The Snowball Effect - chapters 6-8 (Patreon)

Welcome back for our next dose or Regan and Emma. As per the new format, the pdf is an attachment at the bottom and the text for the post is in this post!

Someone on twitter mentioned the post for haters to lovers, which I decided this is exactly Regan and Emma's dynamic! Emma, the hater, and Regan, the puppy.

Enjoy!

----------------------- The Snowball Effect 6-8 ---------------------------

Chapter Six

“Regan! Those cupcakes you made have already sold out!” Beth called to her, as she diligently cleaned the display case full of their baked goods. “I can’t believe you arrived early enough to bake so many of them; I thought your shift didn’t start until ten today?”

Regan glanced over to note that, indeed, the cupcakes she’d made when she’d arrived at work this morning were all gone. She’d made a couple dozen, repeating the new black forest recipe she’d made for the first time the previous night.

Before Emma had come home and bulldozed Regan’s good mood right into the ground.

“Yeah, I decided to come in early and do some baking, since everyone seemed to like the recipe so much last night,” Regan answered, summoning as much enthusiasm as she could.

It wasn’t much.

But Beth accepted her words without a question. “I mean, it was a good call. I was just hoping that there would be enough for me to grab another one before I head home this afternoon. My bad, though, I should have set one aside.”

Regan normally would have teased Beth – you’ve worked here for over a year now and haven’t learned the basics of setting aside desserts from the afternoon stoner crowd?

But she found she didn’t really have it in her at the moment.

“Yeah,” was all she said back, before dropping her chin back into her hand with a sigh.

She half-heartedly wiped the counterspace next to the cash register down with the cloth in her free hand, even though it was unnecessary, as she kept her workspace immaculate. Would she continue to garner as many tips, and enough positive comments from her regulars to maintain her employee of the month status for the twentieth time with a countertop full of crumbs and coffee stains?

Successful barista life meant never resting on her laurels.

She sighed again, mindlessly swiping the cloth over the counter, staring blankly down at the stainless steel as she did so.

Emma’s words shouldn’t bother her; Regan knew that. And Regan liked to believe that she had skin thick enough that one person’s opinion of her shouldn’t hold any true weight behind it.

She’d been sworn at more times than she could count, in multiple languages – it was so beautiful, in a way, how much of a melting pot Manhattan truly was – and had a few coffee cups thrown at her, from angry customers with no sense of decency. And every time that happened, she’d walked away with an unmarred sense of self, and a funny story.

Yet, here she was. In an undeniable funk, ever since last night. When Emma had torn Regan apart in less than five minutes. Worse than anything, she hadn’t even, apparently, intended to be rude when she’d inadvertently called Regan dumb, unorganized, irresponsible, and ambitionless.

Nope, she’d stated it so casually. As if she and Regan were both on the same page about those facts. As if they were just that – facts.

“I’ll take a large iced coffee, dark roast,” a quiet-yet-commanding voice ordered. It was a voice that, though low in volume, cut through the general din of the café, demanding attention.

It was also a voice Regan recognized.

She looked up from the countertop, where she’d apparently been so lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t even registered the door to the café opening. And she looked right into the honeyed brown eyes of Charlotte Thompson.

“Oh! Hey,” she greeted, her lips quirking into the slightest of smiles. She automatically punched in Charlotte’s order – same as she always ordered. Plain, no frills.

“Hey,” Charlotte echoed, her eyebrows lifting slightly, as she paid with her credit card.

Regan turned away from facing Charlotte, scooping ice into the cup before moving to the brewer. “So… how are you doing? How’s life as a congresswoman?”

As she capped the coffee cup, she decided that she appreciated that Charlotte got a very simple order. Regan could tell a lot about someone from their coffee order, and Charlotte’s was very straightforward. Strong and direct. Really, it was the first clue that she could potentially trust this woman with her best friend’s heart.

Granted, it had been a long road with some bumps along the way before Regan had fully trusted that. But had Charlotte’s coffee order required more than two pumps of anything, Regan would have had to question her character.

Still, Regan typically gave Charlotte a little shit for never trying anything else or spicing up her order. She viewed it as part of their banter.

But today she wasn’t in the mood for jesting. Instead, she simply slid Charlotte’s coffee across the counter.

“Busy. But good,” Charlotte answered as she accepted her drink. “I just got back from two weeks in D.C.”

Regan nodded, unsurprised. “Yeah, Sutton mentioned that in a text. That’s cool.”

“Yeah, it is,” Charlotte murmured, tapping her well-manicured fingertips against the top of her coffee lid as she stared at Regan with a measuring gaze.

Regan stared back, confused.

“Is that all?” Charlotte eventually asked. “You don’t have any other commentaries or questions regarding my trip or my relationship? All you have to say is… cool?”

Her disbelief was blatant.

Which was fair, Regan could admit that. On any other day, she would probably have a lot more to say. Some teasing comments about Charlotte being a simp for Sutton, asking if she could still feel Sutton’s love from Rome down in D.C., maybe. Asking how her first trip as an officially elected member of congress had gone. Had she witnessed anyone trying to steal the Declaration of Independence? The normal stuff.

Right now, Regan merely shrugged. “Yeah. It’s cool.”

Both of Charlotte’s eyebrows lifted high onto her forehead. “All right.”

Regan dropped her head back in her hand with another sigh, watching out of her peripherals as Charlotte grabbed a straw at the station a few feet away.

She anticipated Charlotte would leave, then, which she normally did. Since she’d become a regular at Topped Off, she’d stop in a couple times a week and grab a coffee but didn’t ever linger.

This time, though, rather than strut toward the door, she paused and threw a look at Regan over her shoulder.

“All right,” she repeated her words from a minute ago, rolling her shoulders back. This time, the words weren’t a question, but a declaration. “I can’t in good conscience leave this café until you’ve told me what is wrong. Sutton would never forgive me.”

“Eh, she would.” Regan waved her hand in the air. “She thinks you’re basically perfect, and she knows you have a busy schedule.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened, concern etching over her features. It was an interesting look, Regan decided, because she didn’t think she’d ever seen it before. Not directed at her, anyway. “Well, that deflection makes me event more certain this is a dire situation.”

Charlotte’s lips pursed as she cleared her throat and called out, “Beth?”

Beth, who just finished cleaning out the display case at the other end of the counter, looked up in obvious surprise at being address. Or, perhaps surprised at being addressed by Charlotte. “Uh, me? Me-Beth?”

“I wasn’t aware there was another working here,” Charlotte said with a charming smile. “It doesn’t seem to be very busy in here at the moment – would you mind very much if I borrowed Regan for a few minutes?”

Beth’s eyebrows lifted even higher as she swung her gaze from Charlotte to Regan, then back. “Uh…” She looked back at Regan, eyes wide and clearly asking for permission.

Which Regan granted with a shrug.

“Sure,” Beth promptly answered, and it was very clear she was thrilled to be giving Charlotte the answer Charlotte wanted to hear. “It’s the afternoon lull, so, it should be fine.”

“Wonderful.” Charlotte turned her determined gaze back to Regan, tilting her head in the direction of the nearest table. Though the motion was subtle, the unspoken order was crystal clear.

Regan had to wonder if Charlotte’s elegant imperialism was something she was born with or had learned to master. Regardless, she followed her, pulling out a seat and plunking down into it.

Charlotte mirrored her with far more grace. She checked her watch on the inside of her wrist, before shaking her hair back and looking directly across the table at Regan. “I have approximately twelve minutes I can spare before I’m egregiously late. I’d prefer if I didn’t have to spend much more of it prying information out of you, but–”

Regan splayed her hands on the table, leaning forward as the words tumbled out of her. “Last night Emma came home and told me everything she actually thinks about me, and none of it was good. Actually, it was all really bad. Like. Stupid and immature and that she’d be embarrassed to even introduce me to her grandmother.”

Charlotte’s mouth snapped shut as she stared at Regan for several seconds. “Huh,” she muttered. “That took far less than I’d anticipated, given your obviously glum state.”

Leaning back with a shrug, Regan answered honestly, “I like to talk about my problems. If you’re asking, I’m going to tell you.”

Regan was far from a closed book, and she wasn’t above demonstrating that. The reality was, Regan didn’t do well when silently stewing on something. In fact, she hated it.

So, even though Charlotte Thompson was an unexpected ear to open up to, Regan would take what she had. Right now, her options were limited.

“Plus, you have this… quality,” Regan muttered, tilting her head to the side as she narrowed her eyes at Charlotte. “I kinda want to talk to you. How do you do that?” She demanded.

A small smile tugged at one side of Charlotte’s mouth, even as she lifted her eyebrows. “It’s a practiced skill.”

Ah. Well, that answered several of Regan’s questions about Stunning Charlotte.

“Can you teach me how to do it?” She asked, curiously. It seemed like a really great superpower.

Especially right now. Maybe, if she could pry the truth from people in the easy way Charlotte could, she would never end up in situations like the one with Emma. Maybe she would have known years ago that Emma would never be able to see past their misunderstandings.

Charlotte’s eyebrows raised even higher, the smile slowly dropping from her face. “I’m afraid it’s not something I have a lesson plan for. I’m also afraid you’re a little more forthright, when this requires a decent bit of subtlety.”

She slowly nodded – that was fair feedback.

“Anyway,” Charlotte crossed her legs, the look on her face all-business as she re-focused her attention. “Did Emma say those exact words to you?”

Regan’s lips twisted to the side as she thought back to the night before. “No, not all of them,” she admitted, quickly shrugging it off. “But it wasn’t a hard leap to make.”

Charlotte studied her intently. “I may be mistaken here, as I know I haven’t spent much time with both you and Emma together. But from what I know, the news that Emma isn’t your biggest fan isn’t actually news. Correct?”

“Well, when you put it like that, it makes me feel a little stupid,” Regan muttered, because she really did feel, well, a little stupid after Charlotte’s comment.

Because, no, nothing Emma said should feel like it came out of nowhere. Emma had never once, in two years, made a friendly overture toward Regan. And yet…

“The thing is, I never believed she had such a low opinion of me,” Regan explained, frowning. “I thought – I don’t know. I mean, I knew that we were always on the wrong footing. But I never thought Emma believed I was such an inconsequential loser.”

Saying it aloud demoralized her all over again, the words twisting her stomach up painfully. She was glad she didn’t fix herself a coffee, because it would have been an absolute waste; she couldn’t stomach anything right now.

“It’s interesting,” Charlotte’s voice was low and thoughtful. “I never pegged you as a person that would care so much about what someone would think. Especially someone they aren’t friends with.”

Regan frowned even deeper, her stomach tying up in bigger, tighter knots. “I guess the humiliating thing is that I considered Emma to be friend-adjacent? Like. I know we weren’t friends, I would never text her to go out for a drink or anything like that. But I’d always assumed we both had a baseline level of respect for one another. We’ve been in the same social circle for a couple of years, at this point, so…”

She trailed off, hunching in on herself.

That was the truth. There had been moments over the last couple of years, where she and Emma had been out with Sutton and they’d both laugh at the same comment that no one else found funny. Or they’d make eye contact and roll their eyes at something stupid. Regan didn’t believe that made them friends, but she’d thought it made them… something.

What was more than that – what ate at her even more deeply – was what she wasn’t telling Charlotte. What she couldn’t tell Charlotte because, even as an open book, there were certain sections that she couldn’t allow just anyone to read.

And the reality was that Emma wasn’t the first person to believe Regan was a fuck up who was going nowhere fast.

She was the first person Regan wasn’t related to who had voiced it, though, so that was a special experience.

Emma had unknowingly picked at a scab Regan had been carrying her entire life, and that was precisely why Regan couldn’t let Emma’s opinion of her roll off her back.

“Does Sutton know about this?” Charlotte asked, regaining Regan’s attention.

Quickly, Regan shook her head. “No, she does not.”

“I thought so,” Charlotte quietly mused. “I believe this is something she’d want to know.”

“No!” Regan quickly sat up, vehemently shaking her head as the ardent disagreement with that assessment flowed through her. “Look – Sutton is in Rome, working ten-hour days at this internship, and it’s the first thing she’s doing in her life that’s entirely for herself. Okay? There’s nothing she can do about this situation at this point, other than stress and wonder if she never should have left in the first place. I don’t want that.”

Which had been the reason Regan hadn’t done what her instincts had been screaming at her to do – which was to turn to Sutton for comfort in the first place. She hadn’t wanted to hang out with her coworkers last night after the fallout with Emma; what she’d wanted had been to curl up in her bed and talk to her best friend, the one person who would understand why Emma’s words cut so deeply.

But she couldn’t do that. Because it was the middle of the night in Rome and Sutton was asleep, first and foremost. And Regan… Regan didn’t want to be that person to Sutton. The person that held her back in any way.

She fixed Charlotte with a serious look, hoping that Charlotte could see that Regan meant business. “You aren’t going to tell her about this, either. I’m confiding in you right now, because you asked. If you go and tell Sutton, you’ll be breaking girlfriend-of-best-friend code.”

“Girlfriend-of-best-friend code,” Charlotte drawled, incredulously. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve just made that up?”

“No clue,” Regan shot back. “Because it’s totally real and valid. Listen, keeping my confidences is a good thing. It shows a stand-up character and that you aren’t simply talking to me and offering me council to curry good favor with Sutton.”

She arched a challenging eyebrow at Charlotte, knowing she had her.

Charlotte released a defeated sigh only seconds later, holding her hands up in a sign of defeat. “You obviously don’t need me to teach you my methods of persuasion,” she said, dryly.

Regan grinned, bright and victorious. The burst of positivity felt so good, she soaked it up for the first time all day.

For several seconds, Charlotte silently regarded her with a critical stare. Finally, she shrugged in defeat. “Fine. I will keep this between you and I – but if Sutton asks me if anything is wrong with you, I will not lie to her.”

“I find these terms acceptable,” Regan readily agreed.

After all, she wouldn’t want her best friend to be dating someone that would lie to her.

“Furthermore, regarding your quandary with Emma…” Charlotte hummed under her breath, a considering sound. “I’ll tell you a valuable piece of information my grandmother told me, very early in my career.”

Regan perked up, leaning in. “Advice straight from the horse’s mouth?!”

Charlotte shot her a dour look. “You’d do well not to refer to my grandmother as a horse.”

Regan pfft’d. “You know what I meant.”

“Even so.” Charlotte affixed her with a stern look – one Regan was unintimidated by – before she continued, “In my chosen aspiration, I’ve put myself in the line of fire for public opinion in spades. And people will always have an opinion.”

All right, Regan was following what she was saying. Charlotte had publicly come out only a few months ago, while running for congress, so… yeah. Even if Regan didn’t read many of the comments about Charlotte on social media, she was aware many people had something to say about her life choices.

“The trick to never letting that get to you is knowing that if someone doesn’t truly know you, ninety-nine percent of the time? Their opinion says far more about them than it does about you. Or, in the words of my grandmother: judgments made in ignorance are better left ignored.”

Slowly, Regan leaned back against the chair, letting the words take hold in her mind.

It didn’t really make her feel better about what Emma had said; her feelings were still hurt.

But she had to admit, the perspective did make her feel a little better.

She watched Charlotte from across the table, meeting her gaze. “You know, I’m really glad you came in today.”

“I suppose I am, as well. It’s a good thing you make such a good cup of coffee,” Charlotte acknowledged, toasting Regan as she held her cup up. “Or else I likely would never have returned after my first stop here.”

“Oh, your first stop here when you were stalking Jack Spencer?” Regan challenged, grinning with the words. It felt good to finally not feel like she was in such a funk.

Charlotte’s eyebrows furrowed as she narrowed her eyes over the lid of her coffee cup. She didn’t hurry her sip along, though. Instead, she moved at her same, steady pace, leisurely lowering the cup as she cleared her throat. “I wouldn’t quite call it stalking.”

Regan stared at her, deadpan. “What would you call it, then? When you find out a man’s schedule and rush through the city to coincidentally run into him?”

“Wise business strategy,” Charlotte answered, simply. “Also, you and Sutton share far too much.”

Regan gasped, placing a hand over her heart in offense. “That is simply not possible.” She waved her hand, as if wiping away that assertion. “Anyway, I think you would have returned after that even if my coffee was shit.”

Charlotte stared back at her, a perfectly arched eyebrow high on her forehead. “You believe I would have returned to your coffee shop – twenty minutes out of the way of my typical commute – if your coffee was shit?” She echoed Regan’s words with a deliberate slowness, obviously designed to make Regan doubt her own sanity. “Why, exactly, is that?”

She tapped on the table, giving herself a little drumroll, before she answered, “Because! You wanted to get into the beautifully high-waisted pants of one glorious creature by the name of Sutton Spencer. Who frequents this very coffee shop. Because, along with having the best coffee in the city, her very best friend in the world works here.”

Regan pointed to herself with both thumbs, triumphantly.

Charlotte chuckled, filled with both exasperation and amusement – Regan was familiar with the sound. “On that note, I think I’ve over-extended my break for the afternoon.”

As Charlotte stood, Regan followed suit. Before Charlotte could leave, she reached out to touch her wrist and stop her. “Thanks for this,” she said, seriously. “It really means a lot to me.”

A small grin pulled at Charlotte’s mouth, as she tilted her head in acknowledgement. “What else is the girlfriend-of-your-best-friend for?”

“I’ve never been so glad that I helped you two get together – twice – than I am, now.”

***

Regan returned home that night with a sense of comfort from Charlotte/Elizabeth’s sage wisdom.

She held to it tightly as she walked down the entry hall. Before she stumbled to a surprised stop when she found Emma sitting in the living room. “Weird seeing you sitting out here,” she couldn’t help but comment.

But it was the truth. Because Emma seemed to conveniently never hang out in their common spaces when Regan’s schedule informed Emma that she would be home.

Emma smiled at her, tentatively. “Yeah… I mean, you were gone really early this morning, so.”

Eyebrows crinkling in confusion, Regan couldn’t help but challenge, “So?”

Yeah, she’d deliberately gone to work early. Because she hadn’t been able to sleep with how shitty she’d felt, and she’d wanted to avoid running into Emma in the bathroom in the morning.

“I assumed you’d be happy about my absence.”

The small smile fell from Emma’s face completely. “Listen–”

But Regan, determined to not be dragged back into the headspace she’d been in up until her conversation with Charlotte, cut her off. “If you’re going to make an apology to me that you obviously don’t mean, then I don’t want to hear it.”

It went against everything inside of her to not try to hear Emma out, but she powered on, knowing she was doing the right thing for self-protection.

“Before I go to my room, I’m going to give you a hard truth this time, okay?”

Emma’s expression was very clearly dubious, but she nodded nonetheless.

Regan took a deep breath, staring Emma right in the eye. “Have you ever considered that the way you react to me, isn’t really about me? Like. Fine. I get it; I can be really chatty and sometimes I act before I think and sometimes I do the wrong thing. But why, exactly, does it bother you that I’m not getting a graduate degree or pursuing a serious career? My ambitions and organization and whatever else are none of your concern. I think that’s a you problem, Emma. Because it’s not mine.”

Huh.

As Emma blinked at her in surprise, Regan drew her shoulders back with a sense of pride.

That felt pretty good.

Chapter Seven

I think that’s a you problem, Emma.

Regan’s words continued to ring in Emma’s ears, days after she’d said them. They haunted her to the point of distraction.

After Regan had thrown that ridiculous accusation at her, she’d strutted right past where Emma had sat and smartly shut her bedroom door behind her. As if to say case closed.

The kicker of it all was that Emma had been waiting for Regan to discuss their… issue. While she hadn’t been willing to apologize in that moment for what she’d said, she had been willing to apologize for how Regan had taken it.

Her immediate reaction after Regan’s spiel the other night, however, had changed everything.

First, she’d been annoyed all over again – now Regan was telling Emma what her problems were? She was telling Emma that her very legitimate issues with Regan actually weren’t? Where the hell did she get off?!

And she’d intended to say as much to Regan!

Only, as the week had gone by, Emma had found that Regan could maintain boundaries – as long as those boundaries meant sticking to her word about ignoring Emma.

Which shouldn’t bother her! That was, perhaps, the most aggravating thing of all.

Every time Regan walked past her or they ran into one another in their apartment, now, Emma was filled with an anticipation she couldn’t quite understand. This waiting period for Regan to say or do something… Regan-like.

It was like walking on eggshells, and somehow, Emma was finding that it made their living arrangement even worse.

At least, she told herself, she used to know what to expect from Regan. Annoyed or pestered as she was, she knew what was waiting for her when she got home. There was a sense of regularity and familiarity.

Now, who knew?!

If someone had asked Emma a week ago if she believed she’d prefer to live in a situation where Regan didn’t attempt to connect with her, she would have agreed the affirmative without a second thought.

It turned out – annoyingly – that was an incorrect assumption.

And Emma hated being incorrect.

How was it that Emma had moved into an apartment with three total strangers that she barely spoke to for years, and it was a less awkward living situation than what she was currently experiencing? How?

Really, she wanted the universe to answer her.

Because, quite frankly, it wasn’t fair.

That was the conclusion Emma had reached over the last few days, as she’d cycled through her feelings.

It wasn’t fair that she’d voiced her honest opinion about Regan – literally citing wrongdoings Regan had committed against her – only for her to end up feeling this gnawing sense of guilt afterwards. Only to end up with every interaction filled with loud, unnatural silences.

Emma hadn’t done anything wrong!

And yet, she was left feeling like she’d kicked a puppy. Unsure and careful in the aftermath.

This gnawing, shameful feeling had only gotten worse in the last few days.

Which was ridiculous and annoying and, most bizarrely of all, it was starting to distract her at work.

When her phone buzzed and alerted her to a text message, as it did now, Emma felt compelled to look.

Was it Regan? Was she finally going to be the one to break? Was she finally going to give Emma back some semblance of normalcy, and ask if Emma wanted to do pedicures or have a movie night or something?

Emma didn’t even want to do those things!

It was starting to make her feel crazy. Absolutely, entirely out of her mind.

Because, as Regan had promised, she was giving Emma exactly what she’d asked for, multiple times. She was acting as a roommate and nothing more.

Her phone buzzed again and Emma – who had been diligently reading through the portfolios for the Alton Fellowship, because she only had a couple of weeks to weed through literal thousands of applicants – couldn’t help how her hand twitched to check it.

Even though she resolutely never checked her personal texts when she was busy at work. Never.

“Oh my god, just answer it. Please,” Brynn’s exasperated encouragement reached Emma from a few feet away, where she sat at her own desk. “Please, answer it.”

Emma felt herself blush – annoying – as she cleared her throat. “What?”

Brynn rolled her eyes, but kept her voice hushed as they were both aware of Allegra’s open office door. “Your phone.”

“How can you hear it? It’s on silent.” Emma could barely hear when it vibrated, and she was right next to it.

“I can’t,” Brynn stressed, throwing her hands into the air. “But every single time you’ve gotten a text in the last week, you lift your hand over the drawer your phone is in.” Brynn mimicked Emma’s hand over her drawer, freezing it before she could open the drawer. “And then you hesitate like this.” She stared, with exaggerated intent, at the drawer. “Like, is this some sort of situation where someone offered you ten million dollars but only if you press the button to kill someone, and that button is on your phone?”

Emma was not going to dignify that with a response. Instead, she dropped her hand into her lap, away from where it had, indeed, been hovering next to the drawer handle. Caught.

Closing her eyes tightly, she debated if she should say anything, but the need to talk about the situation won out.

Quickly, she shot a look at Allegra through the glass wall and noted that she didn’t seem to be perturbed by their quiet conversation.

She might as well go for it, she supposed. “I’m having some trouble with my–”

“Girlfriend,” Brynn cut in, nodding sagely and looking remarkably more interested. “Go on.”

Emma reeled back, shaking her head. “Uh, no. No, no.”

Brynn leaned back, clearly surprised. “Really? I thought I got that vibe from you.”

“I mean, yes, I date women.” Not so much recently, but Emma had never discussed her dating life at work and she sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. “But – no. This is about my roommate.” She couldn’t help but frown, as she questioned, “God, why does everyone assume that when Regan comes up?”

“Because,” Brynn gestured to Emma’s face with the pen she held in her hand, “That whole demeanor you have going on, all bothered under the collar and whatnot, doesn’t read as just a roommate problems. Regardless, you have my attention.”

“Yes, do go on,” Allegra’s clear, cutting tone startled both of them, as she stood in her doorway, arms crossed.

Despite the glass walls, Emma had no idea when Allegra had stood and walked over toward them and, judging by Brynn’s wide-eyed expression, she hadn’t noticed, either.

Even more mortified than before, Emma wanted to shrink back into her seat and cover her face with her hands. She didn’t, but only because a sense of self-preservation kept her sitting with perfect posture.

“I’m sorry, Allegra,” she apologized, grateful her voice came out louder than a whisper. “I’ll get back to it.”

“Why stop on my account? You didn’t seem to have reservations a moment ago, when I could still here you, only from several feet farther away.”

Unsure of what, exactly, her boss was getting at – was she being uncharacteristically sarcastic? Typically Allegra was very direct – Emma couldn’t help but squirm in her seat.

Allegra arched an eyebrow, dark gaze boring into her. “Well? Brynn and I are waiting for the conclusion to the conundrum that has had you distracted all week.”

Emma wanted to murder Regan for being the root cause of this.

As her stomach tied in uncertain knots, though, she realized that was the root of her issue.

“Ah… right,” Emma slowly began, darting her gaze to Brynn, just to check that she was reading the situation correctly and that Allegra genuinely wanted her to continue. Brynn, unhelpfully, looked just as unsure as Emma. “Well, my roommate and I have never really gotten along. Strictly speaking.”

Allegra nodded, waving her on.

“Then why did you move in together in the first place?” Brynn cut in, before she widened her eyes at Allegra. “Sorry to prolong the story. Just – Emma told me that she’d just moved in with this new roommate a few weeks ago.”

“No, context is important. Do tell,” Allegra… ordered?

Order or no, Emma felt compelled to answer, “We have a friend in common.” It was the easiest, simplest explanation. “She’s on a prolonged internship, and I didn’t love my living situation, before.”

“So, you asked to move in with your current roommate,” Allegra asserted.

“No, actually. She asked me to move in,” Emma corrected. “Because… well, because she knew how much I didn’t enjoy my previous living arrangement.”

As she finished the statement, she was speaking slowly, as if hearing the words for the first time, herself.

But – it was the truth.

Regan didn’t have to ask Emma to move in while Sutton was away. Their apartment, in their neighborhood? She could have gotten a ton of applicants, who would have paid far more than Emma was. Probably several people she would have an easier time getting along with.

“And the problem is?” Allegra’s exacting voice cut into her thoughts.

Emma blinked up at her boss as her stomach sank even lower than it had already been.

“The problem is that I think I might have been the cause of several of our issues, in ways I hadn’t thought of, before. Which means,” she had to pause, accepting the truth as she was being faced with saying it aloud, “That I might have been wrong about her, too. And I was made aware of it because we had a–”

“Brawl,” Brynn supplied, “Emotionally, anyway, given I see no bruises on your person.”

“An altercation,” Emma corrected, shooting Brynn a what the fuck look. “In which I think I finally crossed a line with her.”

“I see. And now, she’s making your living situation untenable?” Allegra asked.

Emma started to nod, before she caught herself. “Not really. Not in a technical sense.”

Because Regan hadn’t attempted to make Emma leave the apartment or anything like that.

No. What was becoming distressingly uncomfortable, she realized in this very moment, was that living with this – this pod person version of Regan was starting to feel untenable.

“You have a simple solution, Emma,” Allegra stated, pushing herself away from the doorway. “You have a degree in journalism and you want to pursue publishing as a career, correct?”

Skeptical as to how they correlated, Emma nodded in agreement.

“As such, you shouldn’t be afraid of the truth. And pursuing the truth may often mean facing facts you’re uncomfortable with – including facts such as realizing you were wrong.” Allegra nodded once, firmly, as if she’d given Emma the keys to the kingdom. “What you do with truths once you face them, well, that is where the world gets interesting, isn’t it?”

Maybe she had given Emma the keys.

“Now that we’ve worked through your problem – undoubtedly faster as a trio – I think you can decide what to do with your newfound truth after work, no?” Allegra lifted her eyebrows as she gave both Emma and Brynn a look, before turning to walk to her own desk.

***

Emma would never let it be said that Allegra wasn’t exceedingly fair. Or exceedingly correct.

She knew, upon returning to the apartment, that Regan wasn’t scheduled to get home for another couple of hours.

She also knew that it was time to call in the big guns.

Because Allegra was right – now, it was time for Emma to figure out what to do post-Regan’s bombshells earlier this week.

Taking a deep breath as nerves tangled in her stomach, she sat on the side of her bed.

And called Sutton.

Emma eyed the time as the call started to ring through; it would be a little after midnight in Rome right now. But it was also a Friday, so she was hoping Sutton might still be awake and up for a chat.

Only seconds later, she was proven correct, as Sutton picked up, “Emma! It’s great to get a call from you!”

Emma let out a sigh, taking some comfort in Sutton’s genuine warmth. It was a quality Sutton had – this kindness to her, that she’d always found so appealing. “Hey. Yeah, I’m sorry it’s so late. I just got home from work.”

“It’s completely fine; I have a video date with Charlotte in half an hour, so I was still awake.” There was a sweet, undeniable excitement in her voice that Emma found even more comforting for some reason.

“That’s great. I’m glad you two figured out a system.” She meant that. Though she’d been skeptical of Charlotte’s intentions, she was slowly coming around to the newly minted congresswoman. After all, it had been her couch Sutton had sought refuge on when Charlotte had broken her heart earlier this year. Emma wouldn’t say she had many protective instincts, but she’d certainly felt protective when Sutton had shown up on her doorstep, looking utterly wrecked. “How is everything over there? I got your text the other day, with the pictures of the first editions library.”

The wonder mixed with envy in her tone was unavoidable. Because it was precisely what she felt every time Sutton shared her experience through pictures or social media posts. A raw desire to share in that experience, herself, and amazement for Sutton being able to be there.

Sutton laughed, sounding utterly exhilarated. “It’s beautiful. I mean – the hours are nuts and there are so many rules to follow, but it’s… well, you know from our texts.”

“Yeah.” Despite the envy she felt, she found herself smiling slightly, as she often did with Sutton. Seeing Sutton, one of the only people Emma counted on as a true friend, thriving was deeply satisfying, no matter what.

“I’m always happy to hear from you,” Sutton started, her tone cautious. “But… you don’t usually call, especially without texting first. Which – it’s one-hundred percent fine for you to do!” She was quick to assure – typical Sutton. “I just can’t help but wonder – is everything okay?”

Ah, and there it was. Somehow, Sutton had the ability to be both incredibly obtuse and incredibly perceptive, depending on the situation. In this situation, it seemed perceptive was the way to go.

Even though this was the entire reason Emma had called, though, she found herself hesitant. Unable to voice anything about Regan.

Because if there was one thing she knew to be certain about Sutton Spencer, it was that she deeply, deeply loved Regan Gallagher.

Something told Emma that while Sutton was casually dismissive/exasperated by her and Regan’s casual bickering, Sutton wasn’t going to be super pleased with her truly hurting Regan’s feelings. And she found that she very much didn’t want to have Sutton be disappointed in her.

Something in her silence seemed to alarm Sutton, though. She took a sharp intake of breath, all hint of light-heartedness falling away as she asked, “Is Regan okay?”

Emma pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at it incredulously. There was no way Sutton had heard her thoughts, right?

Or – more likely – Regan had already informed Sutton that this situation wasn’t going well, and Sutton was asking this as a way to get Emma talking.

Before she could explain herself, Sutton was speaking again, her words tumbling quickly out of her mouth. “God, I’ve just been so busy this week so I haven’t even had time to think about it, but she hasn’t called me in days! Not since last weekend. Emma, is she okay?” Sutton repeated, even more concerned than she’d been minutes ago.

Regan hadn’t even called Sutton this week?! Fuck, if Emma needed further confirmation that she’d well and truly hurt Regan, there it was.

And, as she let out a defeated breath, she slumped down in her bed. It did not feel good. Kicked puppy, to the max.

Still, “She’s fine,” she assured. Before doubt edged in, and she bit her bottom lip. “Physically, that is.”

Sutton’s worry clearly receded, “Whew. Okay. Good.” There was only a moment’s pause before she followed up. “Wait. Physically?”

Emma winced. “Yeah…”

Even though everything inside of her did not want to tell Sutton what had played out between them, she did. Well, she left out the fake dating part, because she hadn’t been exaggerating to Regan when she’d said the less people that knew about that humiliating lie, the better.

After she finished relaying the events from earlier this week, she waited with her stomach tied in nerves.

For several beats, Sutton was quiet, and it was far from a companionable silence.

“I see.” Was all Sutton said when she did speak.

Even though it was literally only two syllables, Emma realized that was all she needed to hear Sutton’s anger. Because Sutton was not one that was quick to anger – in fact, she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen or heard Sutton truly mad.

It was even more jarring when she realized that Sutton’s newfound anger was directed at her. “I didn’t mean it the way she took it,” she defended, feeling unbelievably lame.

Sutton was quiet for another several beats, before she drew in a long breath, then let it slowly out. “I don’t believe you wouldn’t intentionally be so mean,” she allowed, and Emma was so grateful that the heat in her tone was slightly cooler.

“But… Emma, Regan is my best friend,” Sutton stated, her voice low, serious.

“I know,” Emma agreed in confusion. Of course she knew that, though. Everyone with eyes knew that.  

“Regan is my best friend,” Sutton repeated, intently. “I want you to think about that for a second. Because I know she can be… a lot,” she settled on. “But, if you respect me and my instincts about people in any way, I hope you understand that I would have never been Regan’s best friend for two decades if she wasn’t a good person. Maybe the best person.”

All right, Emma most definitely wasn’t going to agree that Regan was the best person she knew, but that didn’t mean that Sutton’s words weren’t twisting the knife in her stomach even deeper.

Ugh. Because somewhere inside, even when she was incredibly annoyed at Regan, she knew that Sutton was speaking the truth.

“I know,” she quietly admitted.

And maybe that was why she’d been feeling so terrible, she realized, feeling that weight baring down on her.

Because while she had been telling the truth and merely stating the facts about their interactions from her perspective the other night, she knew that Regan wasn’t wrong. She’d known, if she was forced to admit it to herself, that very night, after Regan had quietly leveled with her, that she’d been so focused on her own tunnel vision, she’d deliberately never looked at anything from Regan’s point of view.

Deep down, she knew Regan was never intentionally causing her harm.

She obviously knew that Regan hadn’t meant to spill the coffee on her the first time they’d truly met. She knew Regan hadn’t intentionally broken her grandmother’s porcelain doves. She definitely knew that Regan hadn’t meant to send her to the hospital with her almond flour.

Regan was, at her core, someone who constantly tried. Just like she’d said. Every time something went disastrously wrong between them, it was because Regan was trying to do something kind. Trying to make her dinner, trying to help her move. Trying to “save Emma from third degree burns” or whatever Regan had thought was happening with the coffee.  

And now, now that Regan was actively refusing to let Emma smooth things over and move on, she’d had to spend days settling with the ugly truth that… Regan was right.

Emma never gave Regan the benefit of the doubt. She never tried with her.

And, most distressingly, she found that she didn’t want to be that kind of person.

“Please believe me when I tell you – I’ve been trying to figure out how to make it up to her.”

All right, granted, those attempts had mostly been spending time in their shared living spaces and hoping Regan would come to her and act normally. But Emma didn’t know what else to do, when Regan didn’t seem interested in a simple apology!

“Why?” Sutton asked.

“Why… what?”

“Why are you trying to make it up to her? Why are you trying to bring her back around when it sounds like you finally got what you wanted out of this living situation?” Sutton wasn’t being mean or taunting; her tone was genuinely questioning.

Emma found, in that moment, that she didn’t immediately have an answer.

“I mean, is it just because you feel guilty?” Sutton pressed. “Because, if so, you could just write Regan an apology note and go on with your day.”

“I guess,” she acknowledged, “Though, she doesn’t seem to want an apology?” It had been one of the only things Regan had said to her in days.

“… so?” Sutton asked. “Emma, frankly, your entire relationship with Regan has never been based in what Regan wants. If you feel badly and all you want from this situation is for her to know that you didn’t mean what you said, then make the apology and move on.”

Sutton’s advice was sound. There was not a single incorrect component, here.

And yet, Emma found that it wasn’t sitting right with her. The idea was, alarmingly, very unappealing, which was why she hadn’t done so already. She settled on, simply, “That doesn’t feel like enough.”

“But, why?” Sutton asked once more.

Had she taken some sort of interrogation lesson from Charlotte or something?!

“I think,” she began, feeling uncharacteristically and uncomfortably nervous with the reality starting to set in. “That I regret not giving Regan a chance.”

Emma’s eyes opened widely in wonder and surprise at the truth of those words.

Because – yes. That was exactly it.

She regretted their fallout not just because she felt badly about hurting Regan’s feelings. But because now that Regan wasn’t making any overtures toward her, she felt like she’d made a mistake. Like she’d missed out on something.

There was a reason Sutton loved Regan so fiercely. And Regan had been offering Emma an opportunity this entire time for her to really understand why, but she’d been so determined not to take it.

And now that the olive branch was no longer available and she’d been given a swift kick in the ass out of her stubbornness, Emma missed it.

“All right, then,” Sutton murmured. There was a satisfaction in her voice, her previous irritation at Emma now completely – thankfully – gone.

Emma couldn’t help but feel like Sutton had gotten Emma to admit something she’d already anticipated.

“Now that we’ve gotten somewhere, what I can tell you is this – Regan might appear to you to be shallow or superfluous. But she is actually really great at reading people. And if she doesn’t believe that you’re just spewing words at her and she doesn’t think you’re being sincere in trying to apologize, she’s not going to really accept it.”

Emma was already slowly nodding in acceptance before Sutton had finished speaking. She supposed that was what Regan had said the other night – not that she didn’t want any apology, but that she didn’t want an empty one.

“All right,” she quietly mused. “Thanks for the chat. And – I’m going to fix it,” she asserted.

If there was one thing Emma was great at, it was completing an assigned task. And this was now at the top of her list.

She had to be genuine. She had to try.

***

Emma refused to let nerves get the better of her, so she stood her ground in the living room as she heard Regan open the front door.

The idea of slipping the note she’d written to accompany this apology under Regan’s door sounded more and more appealing as the oncoming embarrassment started to set in with Regan’s footsteps coming closer.

She steeled herself, though, jumping into action as soon as Regan walked into the living room.

“I know you don’t want to hear an empty apology, so… I’m not giving you one,” she started. She closed her eyes, gripping with everything she had to her resolve to do what she’d planned on.

She lifted Mr. Cuddles in front of her, clearing her throat as she dipped her voice a few octaves and spoke through him. “This is what Mr. Cuddles voice sounds like. And Emma wants you to know that she really is sorry.”

Cheeks burning, she quickly lowered the bear, though still found a comfort in stroking her fingers through his fur, as she continued in her normal voice, “I’m sorry not only for what I said the other day, but also… because you were right. My issues with you are largely because of my own perception, and I’ve never really given you the benefit of the doubt.”

Swallowing hard, she looked down at her own hands rubbing her thumb over Mr. Cuddles’ ear. “The truth is that I haven’t tried in a while. I haven’t wanted to.”

This bear that she was clutching was proof of that. How very little had she tried with her own mother?

“Letting people in is really hard for me,” she admitted, her voice falling hoarse. “There have been a lot of times in my life when I do let someone in and try with them, and it never goes well.”

So many of the kids she’d gone to school with, then Felicity… she shook her head – yeah, she was most definitely not sharing that part with Regan.

Swallowing thickly, she looked back up, meeting Regan’s wide, surprised stare with her own. “I’ve never had a roommate that wanted to get to spend time with me the way you do,” Emma admitted softly, her stomach twisting with the truth of the words. “I’ve never really met anyone that seems to want to get to know me the way you do.”

She’d meant to say that part jokingly, but it came out leaving her feeling unexpectedly vulnerable.

Trying to push through that feeling as quickly as possible, she added, “And I think I’ve dug my heels in even harder with you because I don’t understand why you feel that way, especially when all I’ve done is push you away. So, it makes me feel… uncomfortable. And a little…”

“Prickly,” Regan supplied, encouragingly.

Emma narrowed her eyes as she corrected, “Defensive.”

And when Regan brightly grinned, Emma didn’t feel the immediate urge to glare. Which was new.

Maybe this whole facing the truth thing had some merit.

“I guess I’ve never known when to quit,” Regan admitted, her voice soft. There was no showing of bravado, as her smile dimmed slightly. “I honestly think that because you seemed so resistant to me, I put in even more time and energy trying to get you to like me. Which, is crazy.” She let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. “And I’m sure that roots back into my own… stuff.” She gestured vaguely with her hand, before letting it fall down to her side.

Emma’s eyebrows lifted in unexpected interest. That felt like a different side of Regan that she’d never seen before.

Feeling bolstered by it, she pushed herself to finish her peace offering. “To show you that I’m making a good faith effort and not just giving you lip service to try to get you to move on from the other day, I’m offering you a full day hang out.”

It did scare her, a bit, to say those words. Mostly because she still thought Regan was a wild card, and Emma didn’t like unpredictability.

But, she had to admit, seeing the way Regan’s dark eyes widened with surprised delight, made her breathe a little easier through that feeling.

“Nothing crazy,” she was quick to warn. “I’m not taking a road trip with you. We will not be leaving the city.” She’d heard Sutton’s cautionary tales of Regan exuberantly getting them lost far too many times. “And I’m not joining any clubs or apps.”

Again, she’d been in the same social circle as Regan for too long and had heard of far too many stories to be truly comfortable letting Regan run rampant with no parameters for their full day hang out. She may feel contrite and like she wanted to make things up to Regan, but she still had her limits.

“Deal!” Regan pounced on the offer, reaching out her hand.

Emma studied the offered hand, skeptically, as wariness rose inside of her. “A part of me feels like I’m making a deal with the devil, but…”

She slid her hand into Regan’s, startingly aware of how soft and comfortably warm Regan’s palm was against her own.  

“Please,” Regan scoffed. “You flatter me; I’m merely a humble servant to Lucifer.” Regan tightened her grip on Emma’s hand, and the strength that she had was surprising. “I have to tell you: I’d already forgiven you after you spoke through Mr. Cuddles. But I appreciate everything else you shared with it.”

Emma groaned loudly, feeling that sense of embarrassment return, which only served to make Regan laugh.

She tightened her own grip, as she arched an eyebrow at Regan. “We never speak of the Mr. Cuddles thing to anyone else.”

“It’s between you, me, and the bear. Scout’s honor.”

Chapter Eight

Sutton – 9:17AMEverything all right over there? Haven’t heard from you in a while… which is highly suspicious

Regan stared down at her phone, debating how to answer.

It didn’t come as a shock to her that Sutton was questioning Regan’s silence in the last few days. After all, Regan was typically in contact with her best friend every day, in some form or other.

But after the debacle with Emma earlier this week, she’d felt strangely reluctant to talk to Sutton, even about topics not related to Emma. This situation, which had only been compounded by her conversation with Charlotte, put a spotlight on how much Regan truly depended on Sutton. How much she relied – how much she’d always relied on her best friend to be her anchor.

And Sutton’s current absence highlighted the reality that Sutton couldn’t always be there to make everything feel normal and okay, again. Even when she returned from Rome – which wouldn’t happen for several more months – she was now in a relationship. Like, a serious relationship. One that Regan sensed would only continue to get more and more serious as time went on.

While Regan knew she would always fill a role in Sutton’s life, the position she’d held for nearly twenty years as Sutton’s Most Important Person was a title that Charlotte had snuck in and claimed for herself in the last year.

So –

Regan – 9:19AMEverything’s hunky dory on my side of the Atlantic

Sutton – 9:19AMYou sure? It took you a while to answer my message

Regan – 9:19AMIt was 2 minutes………..

Sutton – 9:20AMAnd 2 minutes for you to answer a text that you’d read right away is a long time…

Well, damn Sutton and how well she apparently knew Regan!

Also, damn this feeling in her gut that she had whenever she felt like she was being dishonest with Sutton. But what she’d said to Charlotte the other day had been the utter truth.

For once in her life, Regan needed to stand on her own two feet.

Besides, she wasn’t lying to Sutton. Not really.

Everything was – tentatively – hunky dory between her and Emma.

Today would be the true qualifier of that, and –

“Are we baking cupcakes together for our hang out?” Emma’s voice came from over Regan’s shoulder.

“Oh my god!” Regan jumped in surprise, fumbling with her phone before it fell from her grasp.  

She and Emma both watched as it clattered, face-down, onto the floor.

Regan’s heart was still racing in her chest as Emma quickly bent down to retrieve her phone. She examined the screen as she handed it over to Regan, her pouty lips pulled into a considering frown. “It looks like it’s all in one piece still. Sorry, though; I didn’t think I’d scare you.”

Regan gratefully took her phone, giving it a cursory glance as she placed it on the counter behind her. “Yeah, I mean, I don’t know why you might possibly scare the shit out of someone when you come creeping up behind them like a ninja.”

Emma huffed out a laugh, crossing her arms over her chest in a move that made her breasts seem like they were about to pop out of the thin tank top that she’d clearly slept in. Regan’s eyes lingered for a moment as she absently wondered if Emma knew how lucky she was to have such an impressive chest?

“If I were the only to make that statement, I’d believe it was sarcasm in a not-so-nice way. But since it was you, I’m assuming you’re being humorous,” Emma mused slowly, studying Regan’s face.

Regan lifted her gaze to meet Emma’s, an easy smile sliding over her face. “You assume correctly.”

Emma watched her closely, her eyebrows furrowed, before she shook her head. “You know, a part of me was really hoping that I could poke even a small hole in your theory that my attitude is the reason our relationship has never…”

“Blossomed,” Regan supplied, leaning back against the counter as she angled her head up at Emma. She was undeniably curious as to where Emma was going with this.

Emma grimaced at her word choice. “I mean, that makes it sound like we’re pre-pubescent, but – yes.” She shrugged, heavily. “But the truth is that I know that if you snuck up on me like this, making me drop my phone, I’d have flipped out. So. I guess that’s a big point in the Regan Gallagher column.”

Regan felt her smile grow even wider at Emma’s admission, entirely too pleased with it. Even more so because Emma didn’t even sound like she was begrudging the truth. She sounded almost… amazed by it.

“It’s a good outlook to have,” Emma said quietly, studying Regan’s face carefully. Like she was really trying to see her. Maybe even for the first time.

Regan’s first instinct was to preen into the compliment, to ham it up, she found herself faltering. Instead, her cheeks felt a little warm at the observation, and she shrugged. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“It’s nice,” Emma countered, firmly.

“You really are stubborn.”

“And the sky is blue.”

The laugh that escaped Regan was swift and she rolled into it, especially when Emma cracked a little, genuine smile back at her.

After another few seconds, Emma lifted a questioning eyebrow. “So – cupcakes?” She nodded at the ingredients, mixing bowls, and pans Regan had neatly laid out on the counter before Sutton’s text had distracted her.

“Uh, well. I didn’t plan for us to bake together, no.” She hedged, clearing her throat as she rocked from one foot to the other, as if she could hide the ingredients behind her back.

“An interesting choice,” Emma drawled.

“I didn’t think you were going to be awake so early,” Regan countered, truthfully.

In fairness, Emma was still in her pajamas. A gray threadbare tank top with a pair of tiny black shorts – honestly, Regan knew they were pajamas because there was no way Emma would dare brave the New York City streets in shorts that barely covered her ass; she’d detest the attention it would garner her. Her silky hair was still piled on top of her head the way Regan had noticed Emma often did before she slept – if she hadn’t fallen asleep while working, that was.

“You told me when we went our separate ways last night that you were opting for our hangout day to be today,” Emma deadpanned. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I assumed you’d intended for it to be an all-day affair.”

“I’m intending for us to use this as a bridge into a true friendship, actually, and that means accepting you as you are. Which for you, I’ve gleaned through my amazing powers of deduction, means sleeping as late as humanly possible on days you don’t have work.” She offered Emma a proud, hopeful grin. “I was thinking I’d bake these, myself, and by the time they were done, you’d be waking up.”

That thoughtful, studious expression returned to Emma’s face again. As soon as Regan felt her stomach tingle with it, she pressed her hand there. Strange.

“Uh,” she valiantly pushed through the feeling. “Yeah, so… you know. If you want to go back to bed for a while, you totally can.”

She believed so wholly that Emma was going to take her up on that offer, that it legitimately shocked her when Emma shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I mean, I offered you the whole day, and even though I may be stubborn and have a penchant to believe the glass is half empty, I’m a woman of my word. Besides, I’m already up. Getting out of bed means I won the battle.”

A surprised titter escaped Regan’s lips. “Okay, then. We can… bake… together…” She slid her gaze toward the counter, trying to figure out how to sort through her unexpected nerves.

Apparently, Emma noticed. “I honestly assumed you’d be thrilled by the offer. I mean, you may soon come to see that my company isn’t everything you’ve been dreaming about, but baking together feels like exactly the sort of thing you’ve suggested we do for weeks, now.” There was a raw curiosity reflected in her gaze that Regan didn’t think she’d ever seen directed at her, before.

And of course, it was regarding this. Like, the one thing in the world that Regan did by herself.

“Ha, yeah,” Regan acknowledged, dragging a hand through her hair. She looked between the ingredients neatly arranged on the counter and Emma, before honestly admitting, “Only, not really?”

Emma’s doubtful stare asked Regan wordlessly what the hell she was talking about.

Regan clasped her hands together behind her back, feeling uncharacteristically sheepish. “I don’t bake with other people,” she explained, feeling a little silly.

More than a little silly, actually.

Those blue eyes blinked back at her, as if unable to process what she was saying. Which was reflected by Emma’s skeptical expression. “I’ve heard you banging around in here tons of times. And I’ve seen you bring containers of baked goods out of here, multiple times.”

“Exactly; I bake when you’re asleep, and yeah, I love when people try my finished products,” she was quick to explain. “I mean – I don’t know. It’s stupid, but… baking has always just been for me. The process of it. It’s stupid,” she repeated, shaking her head at herself.

Because it did sound stupid when she said it aloud. After all, she did love when people ate the food she made, she enjoyed sharing it. But the idea of sharing the process felt… nerve-wracking.

Emma’s eyebrows furrowed together, critically, as she said, “I don’t think it’s stupid.”

Regan’s fingers tightened where she had them clasped over one another. “You don’t?”

“I mean, we all have the things we like to do just for ourselves. And if anyone understands the desire for privacy, it’s me.” Emma flashed a sharp grin. “If you want to do this by yourself, that’s fine–”

“Wait.” Regan jumped forward as Emma started to take a step back, reaching out to grab at her wrist. “Let’s do it together.”

Even though it made her nervous, she pushed through it. Because – really, why did it make her nervous? She could pull herself together for this. For this bonding activity that Emma was finally willing to give her.

Letting Emma walk away from this opportunity felt like a complete and total waste. She’d wanted Emma to spend time with her for over a month, and now that Emma seemed to be genuinely willing to give her a chance, she wasn’t going to pass it up; she wasn’t an idiot.

With that, she nodded, willing herself to get over that weird hiccup of hesitation. “It’s fine. It’s cool. It’s going to be fun.”

With every word she spoke, Emma’s eyebrows lifted higher on her forehead, revealing her doubt. “Uh, are you trying to convince yourself or me?”

Regan considered it for a second, before she shrugged and offered, “Both?”

“You know we can still hang out today even without the cupcakes. I understand boundaries, and if this is one for you–”

Shaking her head, Regan dismissed the idea. “No, it’s fine.” If Emma was willing to challenge her perceptions, Regan could, too. She wasn’t in the business of being a hypocrite in any way. “It’s actually a good thing, probably. Personal growth and all that.”

Emma rolled her eyes but was smiling as she did so. “Riiight.”

It was a good thing, Regan reaffirmed to herself, as she remembered she was still holding onto Emma’s wrist, and gently released her. “So, how much do you know about baking?”

“I don’t,” Emma answered, promptly.

“Now is not the time to be glib, Emma. I need to know how in-depth you’re going to need instructions while we work.”

“Being glib isn’t really my thing.” Which, fair point. “I’m telling you that I’ve never done any baking, unless you count buying pre-made cookie dough and popping it into the oven.”

Horrified, Regan shuddered. “Emma… that is a tragedy. If I needed an extra push to get me to a place where I was ready to bake with someone – which I didn’t… mostly – there it is. Let’s get to it.”

She reached out to where she hung her aprons, flinging one in Emma’s direction, before grabbing one for herself. And when the thought struck her, she gleefully spun around as she pulled the apron over her head. “You know what this means? You have to listen to, like, everything I say! What a way to start our bonding time.”

Emma nailed her with a look as she tugged her own apron on over her head. “There’s still time for me to go back to bed.”

But she was tying the apron behind her back as she spoke, so Regan laughed with it.

Okay… maybe this could be fun.

***

By the time the cupcakes were in the oven, Regan’s anxiety around baking with someone else had entirely dissipated.

It was made easy, really, because Emma’s naivety throughout the entire process was so damn entertaining. Once they’d really gotten into it, Regan had been so caught up in their conversation to be concerned about feeling self-conscious.

“Here, use this for the dry ingredients,” she’d instructed, handing Emma the sifter, as Regan moved to pre-heat the oven.

Emma had dubiously looked down at it. “What… is this?” She flexed her hand, spinning the sifters.

Regan gasped, whirling around to face her. “Emma – wait, what’s your middle name?”

“Not necessary information,” Emma clipped, turning back to the counter to grab her coffee.

“We will work on that.” She held herself back from pressing the matter – this was a beginner day for them. Regan didn’t want to test the limits too much on day one! “Emma Bordeaux,” she started again, “That is a sifter. You have to spoon the dry ingredients into the measuring cups, then you sift them into the grater.”

Emma turned around to face Regan, doubtfully. “Now I know you’re messing with me. That’s why we have measuring cups. You scoop them and dump them in the bowl. I know how that works.”

A baffled laugh escaped Regan as she held up her hands. “Why would I be messing with you! That’s not how this works! Scout’s honor.” She sidled up to Emma, pressing against her side, gesturing at the ingredients. “You don’t want them to be… heavy,” she decided on the word. “If you just scoop, it won’t be accurate. We’re going for light and fluffy, here, not thick and dense.”

Even though Emma still seemed like she thought Regan was fucking with her, she reached for the spoon. “I guess – for today – you’re in charge.”

Regan bumped her hip against Emma’s. “You’re damn right!”

Emma shot her a look, and everything in Regan went on high alert… before Emma shook her head and bumped Regan’s hip right back.

The most exciting moment had been when she’d heard Emma, surprise in her tone, say, “You know, this actually looks pretty good.”

Regan turned from where she’d been checking on the cupcakes in the oven… only to solidly bump right into Emma.

Eyes widening, she’d watched as the raspberry simple syrup they’d made – well, Regan had made, while Emma had poured the cupcake batter into the tins – slosh over the side of the jar it was in… all over Emma’s right hand. Completely covering the opal ring she always wore.

She flicked her gaze between the syrup dripping over Emma’s hand, to Emma’s face, the easy rhythm they’d found in the last hour quickly replaced by anxiety. That she’d ruined this truce in true Regan fashion – by accident – and that Emma would respond in typical Emma fashion – incredibly irritated.

Quickly, she reached out and took the sticky jar from Emma, setting it on the counter. “Sorry! I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you’d lifted the jar or that we were standing so close. I’ll wash the ring,” she offered, gesturing for Emma to take it off. “Really, I’ll be careful. I’ll watch a YouTube video on how to do it properly.”

Her stomach knotted as she watched Emma close her eyes and take a deep breath.

Waiting. Waiting.

Until Emma shook her head, those blue eyes opening again as she breathed out slowly and evenly.

“It’s… fine,” Emma murmured. As soon as she said the words, she nodded with them, doubling down. “Seriously, it’s fine. Because,” she arched her eyebrow down at Regan, “I know you didn’t mean it.”

Regan quickly, vehemently shook her head. “I seriously, truly didn’t.” She brought up her hand, making an x over her chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” She ended by diligently stepping out of Emma’s way, giving her a large, hopeful smile. One was entirely genuine, as relief washed through her.

Emma hadn’t flipped out! Or stormed to her room! Progress!

She hadn’t known just how nice it would feel for Emma to… try.

As Emma grimaced and tugged her ring off, she shot Regan an amused look. “I don’t think I’ve heard anyone over the age of, like, ten say that. But somehow, I feel like you really mean it.”

Regan positively beamed.

After Emma had washed her hands, she started on the ring. Carefully cleaning it, without submerging it in water.

Curious, Regan walked up to her, pressing herself against Emma’s back so she could look over her shoulder. “It’s a really pretty ring. It’s not, like, damaged, right?”

Emma glanced at her. Rather than tell Regan to back off, though, she slowly shifted her attention back to the ring. “No, it’s fine. I mean, it’s not amazing, but it’s definitely not damaged.”

Regan relaxed, thoughtlessly propping her chin on Emma’s shoulder so she could watch the thoughtful movements Emma made to rid the ring of the syrup. “Good. I mean, it’s the only piece of jewelry you wear basically every day, so… I would’ve felt really bad. I mean, I would have replaced it! But, still.”

She could feel the deep breath Emma took, as her back pressed solidly into Regan’s front. Still, she continued to methodically clean the ring without pause. “You couldn’t have replaced it, actually. My grandfather had it made for my grandma, for their tenth anniversary.”

Regan angled her head to look at Emma, eyes wide and excited.

Emma?! Sharing information with her?! Voluntarily?!

“But, I appreciate that I know you would have offered.”

Regan returned her look to the ring, finding herself smiling softly down at it. “That’s so sweet. And your grandmother gave you the ring? Because you two are close, right? Because that’s what set off our argument – her believing we’re together.”

Emma paused after she swiped the damp cloth over her ring, slowly turning her head to look at Regan.

Who only realized in that moment just how close that made them, as she was still resting her head on Emma’s shoulder. She felt Emma’s warm breath hit her cheek, shivering with it as their eyes met, both widening at the proximity.

Swallowing hard, Regan slowly pulled back, leaning against the counter behind her. “Um… yeah. Sorry. Personal space is something other people like, usually.”

“Yes,” Emma said, shortly. But she didn’t look annoyed; Regan was very familiar with Emma’s annoyed face. She didn’t quite know this expression, but she’d take it.

Not wanting to give Emma a moment to delve into her thoughts and get into an annoyed headspace, she waved her on. “Anyway – the ring. Your grandmother.”

Emma cleared her throat, nodding back down at the ring in her hand. “Yes. She gave me the ring, and we are close. She gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday, because it had always been one of my favorites.”

Eager to learn more, Regan hitched herself up to sit on the counter, facing Emma. “That’s really nice. Are you not as close to your grandfather?”

“No,” Emma said, after a beat, a softness in her voice that Regan didn’t think she’d ever heard before. “He died right the year before I was born, so… no.”

Before Regan could delve into more questions – she certainly had them – Emma shook her head. “That’s enough about me.”

Unsurprised by the change in Emma’s tone, Regan accepted it. No pushing, she cautioned herself again. She fluttered her eyelashes as she asked, “Does that mean we’re going to make this about me?”

“I thought that was obvious,” Emma deadpanned. “So, you don’t even bake with Sutton? I feel like you two do everything together.”

Regan’s joking smile dimmed, because oh. Emma was asking her something serious, whether she knew it or not.

Gamely, though, she shrugged and answered honestly. “I mean, we have baked together, back when her mom taught us the basics.” The memory of those afternoons in the Spencer home with Katherine standing between them at the kitchen island, softly but firmly giving them direction, made a warmth slide through Regan’s veins.  “And obviously, we live together, so we’ve baked together, or she’s been home when I’ve baked sometimes. Sure.”

Emma’s sharp gaze stayed on her, intently, though. Regan squirmed with it, gripping the counter tightly where her fingers curled over the edge. “But?” Emma prompted.

“But we don’t when it’s – this.” She gestured to the oven, where their cupcakes were nearly done.

“What, exactly, is this?”

“Oh, you know. New things. Some stuff for the café.” She shrugged, acting like it was nonchalant, when it actually felt anything but. In reality, it felt very personal. “The recipes I create by myself.”

“I didn’t realize you did any baking for the café.” Emma’s mouth fell open as she seemed to connect the dots to something. “I knew I’d seen those cookies – the ones you baked a few weeks ago? With the pretzels and the cranberries? At Topped Off!”

Undeniably pleased, she found herself grinning. “Yeah, those are my own creation. They’re pretty popular.”

“Because they’re delicious,” Emma easily complimented, still staring at Regan in wonder. “I have to stop myself from getting one whenever I notice they’re on offer.”

Even more pleased, Regan’s smile grew. “Why? You should always grab one.”

“You bake them, then? At the café?” Emma asked, staring at Regan curiously.

It was by far the most interest Emma had ever expressed in Regan, and it made her sit up straighter.

“No, not always. I created the recipe, but I shared it with everyone who bakes, there. I don’t really work in the back,” she explained, feeling compelled to hold Emma’s intense stare. “I, uh, make the schedules for the bakers, but hands-on manage the front of the café. Sometimes, though, when no kitchen staff are there yet or when they’ve left, I just…” She shrugged. “Have fun.”

It felt so strange talking to Emma about this, about her process. Even at the café, with the people who knew about Regan’s baking, their attention and positive comments never felt so… personal? They praised Regan’s desserts, but never asked beyond that.

“I can’t believe Sutton hasn’t told me about this. It feels like something she’d love to talk about.”

Regan rolled her lips, tapping her fingers against the counter as unease flowed through her. Finally, she confessed, “Honestly? Sutton doesn’t really know how much I do this.”

Emma’s stare was the picture of confusion. “Seriously, am I in the Twilight Zone right now? What?”

Stomach working into knots, Regan quickly shook her head. “I mean, I’m not hiding it from her; she knows I bake, in my free time. It’s just – it’s only been since last fall that I started branching out. Making my own recipes, that sort of thing.”

Emma leaned back against the wall opposite Regan, looking skeptical. “Yeah, that still sounds weird to me. That Sutton wouldn’t know about this. That you keep your baking a secret from her.”

Refusing the urge to pick at her fingernails – a childhood habit she’d long kicked – she repeated, “It’s not a secret,” and she only felt somewhat defensive. “I just – I only started playing around with recipes and doing my own thing last year, when Sutton started dating Charlotte.”

Emma slowly shook her head. “It’s still not clicking for me.”

Exasperated, Regan explained, “Because before that, Sutton and I used to hang out, like all of the time. We watched our shows together – which was great, because watching reality tv by myself just isn’t as much fun. In fairness, watching it with Sutton sometimes wasn’t the most fun, either, because she never wanted to make bitchy or judgy commentary about people, but still. And we’d chat about life stuff and work and school and – and, I mean, we still did. But it wasn’t the same,” she confessed, feeling that awful restless, lonely feeling that she tried to stave off when she started thinking about this.

“On the nights I wasn’t working, when Sutton and I would normally hang out, she was with Charlotte half the time. And they’d spend the night at Charlotte’s place. And I’m glad she has Charlotte,” she was quick to say, not wanting Emma to get the wrong idea. Because it was true. She wanted her best friend to find happiness. She wanted Sutton to love and be loved, and Charlotte was really shaping up. Only… she deflated, sighing to herself. “I guess I just never thought about how much would change for me, when Sutton wasn’t around all of the time, anymore. Suddenly, I had all of these nights or weekends, where I used to hang out with Sutton, free. So, I started baking more. Branching out from the normal, basic recipes I’ve used in the past, and just… started doing what felt right. Having fun with it.”

There had been a lot of trial and error in the first couple of months. Some flavor combinations that hadn’t worked the way Regan thought they would, or adjustments she didn’t account for.

But she’d found that the more she baked her own creations, the more she’d enjoyed it. Even if the apartment was empty, even if her relationship with Sutton – the most solid thing in her life – was changing so rapidly, baking made their apartment still feel… full. Warm. Like a home.

She didn’t know what she’d find when she lifted her gaze to Emma’s, after that full-on word vomit. But she was met with something thoughtful. Softer than she’d expected.

It was a look she found far more comforting than she’d imagined, because she felt like Emma understood her, in this moment.

She paused, heart beating quickly, wondering what exactly Emma might say in response. Hoping more right now than at any point earlier in the day that this wouldn’t be the moment Emma turned grumpy or dismissive.

“Well, if you want to spend our night of bonding watching reality television, I’ll do it with you. And I promise you that I’m certain I will have bitchy and judgy commentary,” Emma offered.

Both shocked by the offer and delighted with it, Regan’s mouth fell open. “Really?”

“You don’t think I can come through with colorful commentary?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “No, on that end, I think you will do really well. I just mean – I didn’t expect that, is all.”

She really hadn’t anticipated that Emma would listen – really listen – to her long ramble and focus on the heart of it. That Regan missed having someone, especially the person she lived with, to day-to-day things with, like watch tv. That she’d felt that way even before Sutton had left. And she certainly hadn’t expected Emma to make the offer.

“Well, it is bonding day.”

“True. Though, I’d initially planned for us to do karaoke together for our bonding evening.” She didn’t miss the way Emma blanched. “But this is a great substitute.”

“Good, because karaoke is not my thing.”

Regan’s mouth fell open in mock-surprise. “You don’t say!”

It was half the reason she even wanted to do it with Emma. The first half was because Regan really did enjoy karaoke – the feeling of camaraderie, putting on a show. The second part was because she really wondered what Emma would be like when pushed a little bit out of her comfort zone. Or even if she’d allow herself to be pushed out of her comfort zone.

“I’ll get you to my favorite karaoke night at some point,” Regan stated, holding Emma’s gaze.

Emma pfft’d. “You sound really sure of yourself about that.” She pointed to herself. “Stubborn, remember?”

Regan pointed to herself. “Doesn’t know when to stop, remember?”

“Looks like we have a real what happens when an unstoppable force meets an unmovable object situation on our hands.”

“The force wears the object down,” Regan answered, easily. “It’s called erosion.”

As the timer on the oven started to go off, Emma turned away from her and reached for an oven mitt. As she did, she quietly asked, “What in the world did I get myself into?”

But her tone was amused, no trace of irritation in sight.

Which delighted Regan down to her very bones. Because Emma clearly didn’t realize that she was a lot more movable than she thought.

And Regan would be quite happy to help her find out.

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spoiler block

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