"Yeah. One's deception. One's privacy."
I consider that. Turn it over in my mind. Maybe he's right. Maybe keeping this between us isn't the same as pretending it doesn't exist.
Maybe I can have this. Have him. Without it consuming everything else.
"Okay." I meet his eyes. "We keep it quiet. For now. See where this goes without the whole town watching."
Relief washes across his face. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. But Grath. If this. If we're doing this. I need honesty. I can handle complicated. I can't handle games."
"No games. Promise."
He extends his hand. Palm up. Offering.
I take it. His fingers close around mine. Warm. Solid. Real.
Pebble chooses that moment to leap onto the table. Lands directly in the pastry bag. Emerges covered in powdered sugar. Looking pleased with himself.
I groan. "Of course. Of course you did that."
Grath laughs. Scoops the kitten up. Dusts him off with gentle fingers. "Troublemaker."
"He's practicing for a career in chaos."
"Fitting. Given his company."
I watch them. This massive orc cradling a tiny sugar-coated kitten. Speaking to him in soft tones. The contrast shouldn't work. But somehow it does.
Everything about this is unexpected. Unplanned. Completely contrary to how I thought my life would go.
And maybe that's okay.
Maybe I don't need to have it all figured out. Don't need to color-code and organize every emotion into neat little boxes.
Maybe I can just. Feel. And see what happens.
The thought terrifies me.
But less than it did yesterday.
"Come on." I stand. Collect the coffee cups. "Help me prep. If we're doing this secret thing, might as well get some free labor out of it."
"Romantic."
"I'm a businesswoman. Romance doesn't pay the bills."
But I'm smiling when I say it. And he knows.
We work side by side. Him chopping vegetables with surprising precision. Me rolling dough. The radio plays soft. Some indie station. The kind of music that fills silence without demanding attention.
It feels. Normal. Domestic in a way that should scare me more than it does.
His shoulder brushes mine as he reaches for the cutting board. The touch sends heat spiraling through me. Memory of last night flooding back. His hands. His mouth. The way he made me forget every reason this was a terrible idea.
"You're thinking about it." His voice is low. Knowing.
"Am not."
