Chapter 3
BASIA
If there’s one thing that can almost make me forget I have a stalker who mails body parts, it’s spreadsheets. I’m halfway through reconciling a particularly ugly claims report when Morgan leans into my cubicle like a curly-haired menace.
“So,” she says, sing-songy. “How’s your warden today?”
I don’t look up. “He prefers ‘bodyguard,’ thank you very much.”
“Oh, please,” she snorts. “That man looks like he’d carry you out of a burning building and ground you for sneaking out afterward.”
My fingers pause on the keyboard.
“I do not sneak out,” I say primly.
Morgan hums. “Well, if you ever tried, he’d know.”
I finally glance at her. She’s grinning, chin propped on her hand, dark eyes bright with mischief.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I accuse.
She shrugs. “I know what it’s like to have a man like that focused on you.”
I wince. “He’s just doing his job.”
“Sure,” Morgan says. “And I just admire Damien’s arms for their personality.”
I swat at her, but she ducks easily, laughing. “Be serious,” I say. “He’s… intense. And bossy.”
“Uh-huh. And how do we feel about that?”
I hesitate for half a second too long.
Morgan’s grin turns feral. “Oh. You like it.”
“I did not say that!”
“You didn’t have to,” she says smugly. “Your face did.”
I groan and drop my head onto my desk. “Please tell me you have work to do.”
“I do,” she says cheerfully. “But this is more fun.”
Before I can retaliate, my phone buzzes on my desk.
Caleb:
Outside.
My stomach does that annoying little flip it’s been doing more and more lately.
I glance at the time. “He’s early.”
Morgan peers over my shoulder. “Is he ever late?”
“Well, no.”
“Terrifying,” she says, reading the message. “I love him.”
I grab my bag and stand, smoothing my blazer. “You’re impossible.”
She follows me toward the elevators anyway, grabbing her coat and purse from her desk. “I’m going too. Damien and I are watching the game from O’Malley’s with Em and Killian.”
“That’s right,” I drawl. “Poor you. Can’t even use alcohol as a coping mechanism to get through it.”
Mor’s giggles are just adorable. I love seeing her this happy, her softly rounded pregnancy belly just starting to show, her tawny skin glowing.
Caleb is waiting right where he always is, leaning casually near the entrance like he belongs there. Dark jacket. Broad shoulders. That familiar, steady presence that makes my spine loosen the second I spot him.
His eyes find me instantly. “Hey,” he says.
The word is simple. The way he says it is not.
“Hey,” I reply, suddenly aware of my hair, my posture, my everything.
Morgan slows just enough to stage-whisper, “Yup. That’s a bodyguard.”
Caleb’s mouth twitches. “Good night, Morgan.”
She beams. “You too, Aegis.”
He grimaces, and I bite my lip to keep from smiling.
Outside, the late afternoon air is damp and cool, that particular early-spring New York chill that smells like rain and asphalt. Caleb opens the passenger door for me like always, waiting until I’m settled before closing it.
“Thought we could stop by the store,” he says as we pull away.
My brows lift. “Grocery store?”
“Yeah,” he says. “We’re low on vegetables. And if I don’t cook, you forget to eat actual meals.”
“I do not—”
“You had crackers and hummus for dinner two nights ago.”
I open my mouth, then close it. “That’s… balanced.”
He huffs softly. “Sure.”
The grocery store is busy but not chaotic, and Caleb moves through it like a man on a mission—cart in front, eyes scanning, body subtly angled so he’s always between me and everyone else.
I trail behind him, watching the way his hands move as he grabs produce, checks labels, debates brands. It’s domestic in a way that feels oddly intimate.
“You don’t have to do all this,” I say, leaning against the cart handle.
He glances at me. “I know.”
“So… why are you?”
“Because I like cooking,” he says simply. “And because you relax when you’re fed.”
My heart gives a small, traitorous squeeze.
At checkout, he pays despite my protest, loading the bags into the car with easy efficiency.
Back at the apartment, the familiar comfort wraps around me like a blanket. Poe greets us at the door, winding around Caleb’s legs like he owns him.
“Traitor,” I tell my cat.
Caleb snorts. “He likes me because I respect his boundaries.”
“That is not true. You let him sleep on your boots.”
“Exactly.”
While Caleb starts unpacking groceries, I kick off my shoes and curl up on the couch, tucking my legs beneath me. I flip on the TV more for background noise than anything else.
Mostly, I just watch him.
The way he moves around my kitchen like it’s always been his. Sleeves rolled up. Forearms flexing as he chops vegetables with precise, controlled motions. Music low from his phone—something instrumental, steady.
It’s… nice.
Too nice.
“You can relax,” he says without turning around. “I’ve got it.”
“I am relaxing,” I insist.
He glances back, eyebrow raised. “You’re staring.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “I’m… supervising.”
“Uh-huh.”
He goes back to cooking, but the corner of his mouth lifts.
I hug a pillow to my chest, heart thudding a little harder than it should. There’s something dangerously comforting about this—about him being here, taking care of things, of me.
Dinner smells incredible by the time he’s done. He plates everything neatly and brings my dish over to the coffee table.
“Eat,” he says gently.
I do. And it’s perfect.
For a while, we sit in companionable silence, the city humming outside, the TV murmuring softly.
“This is… really good,” I say.
He nods. “Glad.”
I glance at him. “You ever get tired of… hovering?”
His jaw tightens, just a little. “No.”
The answer is immediate. Honest.
Something warm settles in my chest, equal parts comfort and something more dangerous.
I look back at my plate, smiling softly.
“Game’s about to start,” he says casually.
“Uh-huh,” I hum. “Is that a professional observation, or are you saying you want to put it on?”
Caleb’s grin is heart-stoppingly beautiful.
Ugh, I’m so screwed, and not even in the way I want to be. I’ve got it bad for this man, and I think it’s time I admit that to myself.
“Fine,” I sigh, pretending like it’s a big concession. “Watching fit men pound a rubber ball for a few hours is better than any reality TV, I guess.”
I see a muscle twitch in Caleb’s jaw and snicker to myself. So maybe he’s not completely immune to me.
We watch the Knicks game at the Garden from the comfort of my couch until I start dozing off with my tea mug in my hands. I feel Caleb gently take it from me and blink my eyes open.
“Why don’t you head to bed?” he asks quietly.
My cheeks warm up instantly. It just feels so… boyfriendly. Like I’ll go to bed, and he’ll come once the game’s over. Maybe he’ll wake me up by pressing against me and…
“Yup!” I say, hopping up and making him lean back in surprise. “Good night,” I chirp, high-tailing it out of there without even waiting for his reply. When did I become this awkward?
My heart’s still pounding from my fantasies while I’m brushing my teeth, and for long minutes after I wrap myself up in my duvet, it’s Caleb’s dark eyes I see when I close my eyes.