Despite the chaos I had fled, there was something oddly intimate about seeing Derek like this. Barefoot and casual in his sweats. Showing me where he kept the shower products and asking if I preferred something with shea butter. This wasn’t the sharp-suited attorney who terrified opposing counsel. This was the boy who used to steal cookies from my mom’s kitchen.
“I’ll leave these for you,” he said, setting folded clothes on the edge of the bed. His attention shifted to Lily, who was nestled between pillows on the mattress, and his entire expression softened. “Hey there, little one.”
“You’re so cute,” he whispered to her in an exaggerated baby voice.
“She has your hair,” he observed, glancing between us. “Your nose too. And?—”
He leaned in closer to examine her face, and Lily’s tiny fist shot out like a viper, latching onto a fistful of his dark hair. She yanked hard enough to make him yelp.
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Actually laughed for the first time in hours as panic flooded Derek’s face and he froze like he had been caught in a trap.
“Don’t move,” I said, still laughing as I carefully pried Lily’s determined fingers open, cooing softly until she finally released her death grip on my boss’s hair.
“And most definitely your temper,” Derek breathed out, smoothing down the disheveled strands.
He offered to watch her while I showered and changed into clothes that didn’t smell like baby spit.
He cleared his throat, suddenly very interested in the ceiling. “I, uh... what’s your size?”
I blinked at him.
His eyes darted down from my neckline to my waist before snapping away. He looked back, his eyes dark, dropping to my cleavage and returning to my gaze.
“Before you call me a pervert,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I only need it so I can order you some comfortable... clothes. Pajamas. And, you know. Lingerie or whatever.”
Despite everything—despite Jack and my broken marriage—I felt a smile tugging at my lips. Derek looked genuinely flustered, which was not an expression I had ever seen on him in the office.
“I thought you remembered it well,” I said, unable to resist teasing him about the time he had barged into my room when we were teenagers and tortured me about my bra size for an entire school year.
Teenage Derek was a jerk. A cute jerk, though.
His blue eyes widened. Then his gaze dropped to my chest and returned to my face with the most serious expression I had ever seen.
“I remember perfectly,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “And they’re definitely not thirty-four B anymore, Paige.”
The air felt suddenly charged as heat flooded my cheeks.
“I-I… you…” I stuttered, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at his head. “Pervert!”
He caught the pillow with a wolfish grin.
“I’m just being helpful,” he said, blinking innocently. “Accurate measurements are important for online shopping.”
“Shut. Up.” I could feel my cheeks get hotter.
“Thirty-six C, maybe?” he asked, tilting his head. “Thirty-six D? Post-baby curves look good on you, Paige.”
“Derek. Jane. Peterson?—”
His laughter echoed through the room. It was warm and genuine, and despite the worst night of my life, I found myself smiling once I locked the bathroom door behind me.
Maybe, just maybe, I am going to be okay.
3
WE SHOULD GET ENGAGED
DEREK
