Chapter Twelve - A New Rhythm
1569 Words
The sun filtered in soft and golden through the kitchen windows.
Evelyn sat at the table, hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea, the scent of mint rising in quiet curls of steam. She was dressed in her new clothes—simple dark jeans, a soft gray sweater Remy insisted she try on yesterday. The fabric hugged her just right.
Nothing extravagant. Nothing loud.
But it was hers.
Across from her, Remy flipped through a notebook with her usual coffee in hand, one leg crossed under her like she’d been there all morning. Jules stood at the stove in an oversized tee, humming some half-forgotten tune while she scrambled eggs in a skillet and cracked a sarcastic comment every few minutes.
“—I’m just saying,” Jules muttered, “if Ronan wants to pretend like he invented chili, I’ll let him live the lie, but the next man who tries to stir my food without permission is getting a wooden spoon to the hand.”
Remy snorted, eyes still on her page. “He didn’t stir. He supervised.”
“Same crime.”
Evelyn didn’t speak at first—but she smiled.
They’d noticed.
Remy glanced up and caught it, warmth flickering across her face. “Careful, Ev. That was dangerously close to a smirk.”
“I didn’t—” Evelyn started, flustered.
“You did,” Jules said over her shoulder. “Which means progress. Which means we’re due for mimosas.”
Evelyn laughed quietly—an actual sound this time. Soft and unfamiliar in her own ears.
She didn’t realize how easily it came now, sitting with them like this. How her body wasn’t tense. How she didn’t flinch when someone entered the room or raised their voice in the hallway beyond.
She wasn’t looking for the exits anymore.
She was here.
Present.
“Is it always like this in the mornings?” she asked softly.
Remy leaned back in her chair and gave her a content shrug. “Mostly. Quiet early, then someone turns on music and the chaos starts.”
“Except when Ronan’s up first,” Jules added. “Then it’s just coffee, black, and silence. The man has the energy of a haunted library before 9 a.m.”
Evelyn took another sip of her tea, that faint smile still lingering. “I didn’t expect him to be so…”
“Human?” Remy offered, eyebrow raised.
Evelyn nodded.
Remy’s gaze softened. “He’s a lot of things. Rough around the edges, sure. But everything he does—he does for the club. For us.”
“He doesn’t talk much,” Evelyn said.
“Nope,” Jules chimed in. “But when he does, people listen.”
“And when he doesn’t,” Remy added with a small smirk, “people watch.”
They let the moment settle, then moved on like it had never been about anything heavier than breakfast. That was their way. Let Evelyn feel the shift without forcing it. Let her come up for air at her own pace.
And Evelyn?
She was breathing easier now.
The routines weren’t just familiar—they were comforting. Anchor points in a life that had never offered her anything steady.
She liked the way the sun hit the kitchen tile.
The way the women talked without cruelty.
The way she felt like maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t out of place anymore.
Friday night had settled into its usual rhythm—the men out in the garage or gathered around the fire pit, doing whatever it was they did when testosterone and poker chips mixed. Inside the clubhouse, though?
It was strictly ladies’ night.
The common room lights were dimmed to a cozy amber glow. A slow playlist buzzed through the speaker in the corner—something sultry and low-tempo. On the table: bowls of spicy popcorn, chocolate-covered pretzels, nachos, chips with three kinds of dip, and a massive tray of grapes and cheese that Remy insisted on “for balance.”
Evelyn sat cross-legged on the couch, her lychee martini cool and delicate in her hands. It was the first time she’d had something that sweet and grown-up and entirely not hers. She kind of loved it.
“You are welcome,” Jules announced, raising her own glass in triumph. “Lychee martinis are the secret weapon of bad decisions and good gossip.”
“I like it,” Evelyn said with a small smile.
“I knew she was one of us,” Remy grinned, taking a sip from her wine. She lounged comfortably beside Evelyn, bare feet propped on the coffee table, her vibe the perfect balance of glam and grounded.
As the night settled deeper, so did the drinks—and the stories.
“Okay,” Dani was saying, mid-eye-roll, “Reed’s guys may be terrifying, but not one of them could do what Sawyer did last Tuesday. I couldn’t walk straight for two days.”
“That man needs a warning label,” Jules added. “Like—caution: will rearrange your life and your spine.”
Remy snorted into her wine. “You think that’s bad? Maddox didn’t even take his shirt off last night, and I nearly came undone. He just looked at me across the kitchen like I was a snack. Bastard knows what he’s doing.”
Evelyn giggled softly, her face pink but her shoulders relaxed. She hadn’t felt this light in… maybe ever.
That’s when Jules turned her gaze on her. “Alright, quiet girl. Your turn.”
Evelyn blinked. “What?”
“You’ve been holding out. You got a story? A scandal? A steamy memory we can toast to?”
Evelyn’s face turned crimson instantly.
Remy raised a brow, watching her gently.
“I… I don’t,” Evelyn said, setting her glass down. “I mean—not really. I’ve never… been with anyone.”
Silence.
Brief.
Then Jules leaned forward with wide eyes. “Wait. Like—never kissed? Or never… never?”
Evelyn nodded, cheeks burning. “Never.”
Remy’s face softened, but she didn’t say a word at first. She just reached for the bottle and topped Evelyn’s glass with an extra splash of martini.
Jules blinked, then grinned. “Well, s**t. That explains why Ronan looks like someone handed him a priceless artifact every time he sees you.”
“Jules,” Remy warned, her tone playful but edged.
“What? I’m just saying. Girl’s got that untouched storm energy.”
Evelyn covered her face with one hand. “Can we not—”
Remy smiled and bumped her knee gently. “Ignore her. She’s drunk and dramatic.”
“I’m supportively dramatic,” Jules corrected.
Remy turned back to Evelyn. “Truth is, it’s no one’s business but yours. You’ve got nothing to explain, nothing to rush. When it happens, it should be because you want it. That’s it. Period.”
Evelyn looked at her, quiet, but nodded.
She didn’t feel judged.
She felt… understood.
And for the first time, her inexperience didn’t feel like a weakness or something to be ashamed of.
It just felt like her.
And maybe, that was enough.
The laughter had died down into soft giggles and lazy sipping. The playlist had slipped into something jazzy and low, and the glow of the dimmed lights made the room feel even more like a safe bubble far from the world outside.
Evelyn tucked her feet under herself, cheeks still flushed, but there was no embarrassment in it anymore. Just… warmth. That strange comfort she was still getting used to.
Jules refilled her own glass—badly, half of it sloshing onto the coaster—and grinned across the table at Evelyn.
“Listen, babe,” she said, half-dramatic, half-earnest, “you take your time. Seriously. There’s no rulebook. No clock ticking.”
Remy nodded. “Absolutely. Your body, your choice. Always.”
“But,” Jules added, leaning in conspiratorially, “if—if—you ever decide to dive into the deep end and need tips?”
Remy rolled her eyes. “Oh god.”
Jules smirked. “You come to us. We’ve got you.”
Evelyn blinked. “Tips?”
“Girl,” Jules said, solemn now, “between me, Remy, and Dani? We’ve got enough material to write an actual guidebook.”
Dani, across the room, raised her glass. “Chapter One: Positions you should not attempt without stretching first.”
Everyone burst out laughing—including Evelyn, who had to cover her mouth to keep from snorting.
“But seriously,” Jules said, her tone shifting just slightly, softening, “we’re here. You ever have questions? Doubts? Need someone to talk to who isn’t trying to get in your pants? That’s us.”
Evelyn stared at her for a moment, unsure what to say.
So she just said what felt honest.
“Thank you.”
“Of course,” Remy said.
“No judgment,” Jules added, swirling her martini. “Only wisdom.”
Remy reached over and gave Evelyn’s hand a quick squeeze. “You're not alone in anything anymore, Evelyn. Not even this.”
And that truth sat between them like a warm weight—comforting, unshakable.
For the first time, Evelyn wasn’t just sitting at their table.
She was part of it.
- Writer
