Soulmates & Twin Flames

18 - Welcome Home

The next couple of weeks pass in a jiffy. I don't see Dad much, but I know he's glad to have me home from his subtle smile and the warm look he gives me over his glasses.

Roman didn't text again or call. Yes, my heart sizzles and my chest tightens when I think about that night, but I'm done shedding tears. Being one with him was magical—the most fulfilling thing I've ever felt. But I can't keep torturing myself. At least, that's what my logic says, while my soul keeps burning deep within.

So, I keep our celestial love-making a secret, even from Olga. How could I tell her when she's beaming with the purest of emotions, arranging scans, apartment hunts, and thinking of baby names? I don't have it in me to steal her thunder.

Thanksgiving is in a few days, and this morning, I lie on my bed with Rocky, shielding my eyes from the sun with my phone. We have a new group chat now, for the four of us, and it's the only thing that brings a smile to my face.

I tap on the photo Daniel has just sent and let out a chortle. Poor Rocky lifts his head, growls in exasperation, then turns away. In the image, Nate is seated behind three giant Guinness glasses. His cheeks are rosy, and his crooked smile screams 'drunk.' Olga is bent over Nate's shoulder, clearly shouting into his ear while Daniel hides behind a chair in the background.

I don't see any models in the photo. Now that I think about it, I haven't seen any women around Nate since my birthday—not in the photos, not on the gossip columns or the social media.

"I'm Olga's sponge." Nate's text appears on my screen. "I have to drink everything she can't until she finally can."

"And Daniel?" I type.

"Nate has to drink for me too, since I'm supporting my little tiger," Daniel replies.

Olga is a feisty tiger, alright...now more than ever. I laugh and roll on my bed, lying face-down. Rocky lifts his head from my pillow in protest and licks my face.

"Abby?" Dad calls from downstairs.

I crack my door open and poke my head out. "Yeah? Do you need something?"

"Can you please come to the dining room?"

I toss my phone onto the bed. Rocky grumbles before settling down once more.

"What is it? Are you hungry?" I call, trotting down the stairs.

But then I hit the brakes as if I'd hit a wall.

Roman. Is here. In our dining room! In Philadelphia!!!

My fingers grip the hem of my white t-shirt. Am I seeing right? I blink a few times.

Yep, he's still here.

He is standing by the door, looking sharp in a white shirt and gray suit pants. A beige raincoat is slung over his arm.

Roman's frown softens as a strike of pain crosses his eyes. He takes a deep breath to speak, but then presses his lips into a tight line and gives me a nod instead.

I try to swallow the lump in my throat. My face is burning. In fact, I'm burning from head to toe. "What... How?"

"This is the address on your business card," Roman explains dryly.

Dad's shifts uneasily, like he always does when he meets someone new. He approaches the staircase and touches my arm. "This gentleman claims to work for a men's magazine..."

"It has nothing to do with your field," I say. "Their content is mainly sports, muscles, and tips for getting laid." Why do I sound bitter?

Dad's brows arch up in question as he turns to Roman.