Rowan’s house is a mess.

Not like oh, she’s just a little disorganized, but like the tornado came through, did its damage, and then came back for seconds.

Clothes are draped over the couch, dishes are stacked in the sink like a modern art installation, and I’m pretty sure a plant in the corner has given up on life.

Rowan kicks a pile of shoes out of the way like this is totally normal. “Home sweet home.”

I cross my arms. “Rowan, this is a crime scene.”

“Only if someone finds a body.” She flashes me a grin before tossing her helmet onto the couch, narrowly missing a half-eaten bag of snacks. “You want something to drink?”

“I’m not thirsty. I’m more concerned about stepping on a rodent.”

She gives me a look. “I don’t have rodents. I have boundaries.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s the line between those two?”

She snorts. “Alright, princess. Why don’t you take a seat while I grab some chips?”

I glance at the couch like it might attack me. There’s a mystery stain that looks vaguely threatening. I'm not supposed to be exposing myself to this, not with my fragile immunity. But here I am.

Rowan, catching the look, laughs and brushes a jacket off the seat.

“There. Germ-free. Mostly.”

With zero confidence, I gingerly perch on the edge. “If I catch something weird from this, I’m suing you.”

“I’d love to see that court case.”

She heads toward the kitchen, reaching for a bag of chips on the counter. As she pulls it open, crumbs fly everywhere.

“This house is just one bad decision after another,” I mutter under my breath.

She shoves a handful of chips in her mouth and grins at me like a cartoon villain. “Fun, though.”

How did she catch that?

Before I can argue, we hear it: a sudden thump from somewhere down the hall.

Rowan freezes, chip halfway to her mouth. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes. And we are leaving.”

“Hold on.” She squints, listening. Another thump follows.

“I don’t like this,” I whisper.

“Oh, relax. It’s probably just—”

The thump turns into a series of rapid footsteps.

We both bolt upright.

“Rowan.”

She shushes me and stands, moving toward the hallway like a horror movie idiot. “Stay here. I’ll check it out.”

“Nope! If you die, I’m not staying for the funeral.”

Rowan laughs, but it’s a little shaky. She inches toward the sound while I stay glued to the couch. My imagination is spiraling. Ghosts. Serial killers. Rodents. Every possible worst-case scenario flashes through my mind.

Suddenly, Rowan lets out a loud yelp.

I scream before I can stop myself. “WHAT?! WHAT IS IT?!”

Rowan stumbles backward, arms flailing. “It’s—”

A furry blur rockets down the hallway, skidding to a stop in the living room.

It’s a cat.

A very angry cat, by the looks of it. It glares at us like we’ve just insulted its ancestors.

“Oh,” I say, still trembling. “That’s… just a cat.”

“His name is Frank. Or Willy,” Rowan’s breath comes out in a rush. “He’s my dad's roommate.”

“Your dad's roommate just shaved ten years off my life.”

Frank or Willy unimpressed, leaps onto the couch and starts licking his paw like he owns the place.

I stare at Rowan. “This is the worst idea I’ve ever gone along with.”

“Yeah?” Rowan flops down beside me. “And yet, I think you’ll be back.”

I groan. “Don’t bet on it.”

But the stupid grin on my face says otherwise.

***

A few minutes later Rowan gets up and disappears into the kitchen again, rummaging through cupboards with far too much noise for someone trying to be sneaky. I can hear plates clattering and what sounds like a blender being dragged across the counter.

“What are you doing?” I call.

“Looking for snacks.”

You just ate!

I glance at Frank/ Willy who’s now sprawled across my lap. “Your cat might eat me before you find any.”

“Don’t worry. He only goes for ankles.”

Frank/Willy glares up at me, and I swear he understands.

Finally, Rowan reappears, balancing a bowl of popcorn in one hand and an unopened soda in the other. “Alright, survival rations acquired.” She drops the popcorn on the couch, narrowly missing the cat's tail.

“Careful. I think he’s plotting your downfall.”

Rowan grins, flopping down beside me. “Frank’s harmless. Mostly.”

So he is Frank.

“Yeah, you said that about the couch germs too.”

She nudges me with her elbow. “You’re such a buzzkill.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help laughing. “You’re the one dragging me into late-night breaking and entering.”

“Oh please. You were into it.”

“Skeptically into it.”

Rowan leans back, tossing a kernel of popcorn into the air and catching it in her mouth. She’s got this easy, reckless energy that feels magnetic. I’ve never met anyone like her.

“So,” I say, shifting the conversation before I get too caught up in that thought, “You live here with your Dad?”

“Mostly. My dad owns the house, but he’s traveling right now. He's kind of a free spirit—moves around a lot. So I hold down the fort when he’s gone.”

“By ‘hold down the fort,’ you mean ‘destroy it with your questionable life choices.’”

“Exactly.” Rowan smirks.

We sit in comfortable silence for a while, munching on popcorn and watching Frank attempt to murder a pillow.

Eventually, Rowan glances at me. “You know, you’re pretty good at this.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah. You didn’t even make a sound climbing down that window earlier. Impressive.”

“I’m more impressed that you didn’t die falling out of that tree.”

Rowan laughs, bright and carefree. “It was all part of the plan.”

“Sure it was.”

She tosses another kernel into the air, but this time it bounces off her nose and lands on the floor.

“Graceful,” I say.

Rowan shrugs. “I can’t be perfect all the time.”

The night drifts on, and before I know it, we’re deep into swapping stories. Rowan tells me about the time she accidentally set a toaster on fire and how Frank once stole an entire block of cheese. I share my most embarrassing childhood moments—well, the only three most thrilling moments before I turned into a bed potato with a heart problem.

Somehow, it feels natural. Easy. Like we’ve known each other for longer than just a few hours.

At some point, I glance at my phone. “I should probably head back.”

Rowan’s expression shifts slightly—like she doesn’t want me to go but won’t say it out loud. “Alright. Let me walk you to the door.”

We head to the front of the house, and I pause in the doorway.

“Thanks for tonight,” I say. “Weird as it was.”

Rowan grins. “Anytime.”

I step outside, the cool night air wrapping around me.

Just as I’m about to head down the steps, Rowan calls after me. “Jamie?”

I turn.

“If you ever get bored of being responsible… you know where to find me.”

Something stirs in my chest—a mix of excitement and uncertainty.

I want to tell her that I'm not being responsible by choice, but it won't matter.

“Goodnight, Rowan.”

“Goodnight, Jamie.”

And with that, I head home, already wondering what kind of chaos tomorrow might bring.

∆∆∆∆

Well, then. Enjoy!