As close as they are still, Sabrina's breath is warm against her skin as she speaks, and for a second Rosie is aware of how very near her friend's mouth is to the--suddenly rapid, suddenly fluttering--pulse point of her neck. It's not entirely an unpleasant realization, brief though it is. But there's other things to focus on; ones more important, and a little more immediate.

"I do know," she says as Sabrina takes a slight step back. The hand that was at Sabrina's back moves to grasp her hand, gentle and loose enough that she can pull away if it's unwanted. Rosie doesn't think it will be--but still, there's that slight twist of uncertainty. "That night, Nick said...he said you'd be okay with it. With us, being together, because--" She pauses, a slow, bright, still-disbelieving smile crossing her face. "Because it's me."

With anyone else, all of this would have made her bristle, and rightfully so. The thought that she needed permission from anybody at all, the idea of being just one of a pair rather than the singular focus of someone's affections, the broader sense that she's somebody else's--Nick and Sabrina and Charlie's Rosie, she thinks--before she's her own person. It isn't anyone else, though...and that makes all the difference.

"And you and Charlie knew early enough to set everything up the night of the movie," she continues, her smile skewing into one that's a little wry as she leads Sabrina over to the sofa and waves her free hand at Beau. Making a soft whuff, he jumps down, padding towards the kitchen. "I ought to have known something was up when neither of you tried to convince me to come with you."

Rosie sits, looking up at Sabrina, their fingers still gently linked. She takes another deep breath. "But you and I haven't talked, and we should. I want to."