Chapter Four — Rowan
“Your technique has definitely improved since you were eight.”
I lean against the doorway of my parents’ living room, arms crossed, watching my dad finally surrender Lena’s thumb with dramatic flair.
“You mean since you stopped cheating?” Lena beams, that bright, familiar smile lighting up her entire face.
Dad laughs, rubbing his hand like he’s just lost an Olympic match. Watching him soften around her never stops surprising me. This is the same man who once made me redo an entire workout because I forgot to wipe down a bench.
When Lena’s mom moved in next door years ago, it was like time folded in on itself. She and my mom picked up their friendship exactly where they left off—high school secrets, inside jokes, Thursday dinners that turned into a tradition before anyone realized it had happened.
Somewhere along the way, my dad became more than just the neighbor. He showed up. School plays. Driving lessons. Even learned how to braid hair so Lena wouldn’t miss a single father-daughter dance.
Thumb wars just stuck.
And so did Lena.
“Rematch after dessert,” she declares, hopping up. “Pie beats pride.”
She vanishes into the kitchen, and the room settles into something quieter. Dad shifts in his chair, posture straightening, coach mode clicking on without warning.
“So,” he says. “How’s the gym?”
I sit across from him, instinctively straightening my shoulders. “Membership’s up. New equipment’s getting good feedback.”
“Staffing?”
“Jamie’s leaving for college. I’m thinking about adjusting schedules when she goes.”
Dad nods, eyes sharp. “Run the numbers first.”
Always the numbers.
I swallow the idea I was about to pitch—something new, something risky—and shove it back where it belongs. I learned that lesson the hard way years ago.
The kitchen fills with laughter. Dad’s expression softens instantly.
We move in to set the table.
Lena’s focused way too hard on lining up forks.
“So,” I say casually, “Elaine and Roxanne kidnap you today?”
Her cheeks pink immediately. “We… did not talk about you.”
I grin. “That’s suspiciously specific.”
Our hands brush reaching for the same plate. She jumps like she’s been shocked.
Okay. Definitely weird.
I lean closer, lowering my voice. “Why’d you sprint past my gym earlier?”
“There was a duck,” she blurts. “In the street.”
I tilt my head. “A dangerous one?”
She freezes.
We’re suddenly too close. I can feel the change in her breathing, the way the air thickens when we forget how to be normal around each other.
Her eyes flick to my mouth.
Just for a second.
Mom’s voice slices through the moment. “Rowan! Where did you put the serving spoons?”
Lena bolts like she’s escaping a crime scene.
At the table, I load her plate with extra roasted vegetables—especially the crispy ones she pretends not to care about.
Mom notices. Of course she does.
“Oh, Lena,” she says sweetly, “remember when Rowan used to wait every morning just to carry your backpack?”
“Mom—”
“Rain or shine,” she continues, ignoring me completely.
Lena bumps my shoulder. “He’s always been my best friend.”
Friends.
The word lands hard.
Then Mom goes for the kill.
“We always imagined you two would end up together.”
Chaos follows.
Water. Juice. Napkins everywhere.
Lena’s mortified. I’m soaked. Dad is laughing way too hard.
I follow Lena into the kitchen.
“It’s fine,” I tell her, leaning back. “I’ve survived worse.”
She dabs at my shirt, flustered, quiet.
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She stills.
“So… about what my mom said,” she murmurs. “You don’t have to worry. I won’t read into it.”
I catch her wrist gently.
“I’m not worried about them,” I say. “I just don’t want you uncomfortable.”
She forces a laugh. “We know what we are. Best friends.”
Knife. Chest.
Her phone rings.
I watch her face fall.
“Rent’s going up,” she says softly after hanging up. “And I don’t have clients.”
I don’t even hesitate. “I’ll help.”
She shakes her head. “I’ll figure it out.”
Stubborn. Brave. Breaking my heart.
Back at the table, my phone buzzes.
A group chat.
ELAINE:
Did you reject Lena in college?
My stomach drops.
Rejected her?
Oh.
That night.
The one I convinced myself didn’t matter.
Mom chooses that exact second to strike again.
“Lena,” she says brightly, “have you ever thought about matchmaking Rowan?”
I choke on mashed potatoes.
Lena goes very still.
“You’re the second person who’s suggested that today,” she says slowly. “Maybe… it’s not a terrible idea.”
My pulse slams.
Because suddenly, this isn’t a joke.
And for the first time, the friendship pact feels like it’s standing on very thin ice.
