26. JAXON
JAXON
The Best Grilled Cheese
The door closes behind the evaluator with a soft click that somehow sounds louder than it should.
For a second, I just stand there.
Zara is by the couch, one hand pressed to her stomach like she’s physically holding herself together, and when our eyes meet, something in both of us seems to give way at the same time.
“Well,” she says.
I huff out a laugh.
“Well,” I echo. “I think we did well,” I tell her.
She narrows her eyes. “I think I used the phrase emotionally stable adults like I was reading from a brochure.”
“That part was strong.”
Her mouth falls open. “You’re making fun of me.”
“A little.”
She points at me. “I nearly died in there.”
I grin at her, my heart full. I feel light, optimistic. Once they’ve seen us as a family, there’s no way they can take Lily from me. I’m certain of it.
Lily had been Lily. Zara had been Zara. Nothing had felt staged because nothing was staged. That’s what I’d been trying to tell her all morning.
We hadn’t needed to perform family.
We’d just lived it.
Lily comes barreling back into the room from the hallway, one sneaker half untied, rainbow hair clip hanging crookedly from her curls. “Mrs. Henriksen says if we go now we can get the swings before the big kids.”
Zara crouches immediately. “That sounds like a very serious playground strategy.”
“It is,” Lily says gravely.
I drop to one knee and fix her shoelace. “Then you’d better get moving.”
She throws her arms around my neck, quick and fierce. “Bye, Daddy.”
“Bye, bug.”
Then she turns and launches herself at Zara with the same force.
Something tight and tender pulls in my chest as Zara catches her easily, laughing as Lily nearly knocks them both off balance.
“Bye, sweetheart,” Zara says, smoothing her hair. “Have fun.”
“We might get ice cream,” Lily whispers, as if this is classified information.
“I had a feeling,” Zara whispers back.
Mrs. Henriksen appears in the doorway, smiling knowingly. “We’ll be back later.”
I stand and nod. “Thanks again.”
The door closes a minute later, and the apartment falls quiet.
Zara looks at the door for a second, then turns slowly back toward me. “Okay,” she says. “Now I think I might actually collapse.”
“You want to sit down?”
“I want a drink.”
“It’s eleven-thirty.”
She lifts one shoulder. “If this isn’t a time to celebrate, I don’t know what is.”
I head into the kitchen and grab two glasses. “You’re right. Wine?”
“Definitely,” she says, following me.
She leans against the counter while I pour, and I catch myself watching her the way I have a hundred times now.
She’s so fucking beautiful without even trying. Does she have any idea what she does to me, just standing there?
I don’t think she does.
I hand her a glass.
She takes it and lifts it slightly. “To not crashing and burning in front of the evaluator.”
I touch my glass to hers. “To non-threatening pancakes, the statistically safe breakfast choice.”
That makes her laugh, bright and immediate, and for a second I just stand there listening to it.
It hits me all over again, that impossible certainty that has been sitting in my chest for days now.
I love her.
Lily.
Zara.
Us.
That’s the order of my life now. Maybe it has been for a while.
“I should probably make lunch.”
“We just had breakfast.”
She frowns. “I was too nervous to eat, and I’ve had a full emotional journey today. I’m starving.”
“Okay, Mrs. Halberg. What do you want?”
“Honestly?”
“No. Lie to me.”
She smiles into her glass. “Grilled cheese.”
“Alright, sit. I’ll make you the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had.”
She lifts one eyebrow. “That’s a bold claim.”
“You say that only because you haven’t tasted my grilled cheese yet.”
She laughs softly and settles onto one of the stools at the kitchen island, curling one leg beneath her. “I’m just saying, the bar for grilled cheese isn’t exactly high.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I pull a pan from the cabinet and set it on the stove. “Anyone can make grilled cheese. Very few can make an exceptional grilled cheese.”
“Oh my God.” She takes another sip of wine, watching me with amusement dancing in her eyes. “Are you about to get pretentious over melted cheese?”
“Absolutely.”
I open the fridge and start pulling things out. Bread. Butter.
She props her chin in her hand. “So what makes this the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had?”
“Balance.”
She blinks. “Balance.”
“Exactly. You need flavor, texture, proper browning, and cheese melt. Too much of one thing and the whole structure collapses.”
I butter the bread and set the pan on the stove, aware of Zara watching me.
“Are you happy?”
I glance back at her. “Very.”
“I think I still worry on your behalf,” she says lightly, but not quite lightly enough. “For your job.”
I flip one sandwich and hear the satisfying hiss of crisping bread. Then I turn to face her fully.
“Don’t.”
Her gaze lifts.
“I mean it, Zara. Don’t carry that for me.” I rest my hands on the counter. “I knew exactly what I was doing.”
“And if Thomas Vance follows through?”
“Then he follows through.”
She stares at me, frustrated. “How can you say that like it doesn’t matter?”
“It matters.” I keep my voice calm. “But not more than this.”
I turn the heat down, plate the sandwiches, and set them in front of her before taking the stool beside hers.
She picks up half of hers and takes a bite, then closes her eyes.
I wait.
Slowly, she opens them again. “Damn it.”
Satisfaction rolls through me. “That good?”
She points the sandwich at me. “Don’t be smug.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“It’s really good,” she mutters.
“Really good?”
She takes another bite, chewing more slowly this time like she resents enjoying it so much. “Fine. It’s maybe the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had.”
I nod solemnly. “Told you.”
“You’re going to be unbearable now, aren’t you?”
“Almost certainly.”
She laughs, finishing the last bite of her sandwich, then absently licks a crumb from her thumb.
My entire train of thought derails so fast it’s almost embarrassing, and I can’t stop staring.
“What’s going on in that head of yours, Halberg?” she asks quietly.
For a second, I just look at her.
At the woman in my kitchen who, in just a few weeks, has become so essential to my life that not saying this now feels impossible.
I let out a breath.
“I’ve known for a while,” I say.
Her brows draw together. “Known what?”
I don’t think she has any idea what I’m about to say.
“That I’m in love with you.”
Stunned silence follows.
Zara just stares at me.
I watch the words hit her, settle, watch her blink like she’s not sure she heard me right.
“What?”
I huff a quiet laugh. “I’m in love with you, Zara,” I repeat, slower this time, like I’m explaining something simple.
Her hand lifts to her chest. “No, this—” She shakes her head. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.”
“You can’t just say something like that like it’s a normal sentence.”
“Feels pretty normal to me.”
“It absolutely does not feel normal to me.”
I smile, even though my heart is pounding now.
Zara keeps staring at me like I’ve started speaking another language.
Then she lets out a small, disbelieving laugh and takes a step back, her hand still pressed to her chest.
“You really mean that,” she says.
“Yes.”
She exhales, shaky and quiet, glancing down for a second before looking back at me.
“But how?” she blurts out.
That almost makes me smile again. “How what?”
“How is this possible?” She gestures between us, still half incredulous. “I’m your fake wife. You don’t just start falling in love with people you’re fake married to. There were supposed to be boundaries. Logic. All of that.” Her voice softens. “And now you’re standing here telling me you love me.”
I shrug lightly. “Yeah.”
She gives me a look that’s equal parts exasperated and overwhelmed. “You’re being way too calm about this.”
“I’m not calm.”
“No?”
“No.” I take a small step closer. “I’m sure.”
That quiets her.
For a moment, she just looks at me. Really looks.
“Oh my God,” she whispers.
“What?”
“You really love me.”
I nod once. “Pretty much.”
“I don’t know what to do with that.”
“You don’t have to do anything.”
“No?”
I shake my head. “I’m not telling you so you’ll say it back. I’m telling you because it’s true, and because you deserve to know.”
She takes a deep breath. “It suddenly feels really warm in here, don’t you think?” She fans herself with her hands, her face definitely flushed.
God, I could watch that forever.
“Okay. This is…” She trails off.
She looks at me for a long moment, then drops her gaze to my chest like it’s easier than meeting my eyes.
“I think…” She stops.
I wait.
She tries again.
“I need you to know this isn’t one-sided.”
Warmth floods through me so fast it almost knocks the breath from my lungs.
My heart slams hard against my ribs.
“It’s not?”
“No.” She smiles a little, like the admission embarrasses her even as she makes it. “It’s very much not.”
I step closer, until there’s barely any space left between us.
“Tell me,” I say quietly.
Her eyes widen. “You know what I mean.”
“I think I do. I still want to hear you say it.”
She glances away, then back up, gathering her courage.
When she finds it, her voice comes out soft, a little shy, and it hits me straight in the chest.
“I think about you all the time,” she admits.
“I wait for you to come home. I know the sound of your footsteps on the stairs. I can tell when you’re in a bad mood before you say a word.
I care what you eat, whether you’ve slept enough, whether your tie is crooked before you walk into something important.
” Her cheeks flush deeper with every word, but she keeps going.
“And when you touch me, even just a little, I feel it for hours.”
Every muscle in my body tightens.
Her voice softens even more.
“I love Lily like she’s part of me now. And somewhere along the way…” Her eyes meet mine, open and vulnerable. “You became part of me too.”
“Zara… that’s beautiful. Thank you.”
“You really love me,” she says again, and this time it sounds different. Less disbelief, more like she’s testing the truth of it, getting used to how it feels.
“I really do.”
She nods once, almost to herself.
Then, very quietly, almost shyly, she says, “That makes me ridiculously happy.”
I smile. “Good.”
“And terrified.”
“That too.”
“And kind of like I want to kiss you and hide from you at the same time.”
A laugh slips out of me. I slide one hand higher along her back, keeping her close. “You can skip the hiding part.”
“Can I?”
“Yeah.”
She studies me for a second longer, like she’s making one last decision.
Then she nods. “Okay.”
And when she rises onto her toes and kisses me first, it feels like something in the world finally falls into place.