Chapter 23: Breakfast in Bed
The wooden floorboards were cool beneath Harmony’s bare feet as she pushed the bedroom door open with her hip. She carried a heavy tray: a stack of pancakes leaning precariously, two mugs of coffee, and a single glass of what looked like pulverized kale and wheatgrass. The air in the room was still and warm, thick with the scent of salt and sleep and the particular, clean fragrance of Ivy’s skin.
Morning light, soft and gold, filtered through the sheer curtains, painting stripes across the king-sized bed and the two figures tangled in the white linens. Harley was a splash of color against the monochrome, one arm flung over her head, her hair a riot of blonde and pink across the pillow. Ivy slept on her side, facing the door, her back a pale, elegant curve, her breathing so quiet it was almost imperceptible.
Harmony set the tray down on the low trunk at the foot of the bed with the softest clink of ceramic. The sound was enough. Ivy’s eyes opened instantly, no drowsy fluttering, just a sudden, predatory awareness. Her green gaze fixed on Harmony, then drifted to the tray. She didn’t move, but her stillness became something different, something attentive.
Harley, meanwhile, snuffled into consciousness like a startled raccoon. She blinked, scrunched her face, and then her nose twitched. “Is that… chocolate chips?” she mumbled, her voice rough with sleep. She was already pushing herself up, hand reaching greedily for the plate.
A thin, green vine, sleek as a whip, shot out from under the bed and wrapped gently around Harley’s wrist, stopping her inches from her goal.
Harley froze, then pouted. “Red. C’mon. I’m starving. It’s a biological emergency.”
Ivy shifted onto her back, the sheet pooling around her waist. “Say thank you,” she purred, her voice a low, morning rasp. She didn’t look at Harley; her eyes were still on Harmony, a faint, almost-smile playing on her lips.
“Thanks, bunny,” Harley grinned, her attention snapping back to Harmony. The vine retreated. “But you’re definitely the sweetest thing on this tray.” She snatched a pancake, folding it and taking a huge bite without bothering with a fork.
Harmony’s cheeks flushed warm. She busied herself with the tray, handing Ivy the green glass. “I, uh, remembered you don’t really do coffee.”
Ivy accepted it, her fingers brushing against Harmony’s. A simple touch, but it sent a jolt through Harmony’s system, a live wire of memory from the night before—the three of them on the rooftop, the impossible confession, the terrifying, wonderful silence that had followed. “Thoughtful,” Ivy said, and took a sip.
“So, what’s the agenda?” Harley asked through a mouthful of pancake, syrup glistening on her chin. “World domination? Petty larceny? Robbin’ a bank just for the vibe?”
“The agenda,” Ivy said, setting her glass down on the nightstand, “is equilibrium. We disrupted our… ecosystem last night.” She said the word carefully, the way she might handle a rare, volatile seedling. “We don’t rush it.”
“You and your ecosystems,” Harley groaned, flopping back against the pillows. “Can’t we just be three gals who are into each other? Do we need a flowchart?”
“Yes,” Ivy said simply.
Harmony perched on the edge of the bed, her weight making the mattress dip. She reached out, her fingers tracing the line of a faint, silvery scar on Harley’s shoulder. A souvenir from a past life. “I don’t need a flowchart. I just need this.”
Harley’s playful smirk softened. She caught Harmony’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “See? Bunny gets it. Simple.”
“It is not simple,” Ivy countered, but there was no heat in it. She watched their joined hands, her expression unreadable. A tendril of ivy crept up the bedpost, twining around the carved wood in a slow, restless spiral.
“It can be both,” Harmony said, her voice quieter now. She looked from Harley to Ivy. “It can be complicated and right. A hurricane and… and the eye of the storm. All at once.” She was quoting Harley back to herself, from the rooftop. The words felt different in the soft morning light, less like a warning and more like a definition.
Harley’s eyes widened, then crinkled at the corners. “Hey, you were listening.” She squeezed Harmony’s hand. “Okay, Red. Fine. We’ll be a… a balanced, complicated ecosystem of chaos and cuddles. But I’m still robbing a Piggly Wiggly later. We’re out of chocolate syrup.”
Ivy finally, fully smiled. It was a small, private thing, but it transformed her face, warming the ancient green of her eyes. She reached out and tucked a stray curl behind Harmony’s ear. Her touch was cool and sure. “As long as you don’t get caught.”
The moment stretched, comfortable and new. The sound of the waves was a constant, soothing rhythm beneath their quiet breathing. Harmony felt the last of her nervous tension unwind. This was it. This was the after. It was messy and uncertain and absolutely perfect.
Then Harley’s phone, discarded on the floor, buzzed. Not a ring, but a specific, jarring vibration that cut through the peace like a shard of glass.
Harley went rigid. The easy joy drained from her face, replaced by a flat, wary blankness. She didn’t move to get it.
The phone buzzed again. And again. Insistent.
Ivy’s smile was gone. Her vines, which had been lazily exploring the room, went still. The air grew cold.
“Don’t answer it,” Ivy said, her voice low and sharp.
Harmony looked between them, the pancakes forgotten, the morning’s warmth leaching away. “Who is it?”
Harley’s gaze was fixed on the buzzing phone on the floor, as if it were a venomous snake. Her fingers tightened around Harmony’s.
“Nobody,” she whispered, but the lie was brittle. “It’s nobody.”
The phone buzzed a fourth time, then fell silent. The quiet it left behind was heavy, charged with a history Harmony wasn't part of. The sanctuary of the bedroom felt suddenly thin, the walls too flimsy to keep the past out.