Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Beau
Three weeks into our secret relationship, and I was in trouble.
The kind of trouble that kept me awake at night staring at Mason’s sleeping face, memorizing the way the moonlight caught in his hair. The kind that made my chest ache when he smiled at me across a conference table, that had me checking my phone every five minutes hoping for a text.
The type of trouble that felt a lot like falling.
No—not falling. I’d already fallen. Past tense. Completely, irrevocably, stupidly in love with Mason Price.
I realized it one morning, watching him make coffee in his kitchen.
He didn’t ask how I wanted it anymore—just added the exact amount of cream I liked, stirred it twice (never three times, because I’d mentioned once that over-stirring made it taste flat), and handed it to me with a kiss that tasted like toothpaste and something uniquely him.
“Morning,” he’d said, his voice still rough with sleep, his hair sticking up in a way that made me want to run my fingers through it.
And I’d thought: I love you.
Just like that. Simple, terrifying, and absolutely true.
I hadn’t said it. Wasn’t sure when I would. Maybe never, but I was thinking about it constantly—the words sitting on the tip of my tongue every time he laughed, every time he pulled me close in bed, every time he looked at me like I was the only person in the world.
Three weeks, and we’d fallen into a rhythm.
I kept clothes at his place now—a drawer in his dresser, a toothbrush by the sink.
We had inside jokes that made us crack up in meetings.
He knew I hated mornings and always let me sleep an extra ten minutes while he showered.
I knew he liked to work through lunch and would forget to eat unless I brought him something.
It felt domestic. Settled. Real.
And I was terrified of losing it.
“You’re thinking too loud again,” Mason murmured against my shoulder. We were still in bed, the December sun barely filtering through his curtains, and I had exactly twenty minutes before I needed to leave for work.
“How can you tell?”
“Your whole body tenses up.” His arm tightened around my waist. “What’s wrong?”
I love you. I’m in love with you. And I’m scared you’re never going to want anyone to know.
“Nothing,” I said instead. “Just thinking about work.”
“Liar.” But he kissed my shoulder and let it go. “We should get up. You have that deposition at nine.”
“Five more minutes.”
“You said that ten minutes ago.”
“Then five more minutes after these five minutes.”
Mason laughed, and the sound made my chest ache. “You’re impossible.”
“You like it.”
“I really do.”
I turned in his arms, kissing him properly, trying to pour everything I couldn’t say into it. When we finally broke apart, he was smiling—soft and unguarded in a way he never was at the office.
“Beau?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
I love you.
“Me too.”
* * *
“You’re being ridiculous,” Lisa said, holding up a silver watch. “This is perfect. Classic, professional, not too personal.”
“It’s a watch. Everyone has a watch.”
“It’s a nice watch. Tag Heuer. He’ll love it.”
We were on our lunch break, wandering through the shops in Carytown, and I was starting to regret asking for Lisa’s help. She’d been suggesting “safe” gifts for the past hour—watches, cufflinks, leather briefcases—and none of them felt right.
“I don’t want nice,” I said. “I want... meaningful.”
“Meaningful.” Lisa set the watch down and turned to face me. “Beau, honey. You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
I froze. “What?”
“Don’t play dumb. You’ve had that look on your face for days now. Like you’re carrying around this huge secret and you’re dying to tell someone.” She bounced on her toes, her eyes going wide. “So tell me. Are you in love with Mason Price?”
I glanced around the store, making sure no one was listening. “Yes.”
Lisa let out a squeal that made several shoppers turn and stare. “I KNEW IT!” She threw her arms around me, practically jumping up and down. “Oh my God, oh my God, this is the best thing ever! You’re in love! With Mason! Who is also clearly in love with you!”
“Lisa—” I tried to pry her off me, laughing despite myself. “People are staring.”
“I don’t care! This is huge!” She pulled back, her hands on my shoulders, her face lit up like Christmas morning. “Okay, okay, sorry. Inside voice. But Beau!” Her grip tightened. “You’re IN LOVE. Like, capital L-O-V-E love. The real deal!”
“I know.”
“Have you told him?”
The excitement in her eyes dimmed slightly when I shook my head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because...” I ran a hand through my hair. “Because what if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if I say it, Mason freaks out, then decides this whole thing was a mistake?”
“Beau. That man is crazy about you. I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching. He’s just as gone as you are.”
“Maybe. But saying it makes it real. Makes it something we have to deal with.”
Lisa’s expression softened. “Have you two talked about what happens next? About going public?”
“Not really.”
“Not really, or not at all?” She put her hands on her hips.
“Not at all,” I admitted. “We’ve been so focused on keeping it secret that we haven’t talked about... anything else. What we are. Where this is going. If we’re ever going to tell anyone.”
“And that doesn’t worry you?”
“It terrifies me.” I picked up a leather-bound journal and set it back down. “But I also don’t want to push him. Mason needs time to figure things out. To feel safe.”
“Safe is good. But Beau?” Lisa touched my arm. “You can’t hide forever. Eventually, something’s going to give. And when it does, you need to know you’re on the same page about what this relationship is.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re putting all your energy into making him comfortable, and none into figuring out what you actually need.”
Her words hit harder than I expected. “I need him. That’s what I need.”
“Okay. But what about the rest of it? You know, being able to hold his hand in public? The not having to sneak around like teenagers? Being able to tell people you’re together?” Lisa’s voice was gentle but firm. “Those things matter too.”
“I know. I just... I’m trying to be patient.”
“You’re trying to be perfect. There’s a difference.” She squeezed my arm. “Just think about it, okay? And in the meantime, let’s find you a gift that actually means something.”
We wandered into an antique shop tucked between a record store and a coffee shop. The place smelled like old books and furniture polish, and every surface was covered with vintage treasures—pocket watches, cameras, typewriters, things that belonged to another era.
“Now this is more like it,” Lisa said, picking up an old Polaroid camera. “Much more romantic than a watch.”
I was about to agree when something caught my eye on a display case near the back. A brass compass, tarnished with age but still beautiful, sitting on a bed of navy velvet.
“Can I see that?” I asked the shop owner, an elderly woman with wet eyes and silver hair.
She pulled it out carefully, placing it in my palm. The brass was warm, heavy, and when I flipped open the lid, the needle still moved, pointing north with absolute certainty.
“It’s from the 1940s,” her voice shook. “Navy issue. Still works perfectly.”
I turned it over in my hands, and suddenly I knew. This was it.
“It’s perfect,” I breathed.
Lisa peered over my shoulder. “A compass?”
“Mason’s always trying to control everything. Plan everything. Find the right path.” I looked up at the shop owner. “Can you engrave it?”
“Of course. What would you like it to say?”
I thought about Mason. About the way he’d looked at me this morning, soft and unguarded. About the way he made me feel like I’d finally found something I didn’t know I was looking for.
“‘So you always know where home is,’” I said.
Lisa made a small sound beside me. “Beau. That’s...”
“Too much?”
“No.” Her eyes were bright. “It’s perfect.”
The shop owner smiled. “That’s very romantic. Lucky person.”
“I’m the lucky one,” I breathed.
She told me the engraving would take a few days, and I paid for it—more than I probably should have spent, but I didn’t care. Mason was worth it.
As we left the shop, Lisa linked her arm through mine. “So when are you giving it to him?”
“Christmas Day. I’m going to tell him then.”
“Tell him you love him?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” She bumped my shoulder. “He deserves to know. And Beau? For what it’s worth? I think he’s going to say it back.”
I hoped she was right.
* * *
The office was decorated for Christmas—garland wrapped around the stair railings, a massive tree in the lobby, and holiday music playing softly through the speakers.
It should have felt festive, but all I could focus on was Paul Cramer standing by the conference room with a clipboard, looking far too pleased with himself.
“Beau!” He waved me over. “Got a second?”
I really didn’t, but I walked over anyway. “What’s up?”
“Finalizing details for the Christmas party. You’re coming, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Though I kind of wish I could skip it.
“Great. And are you bringing a plus-one? I need final numbers for catering.”
“Just me.”
“Really? No one special?” His smile was friendly, casual. “A good-looking guy like you, I figured you’d have someone.”
“Nope. Flying solo.”
“Fair enough.” He made a note on his clipboard. “Should be a good time. Open bar, catered food. Good chance for everyone to relax and celebrate the year.”
Before I could respond, Mason walked up, coffee in hand. “Paul. Beau.”
“Mason! Perfect timing. I was just going over Christmas party details.” Paul turned his attention to Mason. “You’re coming, right? And are you bringing anyone?”
Mason’s expression didn’t change, but I saw the way his jaw tightened. “Just me.”