AFTER MIDNIGHT: A Holiday Age-Gap Romance

Rowan Hale hated airports for the same reason she hated parties: too many people pretending they weren’t watching each other. The terminal was bright enough to make her eyes ache, all glass and polished tile and holiday ads bleeding cheer into every corner. A choir played somewhere beyond the food court, an off-key rendition of something about snow and home and joy, none of which belonged to Rowan. She sat in her black coat with her knees crossed, her carry-on tucked tight against her shin like a shield. The rest of the gate looked like a postcard that had come alive—sun hats clipped to backpacks, couples in matching sweats, parents corralling children sugared up on cinnamon pretzels. Rowan wore combat boots. Lila Monroe bounced into view like she’d been manufactured by the season itself—golden hair scraped into a messy bun, a scarf the color of sunlight wrapped around her throat, cheeks pink from the cold outside. She carried two coffees and a grin that made strangers smile back. Rowan’s first thought was, She’s too bright for this world. Her second was, And I would walk through fire for her anyway. “Okay,” Lila said, sliding into the seat beside Rowan like she’d been gone for seconds instead of weeks. “Before you say no—” “I’m not saying no,” Rowan cut in, because if she didn’t do it fast, she would. She would find ten reasons to stay. She would retreat into her apartment like a cat under a bed and tell herself she was fine with quiet. Lila blinked. “You’re… not?” Rowan stared at her coffee like it held answers. “I already bought the ticket.” For a moment, Lila just looked at her. Then her face softened in that way it did when she wasn’t joking, when she was being careful with Rowan’s sharp edges. “You really don’t have to do this.” Rowan’s laugh was quiet and humorless. “Yes, I do.” Because Lila had asked. Because Lila had called two nights ago, voice too bright, laughter too forced, and Rowan had heard the crack beneath it. Because when Lila said, I don’t want to go there alone, Ro, Rowan’s chest had tightened in a way she couldn’t ignore. Lila’s family didn’t do “vacations.” They did escapes—private island resorts and villas with staff and flights that didn’t show up on normal schedules. Lila acted like it was normal, like all best friends spent their winter break on a tropical island where the sand was raked smooth every morning by people in uniforms. Rowan had never been there. She’d refused every invitation since freshman year. Not because she didn’t love Lila. She loved Lila more than she loved most people’s entire families. But because places like that were too exposed. Too bright. Too full of mirrors. Rowan did better in shadow. In corners. In dim bars and quiet libraries, in late-night labs when the campus slept and no one asked why she didn’t laugh at the same jokes. Lila leaned in, pressed the warm coffee into Rowan’s hands, and sighed like a person who’d finally won a long battle. “New Year’s on the island is going to fix you.” “It’s not a car,” Rowan said. “It’s a vibe,” Lila insisted. “And I’m not trying to fix you. I just… I want you with me.” Rowan let the cup warm her fingers. Outside the floor-to-ceiling window, snow scudded sideways across the tarmac, the world a grayscale blur. The timing was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. A tropical island while the rest of the country froze. A week with Lila’s family when Rowan could barely tolerate her own. And still she’d said yes. Maybe because “yes” was easier than hearing Lila’s voice go small again. “Tell me the rules,” Rowan said instead, because she needed something solid. Lila brightened. “Rules! Okay. Rule one: you let me put you in a color that isn’t black.” “No.” “Rule two: you try one fruity drink without making a face.” “No.” “Rule three,” Lila said, wagging a finger like she was issuing a sacred decree, “you are nice to my dad.” Rowan’s eyes flicked up. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Lila made a complicated expression—fondness, exasperation, and something else Rowan couldn’t quite name. “Because you have a thing about authority.” “I have a thing about men who think they’re authority.” “My dad doesn’t think he is,” Lila said cheerfully. “He just is.” Rowan’s mouth tightened. She’d heard about Dominic Monroe the way you heard about storms that never hit your town—vaguely, abstractly, as something other people dealt with. Lila mentioned him in passing: Dad’s in meetings. Dad had to fly in late. Dad’s being intense again. But Rowan had never met him. Not once, in four years. “Is he even going to be there?” Rowan asked, trying for casual. Lila’s smile went a little too pleased. “Yep. He’s actually staying on the island this year. Which is a miracle. He’s always working.” Rowan hummed, noncommittal. A father-daughter holiday on a private island sounded like an entire universe Rowan didn’t belong in. “Also,” Lila added, lowering her voice like she was sharing gossip, “he’s being weird about security. So just… don’t wander off alone, okay?” Rowan’s brow furrowed. “Security? Like… guards?” “Not guards.” Lila waved it away. “Just… staff. Cameras. Safety. You know. Dad stuff.” Rowan didn’t know. But she nodded anyway. The boarding call crackled overhead. People surged to their feet, gathering bags, gathering children, gathering themselves into neat lines. Lila hooked her arm through Rowan’s like it was the most natural thing in the world. “We’re going to have the best week,” she announced. Rowan let herself be pulled into motion. She didn’t correct Lila. She didn’t say I don’t do best. She didn’t say I don’t do weeks that change things. Because she didn’t want to ruin the light in Lila’s face. Because loyalty, Rowan had learned, was sometimes just a quieter form of surrender. Hours later, the snow was gone. The air was warm when they stepped off the final plane, thick with salt and flowers and something sweet she couldn’t name. Palm trees stood like sentries under a sky too blue to be trusted. Lila inhaled dramatically. “Smell that? That’s freedom.” Rowan adjusted the strap of her bag and scanned the open-air terminal. Too many smiling staff. Too many polished surfaces. Too many windows. Too much visibility. “Try not to look like you’re planning a heist,” Lila whispered, amused. Rowan’s mouth twitched. “No promises.” They walked toward the waiting transport—sleek cars lined up beneath a canopy of lights strung like late Christmas had refused to leave. The island was still dressed for the holiday. So was Rowan’s guilt, already settling in her stomach. Because she could feel it, faint as a warning: this trip wasn’t going to be simple. And Rowan had never trusted anything that looked like paradise.