"What's that look?" he asks, his head tilting as he stares down at me.
"Nothing." I'm not ready to say it yet. Not here, not now. "Just... processing everything."
"Why don’t you finish processing at home," he suggests. "You look tired."
Home. With him. With our son growing inside me. With the man I've somehow, against all logic and expectations, fallen in love with.
"Yeah," I agree, letting him guide me toward the door. "Let's go home."
The door shuts behind us, and I practically collapse against the wall to yank off my shoes. My feet are absolutely killing me after standing through that marathon meeting. Turns out growing a human while simultaneously saving your business from corporate vultures while standing in three-inch heels is exhausting. Who knew?
“Go sit,” Kasen says as he gently pushes me toward the living room. “I've got you.”
“I can handle sore feet, James,” I roll my eyes, but I'm already making a beeline for the couch. My body betrays me, sinking into the cushions with an embarrassing groan of relief.
“Of course you can,” he says, dropping onto the couch beside me and pulling my feet into his lap. “You can handle anything. Doesn't mean you have to.”
Before I can argue, his thumbs press into my arches, and holy shit, it feels incredible. The man has talented hands. That's not news, but still.
“You're getting really good at that,” I manage as he works a particularly painful spot.
He smirks without looking up. “I know.”
We sit in comfortable silence as he continues the massage, eventually sliding his hands up to my calves where tension I didn't even realize I was carrying melts away under his touch.
"Tea?" he asks after a while, giving my ankle a gentle squeeze.
I nod, suddenly craving something warm and soothing. I never used to drink that gross leafy soup, but now for some reason I like it. "Thanks."
He disappears into the kitchen, returning minutes later with a steaming mug. He sets it on the coffee table before settling back beside me on the couch. Without thinking, I shift to lean against him, my body curling into his.
"You're not freaking out," he observes, his arm wrapping around my shoulders.
"About what?"
"Any of it. The meeting, Timber's distribution, what I said this morning..." He trails off, his fingers tracing patterns on my arm.
"I'm freaking out about all of it," I admit. "I'm just... freaking out in a different way than expected."
"Meaning?"
I sit up, needing to see his face for this. "Meaning I always thought depending on someone else would feel like weakness. Like failure. That's what my mom taught me—never need a man for anything. Always stand on your own."
His expression is patient while he waits me out.
"But this, with you..." I gesture between us. "It doesn't feel like weakness. It feels like... I don't know. Like we're stronger together than apart."
Something softens in his eyes. "We are."
"And that scared the crap out of me," I continue, the words pouring out now that I've started. "Because what if I get used to this? What if I let myself need you, want you, and then something happens?"
"Like what?"
"Like you decide this isn't what you want after all. Or you get tired of dealing with my shit. Or—" I swallow hard, my deepestfear surfacing. "Or you leave, like my father left. Likeyourfather left. Like everyone leaves eventually."
His hand cups my face, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "Is that what you're afraid of? That I'll leave?"
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
