The next morning didn’tfeel like a decision.
It felt like momentum.
Creed didn’t call when he woke up.There was no dramatic declaration, no reassurance meant to pin me to something solid before daylight fully settled.Instead, there was coffee waiting when I arrived at the office—already on my desk, still warm, exactly the way I liked it.
At lunch, he appeared in the doorway of my office like it was the most natural thing in the world.He leaned against the frame and watched me finish a sentence before speaking, as if interrupting would have broken something fragile.
“Jenny’s?”he asked.
I hesitated for half a breath.Then nodded.
And that was how it began.With proximity.Not with fireworks.
Creed started walking beside me in the corridors, his hand settling at the small of my back when people passed too close.It wasn’t possessive.It was simply there—steady, unannounced.
Meetings blurred into shared glances.A pen slid across my desk during a layout review.His knee brushed mine beneath the table at lunch, casual and unremarkable in a way that made it feel permanent.
At home, the pattern held.
He showed up when the girls were finishing homework and stayed while we ate dinner.Didn’t hover—but didn’t disappear either.Creed stole fries off my plate.He fixed the cabinet hinge without being asked, like he’d already noticed it was loose.
Still careful.
Still observant.
But closer every day.
And I let it happen.
Because I could feel the difference.This wasn’t borrowed time or a temporary calm before retreat.This was Creed staying inside the feeling instead of bracing for escape.
By the end of the week, it stopped feeling provisional.And that was when the truth settled low and heavy in my chest.
The hesitation hadn’t been a warning.It had been the last breath before the fall.
It happened without ceremony.
I was standing at the stove, flipping burgers, Morgan humming to herself at the table while Michelle colored with her tongue caught between her teeth.The house smelled like grease and crayons and something faintly sweet—vanilla, maybe—from the candle Aunt Ruth insisted on lighting every evening.
Creed was standing behind me.I didn’t flinch when I sensed him.I didn’t check the clock in my head to calculate how long he might stay.That was when it hit me.
I hadn’t wondered if he’d leave.
The realization slid through me slowly, settling where anxiety used to live.For weeks...months, I’d existed with that tension coiled tight inside me, always counting, always measuring the distance between us like it was a deadline.But tonight?I hadn’t counted at all.
Creed reached past me to grab a plate from the cabinet, his arm brushing mine.Casual.Domestic.The kind of contact that didn’t spark hope or dread, just familiarity.
“You’re going to burn those,” he murmured.
I glanced down, startled, then laughed softly as I flipped the burgers.“I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I noticed.”There was warmth in his voice.
I set the spatula down, my hands resting on the counter longer than necessary.My breath felt strange in my chest, like I’d just realized I’d been holding it for far too long.
“You okay?”he asked.
I turned, really turned, leaning back against the counter so I could look at him.His sleeves were rolled up, his forearms dusted with flour from helping Michelle earlier.A faint smear of glittery pink marker streaked his wrist.
