Her life! GxG! Intersex! (Book 1)

75

As the last of the dishes were cleared and the soft music faded into a comforting hum, a cozy stillness settled over the penthouse. Golden sunlight spilled across the floor in long streaks, making everything feel softer, warmer, like the day itself was in no rush to move on.

Ashley stretched with a sigh, her fingers brushing Megan's knee. "As much as I could nap right here forever..."

Megan chuckled and leaned into her. "We probably should head back. We came over here smelling like wine and garlic bread. I can't even imagine what our hair smells like."

"Delicious," Abigail teased, leaning against the kitchen counter with her glass of sparkling cider in hand.

Emma, perched on one of the barstools, gave a sleepy smile. "We're ordering burgers and fries in a bit. Probably around 1:30. If you want to come back, we'll be horizontal on the couch with fry grease on our fingers."

Abigail grinned. "And I have a full bar that I absolutely need help drinking."

Ashley raised her brows. "Now that is a proper invitation."

Megan stood, stretching out her arms with a playful yawn. "Alright, we'll go shower, reset, maybe change into something that doesn't smell like midnight pasta. But we just might show up again."

Emma tilted her head, still smiling. "We'll leave the door open around 1. Just come in when you get back."

Ashley blinked, then smirked. "Open-door policy? We really are neighbors now."

Abigail gave a lazy wave. "Mi casa es su penthouse."

As Megan and Ashley made their way to the door, Ashley glanced back. "Tell those fries to be ready for a rematch."

Emma laughed. "Only if you're bringing extra dipping sauce."

The door clicked shut behind them, leaving a soft, quiet glow in their wake. Emma turned to Abigail, chin propped on her hand.

"I really like them," she murmured.

Abigail leaned over, kissed her cheek, and smiled. "Me too."

Emma grinned. "Now let's find the messiest burgers and biggest fries on the menu."

Abigail smirked. "You're speaking my love language."

The soft echo of the front door closing behind Megan and Ashley left the penthouse in a rare hush. For a moment, Emma and Abigail just stood there—soaking in the stillness, the afterglow of good company, and the delicious scent of herbs and candle wax lingering in the air.

Then Emma let out a sigh that was half contentment, half exhaustion. "Alright, operation clean-up begins."

Abigail laughed, already moving toward the table. "We threw a whole dinner party last night and hosted brunch this morning. I think we're officially grown-ups."

Emma gathered a few empty glasses. "Only if grown-ups are allowed to eat fries on the couch in pajamas."

"Then yes, fully grown," Abigail agreed, stacking plates with practiced ease.

They moved in tandem—clearing the dishes, wiping down countertops, fluffing throw pillows. It wasn't rushed. There was music playing again, something upbeat and a little jazzy, and every so often one of them would dance a little with a plate in hand or sneak a kiss between trips to the kitchen.

It didn't take long. Their home was already more warm than messy, just little signs of a good night—a napkin here, a stray throw blanket there, the faint trace of laughter still hanging in the air.