Even as I type it, the words feel wrong. When did arguing with Kasen start feeling exhausting instead of energizing? When did coming home to him become the part of my day I look forward to most?
My door opens without a knock, and Kieran strides in, holding two cups of coffee. His designer suit is still immaculate despite the late hour, his tie perfectly knotted. The man doesn't believe in rumpled.
"One decaf with enough cream to drown a small mammal," he announces, setting a cup on my desk. "And stop giving me that look. By now you know the rules. Caffeine’s off limits.”
"Fine.” I sigh. “Is it bad that’s the thing I’m looking forward to most when this little beast pops out of me?” I rub my stomach while I take a sip.
Kieran eyes me. “Not beer or sex or, I don’t know, not having a parasite leeching off of you?”
I roll my eyes. “I mean, all of those things, too.”
“And why are you still here?”
“The Henderson contract needs to be finalized by tomorrow morning, and I still need to review the?—"
"No," Kieran interrupts, dropping into the chair across from me. "You've been here since seven this morning. Go home. The contracts will still be here tomorrow."
I open my mouth to argue, then close it. The truth is, I've been staying late more often lately, but not for the reasons Kieran thinks.
Working has always been my safe space, my way of maintaining control. But now, going home means facing how much I've let Kasen become integral to my life, and that terrifies me almost as much as I need it.
Yeah, I’m still trying to come to terms with a lifetime of issues and it’s not always easy.
"It's not about the work," I admit finally.
Kieran watches me like he already knows. "Then what's it about?"
I trace the rim of my coffee cup, organizing my thoughts. "Remember when Kasen and I first started this whole thing? How I kept insisting it was nothing? Just until I found a place, and then just until we figured out the baby thing?"
"I remember you making very detailed lists of reasons why you two were completely incompatible," Kieran says as he sips his non-decaf coffee that I definitely don’t glare at him for. "Something about him being an 'infuriating, stubborn brewery tyrant with terrible taste in beanies.'"
"I may have been slightly dramatic," I concede. "But the point is, I had rules. Boundaries. I knew exactly what this was and what it wasn't. And now..."
"Now?"
"Now I look forward to coming home to whatever amazing thing he's cooked. I get excited when I hear his truck in the driveway. I wake up reaching for him when he's not there." The admission feels like stripping naked in public. "He's become essential. Something I can’t live without. And as much as I love him, it still scares the shit out of me."
Kieran leans back in his chair, studying me. "You know what I think?"
"That I've lost my mind?"
"I think you've finally stopped fighting something that's been obvious to everyone else for months." He brushes a piece of lint off the sleeve of his jacket. "Including, probably, yourself."
I shake my head, frustrated. "It's not that simple. I've spent my entire adult life being independent. Making my own decisions, relying on no one. My mom raised me to never need a man for anything."
"There's a difference between needing someone and choosing someone," Kieran points out. "You didn't need Kasen to save you from Miller or fix your housing situation. You chose to let him in. That's not weakness, Wren. That's trust."
“When did you become so wise?"
"When I started watching my boss fall in love with her mortal enemy," he grins. "It's been quite the show."
Before I can respond, my phone rings. Not a text this time—an actual call. Kasen's name flashes on the screen.
"You better answer that," Kieran says, standing. "Before he shows up here with your dinner and that famous scowl."
I accept the call as Kieran heads for the door.
"Before you start," I begin, "I know I'm still at work, and I know you wanted me to be home by seven, and I know you're probably already planning all the ways you’re going to punish me because you think I'm pushing myself too hard?—"
