Chapter 13
chapter
thirteen
Mike
She finds me in the kitchen about an hour later after I left the bed. She’s wearing one of my sweatshirts—when did she steal that?—and looking soft and sleepy and entirely too beautiful for a Monday morning.
"Morning," she says, sliding onto a barstool.
"Morning." I push a plate toward her. "Eggs. Toast. Fruit, that I'm pretty sure isn't expired."
She laughs, picking up a fork. "You're pretty sure?"
"Eighty percent. Maybe seventy-five."
“That’s encouraging.”
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. I'm trying to figure out how to say what I need to say without sounding like a complete lunatic. Mitchell's words keep echoing in my head: Don't hedge. Don't protect yourself at her expense.
"I talked to my brother yesterday,” I finally say.
She looks up, curious. "Mitchell?"
"Yeah. He called. We had a... conversation."
"About?"
“About our wives. But he had some interesting observations.”
“Oh yeah, about what?”
“About you. Or rather about how I obviously—his word, not mine—felt about you. Evidently, I described you to him for like twenty minutes. He said that he didn’t think I talked that much unless I was talking business or my next tech idea.”
She sets down her fork and watches me.
“He said he thinks bigger things were at work to bring us together. With how everything that happened with him and Evie and me and you.”
“Finley said something similar,” I admit.
“Then he told me something I already knew but needed to hear." I meet her eyes. "He said if something feels real, it probably is."
Her breath catches. "Mike—"
"I'm not asking for anything," I add quickly. "I just want you to know that I'm not confused. I'm not caught up in the novelty of this. What I said before about choosing you, about this—us—feeling real, I meant it."
She's quiet for a long moment, green eyes searching my face.
“I’m beginning to think that maybe Mitchell and Finley are sharing notes.”
“You got similar advice?” I ask.
She nods. “She said I needed to trust myself and stop letting fear make my decisions."
"Smart woman."
"She really is." Evelyn takes a breath. "I'm scared, Mike. I need you to know that. I'm terrified of wanting something this much, this fast."
"I know." I reach across the counter and take her hand. "I'm scared too."
"You don't seem scared."
"I'm excellent at faking confidence. It's a job requirement."
That startles a laugh out of her. "Billionaire CEO skill set?"
"Exactly. Right up there with reading spreadsheets and pretending to enjoy golf."
She squeezes my fingers. “Here’s the scariest part,” she says. “I already know that if things don’t work out between us, it would break my heart in a way that losing Kurt never did.”
“Good. He’s an idiot,” I say. “Not good about the broken heart. Princess, I’m not going to break your heart.” I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "We can take things as slowly as you want. I'm not going anywhere."
Her smile is small but real. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay." She picks up her fork again, spearing a piece of melon, then pauses halfway to her mouth. "Now tell me honestly—how expired is this cantaloupe?"
"Extremely. I bought it for a smoothie two weeks ago."
"Mike."
"I'm kidding. Mostly. I hate smoothies.”
She throws a grape at my head.
I catch it in my mouth.
And something between us settles into place—not a conclusion, but a beginning. A door opening instead of closing.
We'll figure out the rest.
Together.