RomCom Cliché

Chapter Twelve

National City started to cool off as September rolled into October, Freen's birthday passing them by with an almost imperceptible closeness between the two women.

It wasn't any conscious decision to speed things along in their relationship, but a natural progression of two people, whose lives were slowly colliding, merging at points.

It was the exact opposite of what Freen had wanted, and yet she stayed at Rebecca's place at least three nights a week now, invited Rebecca over for dinner - usually takeout - and met her for lunch on the days when they didn't spend their nights together.

It wasn't anything too drastic, too rushed that would have made Freen pull back, but it was a thought that had slowly crept into the back of Rebecca's mind one night.

They'd met at a salad bar for lunch on Tuesday, not far from the courthouse where Rebecca was working for the day, the case stretching over four days.

On Thursday they'd ordered Big Belly Burger and watched Gone Girl at Rebecca's place, at Freen's insistence now that Rebecca had finally finished the book, and on Friday they'd gone to their bar for a couple of drinks after work before Rebecca cooked for them at home.

Then there were the drinks with Rebecca's friends; at Nam and Heng's penthouse, on Ratch's yacht, out at Milk's casino. They warmed to Freen considerably after that first night of drinks, and Rebecca felt more at ease as she integrated her girlfriend into the group with little fuss or judgement.

She even thought they liked her more than they usually liked her flings and dates - perhaps because it had been months and Freen was still there - and even Milk stopped making comments about Freen being a Social Worker in their group chat.

"You're quiet tonight," Freen quietly commented as she sat at the kitchen counter in her cramped apartment and watched Rebecca cook for her.

She still seemed a little restless to watch Rebecca move around her space, cooking for her in her own home, but Rebecca enjoyed it and said as much whenever Freen tried to help.

It wasn't even a lie; Rebecca did enjoy cooking, had a few perfected recipes in her repertoire and loved to deploy them on nights spent at home, considering it an expression of love and romance to cook dinner from scratch for someone.

Freen was still getting used to that.

"Oh. I've just got a lot on my mind," Rebecca airily replied. "Work. Friends. You."

"Me?"

"Always you," Rebecca agreed.

Freen hesitated as her expression clouded, taking a sip of wine and then grimacing slightly. "I don't know if that's good or bad."

"Good. Most definitely good."

A reluctant smile curled Freen's lips and she watched Rebecca finely chop a few cloves of garlic. The countertop was covered with supplies, neatly arranged for the bolognese sauce and pasta Rebecca was making for them. It was one of the meals she hadn't cooked for Freen yet, and she was only slightly smug at the thought of her tasting it, enjoying it.

"How are you such a good cook?" Freen asked, abruptly changing the topic as she swirled her wine around in the glass. "I thought your kind was supposed to be bad at that."

Rebecca snorted. "My kind? What, rich people?"

"Yeah. Don't you all have chefs to do it for you?"

"Mhm," Rebecca hummed in agreement, swiftly chopping a stick of celery. "My family did, anyway. And obviously at boarding school. So it kind of fucked me over a little when I went to college. It was either eat at the dining hall - horrifying - or learn to cook for myself. It actually turned out that I enjoyed cooking. It was sort of peaceful, and I know you'll say this is me being a control freak, but it was nice to have the recipe, to know that if I followed the instructions it would turn out perfectly."