hair missing or anything. “I liked that you went with a male pronoun, even though he was purple. Very ahead of your time.”

“I’ve always been into equality,” Emma seemed to finally find her voice.

Kimberly’s phone vibrated where it sat on the table next to her, but she ignored it. “I brought it when I went to see your gram yesterday, but you’d already left by the time I arrived. I was trying to arrange it so that we ran into one another, but…” she trailed off with a shrug and a laugh, wrapping her hands around her coffee mug. “I know how it is; it was a Saturday evening. You’re both young and in love. So I just – I thought I could just drop it by, now, before it gets lost in the shuffle at my house.”

Regan settled Mr. Cuddles in her lap, taking a sip of her coffee to hide her mischievous smile at being called young and in love. And she could only imagine if hearing that phrase to describe the two of them amused her, it was making Emma want to shout the truth from the rooftop.

Only, Emma didn’t look aggrieved by it at all.

She looked very much like she wasn’t sure what to say, at all. She definitely looked relieved when Kimberly’s phone rang again, though, giving her a reason to encourage, “Why don’t you answer it? It could be important.”

Kimberly slid her gaze down to her screen, before she sighed. “It’s – I should be on my way to work. I just… I wanted to see you. Even if it was only for a few minutes.”

“That’s – I don’t want you to miss work on my account.”

Regan’s eyes widened. Yikes! Again, she sipped her coffee to hide her expression.

Kimberly nodded. “Right. Of course, you’re right.” A smile pulled at her lips again, as she leaned conspiratorially toward Regan. “Believe it or not, Emma has always been a stickler for never being late and sticking to the rules.” She looked back at Emma, a smile screaming of hesitance and affection curling her lips. “I like that some things never change.”

“Happy to help,” Emma seemed to manage, looking as uncomfortable as she could.

Regan realized her hand was still resting on Emma’s knee, and she squeezed again. This one was entirely for real support, though.

Kimberly stood, tugging her tote bag over her shoulder. “I really hope we can get together, soon. Maybe the two of you can come over for dinner with Eric and the girls? If you’re getting settled in here, that is.”

“Oh, Emma’s totally settled in here! Aren’t you, sweetie?” Regan leaned toward Emma enough so she could rest her head against her shoulder.

Emma, in turn, dropped her hand down on top of Regan’s and squeezed a little too hard to be considered nice.

Kimberly lit up like a Christmas tree. “That’s amazing! I’ll set something up real soon!” Her phone started buzzing again as she clutched it tightly in her hand. “I should answer this. I love you, Emma! And it was so great to finally meet you, Regan.”

“Yeah, it was so great to finally meet you, too!” Regan called out to her as she rushed out.

As soon as the apartment door clicked shut behind her, Emma turned to Regan, eyes blazing. “Why would you agree to making dinner plans with her?”

Regan held her hand up. “Uh, excuse me? I don’t recall hearing myself do that.”

… did she? She tilted her head to the side, running through the last few minutes of interaction and – yeah, no. She hadn’t mentioned anything about that.

Emma groaned, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Sure, technically, you didn’t do it in as many words. But to Kimberly, that was an agreement of epic proportions.”

Regan could only stare, incredulously. “I have a really good suggestion for you, then: next time you tell someone that we’re in a relationship, give me a cheat sheet or something so I can properly prepare myself! How should I know your mom’s double-talk? I didn’t even know she existed until thirty minutes ago.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

As she did, some of the fight seemed to leave Emma’s body as well. It had been fascinating, really, how she could quite literally see the tension lessen in Emma’s shoulders as soon as Kimberly had left.

Hoping to continue with the lightening of the mood, she lifted Mr. Cuddles up, holding him in front of her face as she called on the deepest voice she could summon. “Yeah, Emma, it’s not Regan’s fault. She was just trying to help reunite us. I missed you!”

Emma choked on a laugh, reaching up and taking Mr. Cuddles from Regan for the first time. “Oh my god, never do that again. That’s not even what his voice sounded like.”

Regan stared. “You know you can’t say that to me and then not demonstrate what his voice is supposed to sound like. Right? You can’t.”

Emma met her stare, clearly unintimidated. “Yes. I can, actually. Very easily.”

“Emma! After I just did you such a huge favor!” Regan widened her eyes, fluttering her lashes, trying to appeal to Emma.

“Seriously, Regan…” Emma closed her eyes and nodded. “I really appreciate you doing that for me.”

That sincere tone came back into Emma’s voice, and Regan felt like she was glowing from it.

God, this was so good. Right when she’d been lamenting about how to get them to a good place, this had quite literally dropped in her lap!

Because she loved when Emma was real-Emma with her. The same genuine tone that Emma used with Sutton and other people that weren’t driving her crazy – Regan liked it. She could get used to that.

She was desperate for them to get to a place where they could get used to that.

“It was kinda fun,” she admitted. “I love being on the inside of a good secret. A little scam.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Of course you do.”

Regan watched Emma strut down the hall toward her bedroom, sipping triumphantly on her coffee; she felt like that had gone rather well.

Maybe the next time she lamented to the universe, since it had seemed to listen to her today, she’d ask for a million dollars.

Chapter Five

“I don’t believe that this article was written, word-for-word, by Henry Cryer. I refuse to believe it, because I refuse to believe that I was responsible for hiring someone that wrote this and believed for a second it would have a chance of being published,” Allegra fumed, aggressively tapping her well-manicured nail down on the hard copy of the article she was referencing.

Emma exchanged a quick look with Brynn as they sat in Allegra’s office and in the split-second of eye contact, she could tell they were both on the same page.

And that page was reading that it would be shocking if Henry was still gainfully employed in the near future.

A beat went by where they both realized Allegra was staring at them expectantly, and Emma’s eyebrows inched up in surprise; she’d believed this rant had been somewhat rhetorical.

Brynn cleared her throat. “Do you think it was plagiarized? Written by AI? Or maybe he had an off week?”

Emma couldn’t help but quietly scoff. “More like an off two months.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, everything inside of her froze.

Allegra was a good boss. Honestly, she was really good boss. Demanding, worked long hours, sent both Brynn and Emma tasks on the weekends. But all of her past assistants had gone on to have meaningful careers in publishing. She gave both herself and Brynn the opportunity to read every piece that made it to her desk, and she gave them space to have critiques and opinions.

Granted, it wasn’t an editing circle, where everyone’s thoughts mattered, and everyone had an equal voice. It was more of a test – at least, that was how Emma viewed it. Allegra would stare at her, direct and intense, as if measuring every word she said. Maybe she was.

But – until this moment – Emma generally had felt like she’d passed!

However, it was only after the words had left her mouth that she realized: her comment could very well sound like she was doubting Allegra’s judgment where Henry was concerned. And Emma had already been at Olly long enough to know what happened when someone questioned Allegra’s judgment.

She blamed Regan, she thought, desperately. Blurting out whatever came to mind; she’d obviously been living with her for too long.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the high lift of Brynn’s eyebrows in shock at Emma’s sardonic comment as well.

Keeping her composure, Emma sat with her shoulders straight, staring at her boss from across her desk. She could feel the stampeding of her heart in her chest.

Allegra quirked her head to the side as she stared back at Emma, giving her no visual indication of a response. Until – there. The slightest uptick of the side of her mouth as she hummed and slid her gaze back to her open laptop. “You’re quite right about that, Emma. It’s been far too long since Henry’s work has reflected the quality he was hired for.”

She could have absolutely melted from relief.

“Brynn, I want you to collect Henry’s work from the last three months. No, four. I want you to sum up any salient points made, then compare the work to samples of his work from the last two years, since he was hired. I need a paper trail, here. On my desk by tomorrow morning.”

“Absolutely.” Brynn was already tapping on her tablet, undoubtedly pulling up all of Henry’s submissions.

“Emma,” Allegra said, making Emma snap to attention. “Yes?” Allegra stared at her from over the top of her glasses. “You were selected for the Alton Writing Fellowship, correct?”

Emma gaped from surprise. “I was. Yes.”

Her heart continued to pound in her chest, wondering where Allegra was going to go with this topic.

The Alton Writing Fellowship was one of the most competitive and coveted literary programs in the country. Thousands of students – undergraduate and graduate alike – submitted portfolios, vying to fill one of only fifty spots. And each spot guaranteed a door into the literary world like no other, for any aspiring writer. Tutelage and mentorship from well-known writers and editors, networking into the publishing world.

Emma had nearly fallen out of her chair from shock when she’d received her acceptance email five years ago.

Allegra sent her a critical stare. “You’re my assistant, why are you acting as though I would be unaware of your accomplishments?”

First and foremost, because Emma hadn’t actually completed the fellowship.

She didn’t say that, though.

Instead, as her cheeks burned, she cleared her throat as she wracked her mind for the right response. Because she hadn’t been aware that Allegra would have personally reviewed applications for her assistants? Because she wouldn’t have thought Allegra would retain such a small detail from Emma’s resume?

Neither answer sounded great.

“I apologize; I was just not expecting it to be brought up,” she settled on.

God, she didn’t think she’d had such an off day at work since she’d been hired.

She would admit, though, that she’d felt off-kilter since yesterday morning. Waking up first to Regan in her bedroom, quickly followed by the information that Kimberly was in their apartment had made Emma feel so – off.

That feeling had continued throughout the day, no matter how much she’d tried to shake herself out of it.

Clearly, it had carried over.

“Right,” Allegra drawled. “This year, I’m on the applicant review board. I figured, given your experience, you’ll be my right-hand in the process. The submissions deadline is today, and all of those in my purview will be directed to you.”

Emma nodded, perking up in excitement as she brought her tablet to life to start organizing her email files in preparation.

This was – by far – the biggest responsibility she’d been given by Allegra since she’d started. And she was ready. She was so ready to prove herself, she could taste it. It was how she’d always been.

“We have three weeks to make the decisions as to who will become the finalists, so I do hope you’re prepared for quite a bit of reading,” Allegra continued, as she turned her attention back to her laptop.

Emma was already figuring out her color codes as she nodded, trying to bite back her smile; she didn’t want to look like an insane person who was thrilled to have this responsibility dropped on her desk.

Even if that’s exactly what she was.

“I’m always prepared for quite a bit of reading,” Emma confirmed.

She swore she saw Allegra’s lips tick up once more, before she merely answered, “Good.”

***

She was still riding that high as she left the office that evening.

Yes, it was seven in the evening by the time she was able to pack up.

Yes, the submitted portfolios had started rolling in an hour ago. There were already ninety-five emails in the Alton Fellowship email folder she’d created.

Yes, the disgusting heat wave was still wreaking havoc on everyone living in this densely populated concrete island.

Emma simply didn’t care.

She fished her phone out of her back pocket as she felt it vibrating, her excitement only growing when she saw her grandmother’s contact information reflected back at her.

“Hi, Gram,” she answered, thrilled to share her updates.

After all, her grandmother was the one person who’d always been there to share in her triumphs, to support her in her failures. If there was one person who would understand Emma’s elation at being entrusted with such a big project, she knew it was her gram. The same woman who’d taught her the value of working hard and being proud of a job well-done.

“I’m sorry,” her grandmother immediately apologized, forgoing a typical greeting.

Emma’s swift stride toward the subway slowed, as she repeated in confusion, “You’re… sorry?”

“I am,” Gram confirmed, firmly. “I didn’t want to interrupt you at work, and I know Mondays are busy for you; that’s why I didn’t call earlier. But I’m sorry, Emma. I had no idea your mom was going to go to your apartment.”

Though she’d been swept up in the craziness of her schedule, her grandmother’s apology reminded her of yesterday’s events.

It only slightly dimmed her excitement.

“Yeah,” she responded, combing through the mix of emotions that were so easily recalled.

How jarring it had been to see Kimberly in her home, amongst her belongings. Having coffee with her – and Regan – in their kitchen.

“I only gave her your address because she brought me to my cardiology follow-up a couple of weeks ago,” her grandmother explained, sounding so earnest. “I’d wanted to add her to my emergency contact list, and it came up that she didn’t have your information. It seemed like a good idea – her having all of your contact information – in case something happens, and she needs to get a hold of you.”

Emma reached up, rubbing her hand at her temples as she digested the explanation. “I get it,” she finally said.

And she did.

She understood the connections her grandmother had made, and it wasn’t as though Emma had ever instructed her grandmother not to give her information to Kimberly. In fact, Emma did her best to not discuss her mom with her grandmother in detail.

“And it’s… fine,” she added on after a minute, blowing out a deep breath.

Obviously she hadn’t been pleased, but it had – technically – been fine.

Kimberly hadn’t stayed for long, and Regan… well, not only had Regan done her a solid favor, but she’d done it well.

Maybe a little too well. She supposed it didn’t come as a shock that Regan had been so comfortable acting so casually lovey-dovey toward Emma. Leaning into Emma as if she did it all of the time, dropping her hand to Emma’s thigh like it was a normal thing between them.

Honestly, Regan had been so casual about it that the action hadn’t even registered to Emma as abnormal. It had been just as jarring as Kimberly’s presence to have realized that she had found some semblance of stability in Regan, however brief it had been.

“I’m so glad to hear that, Em. I really am.” The excitement in her grandmother’s tone was palpable. “I heard all about it from Kimberly this afternoon.”

Emma hummed under her breath as she turned onto the block that her subway stop was on. Honestly, she had no idea what about the visit Kimberly could have said to Gram that had been so thrilling, given that she’d only been at their apartment for –

The horrifying realization dawned on Emma at the same time her grandmother started talking again.

“I’ll admit, I was a little surprised to find out from your mom that Regan is your girlfriend!” Gram stated, sounding exactly that – surprised.

Emma stopped walking right there, in the middle of the bustling sidewalk. “Uh.”

It was all she could manage.

“I know you’ve been busy, of course. But… if you two live together, you must have been dating for a while. I’m not trying to pry, of course, I’m just – I suppose I just don’t understand. Normally, when you have news about your relationships, you tell me. Or, I thought you did.”

There it was: that slightly hurt tone that she could tell her grandmother was trying to hide so as to not make her feel badly.

The great news on that front was that Emma didn’t feel guilty; she felt panicked.

“I do tell you.” She couldn’t help but state, as it was the truth.

She’d always told her grandma about her romantic life. Even though neither of them had ever been the type to be swept up in romantic fantasy, her grandmother had made it very clear to Emma throughout her adolescence that dating and sex weren’t taboo discussions. That it was better to be frank and honest about emotional and physical health.

So, Emma had been. Her grandmother had been the first person she’d confided in about her sexuality, when she’d been fourteen. She’d been the person to comfort Emma through high school heartaches.

“I know I could sometimes be… harsh. About Felicity,” her grandma admitted, ruefully. “In thinking about it, I realize that you haven’t really discussed your romantic life with me since then.”

Her grandmother had been somewhat harsh on the topic of Felicity. Her grandmother had never liked Emma’s ex; she’d thought Felicity was judgmental and elitist, that she hadn’t prioritized Emma the way Emma had prioritized her. And her gram had never been one to pull punches, especially not when it came to Emma’s romantic prospects.

“You need to be with someone who treats you well,” her grandmother often told her, intently.

Emma theorized it was because they’d both watched Kimberly make shitty, irresponsible dating choices for years, and Gram hadn’t wanted to see history repeating.

Her grandmother’s disapproval of Felicity had weighed on Emma during the first couple of years of that relationship. Heavily.

She’d lived her entire life wearing her grandmother’s quiet stamp of approval with pride, and she hadn’t quite known what to do knowing that the person she’d fallen for would never have that same approval.

She’d also stayed in that relationship long enough to see that everything her grandmother had ever said about Felicity had been, unfortunately, accurate.

“I haven’t told you about my dating life since Felicity,” Emma echoed.

It was the truth – but it was only the truth because she hadn’t had anything to say about her dating life in the last two years.

“I understand that, and what you do in your romantic life is your business,” Gram said with authority. Still, though, that hint of sadness in her voice. “I just wish I’d known. I’ve never missed on of your milestones, before, and living with a partner for the first time is a decent one.”

“Um… I guess it is.”

Emma wouldn’t know; she’d never done it.

“But Kimberly said she was very friendly! Very pretty. Made an excellent cup of coffee.”

“That’s all true,” Emma confirmed, starting to feel a little overwhelmed.

Maybe more than a little.

“I know Astoria is a bit of a hike, but – now that the cat is out of the bag – I’d really like to meet the woman that’s captured your heart.”

Emma recognized that tone. That speculative tone, that told Emma that her grandmother very much wanted to meet Regan. And not only because she’d captured Emma’s heart, but because she wanted to see if Regan measured up or if she was another Felicity.

She had to bite back the truth that wanted to come spilling from her mouth. It wasn’t in her nature to deceive her grandmother, first and foremost. On top of that – she wasn’t in a relationship with Regan fucking Gallagher!

But if she told her grandmother the truth, it would only bring about more questions: why would she have lied to her mother in the first place? Why would Emma, the woman Gram had done her best to raise as an honest person with integrity, have hid behind such a silly un-truth? Why in the world would she and Regan, as two grown adults, have furthered the act and gone along with it in person?

How was it, Emma wondered as she stared bleakly at the passing taxis, that this was the one time in her life where telling the truth seemed like it would only bring about more complications?

“Yeah,” she settled on, instead. “Sometime soon.”

Oh, there it was. The pounding headache that Emma should have seen coming two minutes ago.

She had to end this, before she found herself in a deeper hole. “Gram, I’m sorry, but I’m about to get on the subway. I have to run.”

By the time she got home, that headache was well on its way to becoming a migraine.

She was frustrated with her mother, for a whole host of reasons. For being responsible for the way their relationship was. For presuming that Regan was her girlfriend and making it so easy for Emma to go along with it. For showing up yesterday, unannounced. For sharing every last detail with Gram like a game of telephone.

She was frustrated with her grandmother for always letting Kimberly come sweeping back into their lives. For giving Kimberly Emma’s address. For being such an incredible presence in Emma’s life that she felt sick whenever she disappointed her.

And most of all, right now, she was frustrated with herself for being a fucking idiot and getting herself into this mess.

Shutting the apartment door behind her with a sharp snap, she closed her eyes tightly as soon as she heard Regan’s music blaring.

The insistent, worsening pain behind her left eye throbbed at the volume, her frustration bubbling over.

Because she was frustrated with Regan, too. Perpetually.

She only had to take a few steps down the hall before coming to an abrupt stop in the doorway to the kitchen.

Her eye twitched.

A slew of ingredients, utensils, mixing bowls, and pans were strewn all over the counters, the disorder of it all pushing her over the edge.

Regan was singing – loudly – along to one of the pop songs she had blasting from the small speaker perched on the windowsill as she stood at the sink.

“Do you have to listen to your music at a deafening volume?!” Emma had to shout to be heard. She honestly wasn’t sure she would be, even then.

Regan perked up, though, looking over her shoulder. A bright smile slid into place as she reached out and tapped on her phone, lowering the volume. “Hey! You’re home! I’d been wondering when I’d see you; you didn’t answer my text about dinner.”

Yes, Regan had texted her to say that she was in the mood to cook and wanted to know if Emma was craving anything.

But, “I was busy at work, and we didn’t have dinner plans. We don’t have dinner together,” she stated, plainly. “Other than the time you almost killed me.”

Regan waggled her finger in Emma’s direction. “One day you’ll stop bringing that up; I was hoping today might be the one.”

“Yeah, well, it’s still pretty fresh,” Emma retorted, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

Whenever she felt overwhelmed, as she did now, feeling constricted – like everything was in her control – made her feel a little better.

Regan seemed undeterred. “I’d just thought we could do dinner together before inviting you out tonight. I’m going to Beth’s – my coworker at Topped Off? You’ve met her tons of times – soon. It’s going to be a super chill thing, just a hang out. I made some cupcakes. Anyway, they’re going to fucking die when I tell them about yesterday with your mom.”

“How about you don’t?” Emma snapped, her frustration bleeding into her voice.

But she couldn’t really care right now.

Regan tilted her head slowly, as if having trouble computing her words. “Don’t… what?”

“Don’t go telling everyone you fucking know about my business! I told you that my relationship with my mom is complicated; you witnessed it for yourself.” She flung her arm out, gesturing at the table between them. The scene of the crime. “You know that I don’t want everyone who peripherally knows who I am to know my business. In fact, especially about this little fun fact, the fewer people that know, the better.”

Regan shrugged, and the easiness of that shrug only irritated Emma further. “Okay? It was just an entertaining story.”

Emma could literally feel herself hitting the breaking point, as she glared incredulously at Regan. “It’s not just an entertaining story; this is my life right now. My life, with my nosey mom. My grandmother calling me, trying to make plans to meet you, too. I’m the one who has to figure this all out, and it’s really not entertaining.”

Regan’s mouth dropped open. “Your grandmother wants to meet me?!” She clapped her hands, almost as if she were high-fiving herself. “Yes! Okay. You tell me where and when, and I will be girlfriend-ready.”

Were they living on different planes? Emma blinked at Regan, so – so utterly baffled as to how her statement could garner that reaction.

“The last thing I want to do is introduce you to my grandmother!” Emma enunciated every word as clearly as possible.

Regan stared back at her, tossing her hands into the air. “Sorry, I just figured you weren’t ready to clear up this complicated situation, based on what happened yesterday.”

“I’m not!” She shouted back, before wincing. She brought her hand up to her temple, rubbing furiously as her migraine worsened. “Fooling Kimberly that you and I are together is one thing. My Gram actually knows me. More than that, I had to manage the pressure of her disliking Felicity – well-educated, organized, responsible, ambitious Felicity – for years. I don’t even know how to manage the fallout with you.”

She dropped her head back with a groan. “And if I tell her we broke up, it’s only going to invite more questions. Why are we still living together? Why would I move in with you if things were so unstable between us that we broke up within a month?”

It was her own fault, she knew that. For going along with Kimberly’s dumb little assumption in the first place.

“Why did Kimberly even come over yesterday?” Emma muttered, shaking her head as she thought about Mr. Cuddles, now sitting on her bookshelf. “Why did you have to be awake and let her in?”

Thinking about her childhood bear made her stomach twist in on itself even tighter.

She hadn’t understood at that moment that there would be any ramifications. She hadn’t realized that one dumb little lie-by-omission could have such a snowball effect.

After she took a few moments to breathe in – deep breath in, slowly let it out – she looked back at Regan. Honestly, she was shocked Regan hadn’t said anything in the last thirty seconds.

It felt decidedly un-Regan.

So did the serious look on her face.

“Well, Kimberly did come over yesterday,” Regan said quietly. “And I was awake. And I did let her in. Because how the hell should I have known I wasn’t supposed to? It’s not like you gave me a list of acceptable visitors I should be on the lookout for. In fact, it’s not like you voluntarily tell me anything, ever.”

When Emma had muttered those words a minute ago, she hadn’t actually been blaming Regan.

But Regan’s uncharacteristically sharp tone made Emma feel even more defensive than she already had. It was an easily inspired feeling whenever she was around Regan already, let alone on a night like tonight.

Because – was Regan crazy?

Emma stared at her like she was. “Well, Regan, it’s not like you’ve ever given me a reason to confide anything in you.” Before Regan could even attempt to disagree, Emma continued. “Do you even realize that our relationship is the way it is because basically every interaction we’ve ever had one-on-one goes miserably wrong? Due to you?” She didn’t even have to take a second to think before she was able to list the transgressions. “Spilling coffee all over me the literal day we really met. Followed immediately by you ripping my shirt in front of dozens of strangers–”

God, that memory still mortified her.

Regan narrowed her eyes. “I was trying to help you!”

Emma ignored that just as easily as she had the day it had happened. Whatever the intention was, the action had been insane.

“I’m not even going to try to go through the last two years; I don’t have to. All I have to do is recall the last few weeks. You lied about reading our roommate contract. Because of that, you sent me into anaphylactic shock. You broke my grandmother’s antique porcelain doves the day I moved in. You constantly are in my business. And whenever we do spend any time together, I feel like I have to watch my back because – by your own admission – you were going to gossip about my life to your co-workers!”

When she was done, she simply stared. Waiting for Regan to even attempt to refute the cold, hard facts.

Instead of the animated self-defense Emma anticipated – that she was ready for – Regan grew quiet. Quieter than Emma had ever heard.

Regan crossed her own arms, withdrawing into herself in a way Emma had never seen.

“Do you even realize all you just did was highlight that your bad attitude is the reason we’ve never been able to have a positive relationship.”

“What?” She couldn’t have heard that correctly. There was no fucking way.

Regan didn’t laugh, though, nor did she change her tune.

She stared at Emma, her dark eyes so… cold. Startingly chilly.

“All I do with you is try. All I have ever done with you – for some stupid reason – is try. Especially since you moved in. And yeah, sometimes I mess up or things don’t go to plan–”

“Sometimes?” She cut in, because – really? Sometimes?

This time, Regan ignored her.

She slowly shook her head. “But you never try with me. You never, ever give me the benefit of the doubt or try to see anything from my side. You decided who I was the day we met – over an accident – and that was it.”

Regan studied Emma, as if reading her for the first time, her eyebrows furrowing. “I’m done trying. You finally get exactly what you’ve wanted since you moved in. I’ll stop texting you. Stop inviting you to things. Stop trying to hang out. Congrats, Emma! You wanted a roommate you barely have to speak to, and you finally got her.”