A pulse of anxiety hits me out of nowhere, sharp and immediate, like my body knows this matters before I’m ready to admit it.
I force a small breath out first. “I like you too,” I say honestly. “I’m just not looking for something defined right now. My work takes a lot out of me, and I’m still figuring out what I can actually give.”
His expression doesn’t change, but something stills behind his eyes.
“You’ve mentioned that,” he says gently. “A few times.”
I rush on. “What if we don’t correct anything publicly? Let people assume if they want. Optics only.”
He studies me. “So… lying.”
“No,” I say quickly. “Not like that.”
I rub my thumb along the edge of the mug, choosing my words carefully. “More like… not feeding it. Not letting the media define something before we do.”
He watches me.
“I’ve seen what happens when people decide the story for you,” I add. “When every moment gets picked apart before it even has a chance to be real.”
A silent moment.
“I don’t want that,” I say honestly. “Not for you. Not for this.”
He studies me for a long moment.
“I don’t love the idea,” he says finally. “But… I trust you.”
Relief loosens my shoulders.
“But,” he adds, calm but firm, “I don’t want to pretend forever.”
“I wouldn’t ask that,” I say quickly.
Silence settles again.
Not tense.
Just thoughtful.
Something nudges at the back of my mind. A warning. A question I don’t want to answer yet.
I push it aside.
Momentum is already moving.
And momentum is something I know how to handle.
***
I close the door behind him and lean back against it, my phone lighting up in my hand before I can even set it down. Work never waits.
I let out a long breath I didn’t realize I’m holding.
This isn’t manipulation.
It’s opportunity.
And opportunity is my job.
