Chapter 32 Aidan
AIDAN
Iris looks apprehensive as we climb the stairs to the Bushwick studios for our final site visit. Like David is going to be disappointed with how it’s turned out and demand her head.
“Hey,” I murmur, stopping her on the third floor. There’s no one around, and I take the chance to reach for her hand, stroking my thumb across the back of it. “There’s nothing to be nervous about, okay?”
She puffs up her cheeks, letting her breath trickle out. “I know. It’s just… I’ve never done this before, designed something and watched it come to life. What if I’ve overlooked a major issue? What if there’s a design flaw, or the reality isn’t—”
“Iris, honey.” I stifle a smile, stepping closer. “It’s perfect. We’ve already seen the basic layout, remember?”
Her lips twist in a smirk. “I was a little distracted that day.”
I chuckle, brushing a kiss to her forehead. “I know, but trust me, they’re amazing.”
She softens. “Thank you.” Her fingers tighten in mine, gaze warm. “For… everything. Believing in me. Letting me do this. Trusting me.”
Fuck, I love you.
The words sit poised on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them. I can’t tell her here, in this dusty stairwell under the flickering fluorescent lights. Not when her mind is on the studios.
And I definitely can’t bring up ADHD yet, even if I’m more convinced than ever that it’s Iris.
Last night, despite the late hour, I went home and researched ADHD in women.
It was startling to see so much of my sister in what I read, not only now, but growing up.
All of Soph’s quirks, her creativity and chaos and charm, everything that makes her who she is.
And the more I read, the more I thought about our father.
He should have seen this in her, seen she struggled, but he was too obsessed with his work to care.
Just as John is too dismissive, too focused on the firm’s reputation to consider his daughter.
And God, I don’t want to become that kind of man.
Guilt gnaws at me as I think about Soph, how long she struggled alone. Why didn’t I realize she needed help? If I had, could I have saved her years of heartache?
That question is the one thing pushing me to speak to Iris. She’s still young—a fact I’m all too aware of—and has so much life ahead of her. How might it improve if she gets the support she needs?
Because ADHD is real. I had no idea how debilitating it could be, but it explains a lot.
Why Iris struggled so much in college. Why she’s amazing at some tasks that are incredibly difficult, like designing the floor plan of a lighthouse, for Christ’s sake, but unable to file a document, or email a client.
And then there’s the impulsive stuff, like the way she pulled me into the restroom at Marco’s without a second thought, which, not going to lie, I freaking loved.
I loved the spontaneity of her touching herself in my office, crawling under my desk, letting me take her at our team-building event behind a fake waterfall.
How she’s so eager and willing whenever I need her.
Which is all the time. How could I not? I watched her at work today with this new information, seeing her in a different light.
How hard she tries, how much she cares about doing things right.
The way her mind works, connecting dots I didn’t know were there.
I don’t care if I have to order my own damn lunch if it means I get to see her blossom.
Knowing this about her only makes me love her more, if that’s even possible.
It only makes me want to help. To encourage her to see someone and find out if this is really what’s going on for her, or if there’s something else happening.
Whatever it is, she deserves to know. To get support.
I’ll support her however I can, but what if that’s not enough?
I drop another lingering kiss on her forehead, breathing in her sweet orange-blossom scent. “Let’s go see the magic you made, sweetheart.”
She sighs, and we climb the rest of the stairs hand in hand, only letting go when we reach the landing at the top. The door to 5A is open, and I knock on the doorframe, calling out to David. He crosses to us, taking my hand in a hearty shake.
“Aidan Brooks,” he says, in that familiar accent. His gaze moves to Iris, twinkling. “And Miss Iris Prescott. The woman of the hour.”
She laughs, tension loosening from her shoulders. “I don’t know about that, Mr. Lancaster.”
“I do.” He motions around him, the space bright and airy, lit by the last rays of sun as it creeps toward the horizon. “Look at this place. I could never have imagined it would look this good.”
I glance at Iris, giving her a good-natured I told you so look, and she grins, cheeks pink.
“Well… thank you. I’m so glad you’re happy.”
“Ecstatic,” David corrects as I pull out my iPad for final checks.
With David effusive in his praise, Iris finally lets herself take in what she’s created.
She wanders the space, running a finger along the countertop, pausing at the kitchen sink, as if imagining herself using it.
Then she crosses to the raised platform in the bedroom, smiling to herself as she looks out the window to the street below.
I want to go to her, to pull her close and tell her how amazing it is, this space I wrote off as too small, that she turned into four homes.
I want to tell her how proud I am, that I think we could—should—do this together, on our own terms, without her father hovering.
But I’m hesitant, knowing there’s something else we need to discuss first. Knowing I need to get my ducks in a row before I potentially blow up my career. If I do that, I could take Iris down with me, and that’s the last thing I want.
After I’ve walked the studios, checked the finishes, and signed off on the last punch-list items, I shake David’s hand, congratulating him on a successful project. He mentions something about wanting to work with us again in the future, but I’m only half-listening, eager to get Iris to myself.
The minute we’re on the street, she turns to me, beaming. “Did you see that? Oh, my God. I can’t believe I did that.”
I pull her close, not caring we’re in public. “You sure did. I’m so freaking proud of you, Cupcake.” I grin, humming with pride from the inside out. “Let’s go. It’s Friday night, and I’m taking you out to celebrate.”
Her brows pop up. “Really?”
“Really.”
She bounces on her toes, eyes sparkling. “Where are we going?”
I shake my head, reaching for my keys and unlocking my Mercedes with a bleep. “I have somewhere in mind.”
I haven’t been back to Marco’s since I met Iris, and it’s exactly as I remember it. Same dark wood paneling on the walls, same worn leather barstools, same low lighting.
And yet, everything feels different.
Last time we were here, I met a woman who was somehow both sad and sweet. Lost, but still had it in her to make me laugh. A woman I instinctively wanted to care for, even though I didn’t know her.
And now… now she’s the love of my life. I suspect I already knew then how important she’d become to me. I just didn’t want to admit it.
Iris laughs as we settle into a booth, amusement dancing in her eyes. “I can’t believe you chose Marco’s.”
I reach for the menu with a mischievous smile. I probably should’ve taken her somewhere fancier. That’s what she deserves. But we’re still in our work clothes, and this felt right. Besides, there’s plenty of time for fancy meals out. I’m not planning on leaving her side anytime soon.
“I hear they make a good gin and tonic,” I say, motioning to a waitress.
Iris’s hand slides over my thigh under the table, warm and soft, drifting higher than it should. “Should we go to the restroom after this?” she purrs, and my cock twitches in response.
“No,” I murmur, hearing the roughness in my voice. “After this, you’re coming back to my place.” I’ve waited long enough to bring Iris home. Too long. I need her in my bed. Need her beside me when I wake tomorrow. Hell, maybe I can convince her to stay for the weekend.
And maybe I can find a way to talk to her about ADHD.
But she doesn’t respond, and I pause. “I mean, if you want to…”
“Yes.” She nods vigorously, shuffling closer in the booth. “I want that so much.”
At her enthusiastic response, I decide to push my luck. “Do you want to… spend the weekend?” I ask cautiously. “We don’t have work for once. We could go for breakfast, maybe check out a museum. I could cook you dinner tomorrow…”
Her eyes glisten. “Aidan…” she whispers. “I…” There it is again, that look in her eye. The one she had behind the waterfall last night. “I… I’d love that,” she finishes at last, and I exhale. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath.
The waitress appears at our table, shattering the moment, and we order.
We eat, talking about the studios, the lighthouse, the team-building outing last night.
Iris is animated, radiant, and all I can think is how much I want to build something new with her.
Romantically, yes, but also with our work.
Something that blends our skills, that lets her really shine.
And as we drive to her apartment to grab her an overnight bag for the weekend before heading back to my place, I know I need to talk to her about ADHD.
Not because it will change anything—not for me, at least—but because I want her to get the support she needs for this next adventure between us. I want her to know she can do this.
Nerves flicker through me as I let her into my Carroll Gardens apartment. The place is immaculate, as usual, and Iris sweeps her gaze around with a smile, taking in the pre-war charm: high ceilings, plaster moldings, and big sash windows.
“Oh,” she murmurs softly. “This is lovely.”
I smile as I set her bag down on the sofa, not wanting to rush her into the bedroom, as much as I want to get her into bed. I’ve never brought a woman here before, always preferring to hook up away from home, and only now do I realize why. I was waiting for the right woman.
For Iris.
As if reading my mind, she bites her bottom lip, glancing over my shoulder. “Can I… see the bedroom?”
I chuckle, reaching for her bag again. “You sure can, Cupcake.”
I open the door, motioning for her to go first. My heart presses against my ribs as I look at her in there. It’s nothing special; navy-blue walls, a charcoal-colored comforter over a dark wooden bed frame, a few of my father’s framed blueprints on the walls.
But having Iris here means everything to me.
I set her bag down and turn on the bedside lamp, illuminating the space with a soft glow.
It reminds me of our motel room in Wetherly Cove.
The night that forever changed my life. I never thought I’d be grateful for a blizzard, but getting stuck in that tiny bed with Iris was the best thing to ever happen to me.
“Come here,” I say thickly, reaching for her. She settles into my arms, warm and soft and perfect. I want to undress her slowly, to worship every inch of her smooth skin, to make love to her for hours, but hesitation tugs at me.
She senses it, drawing back to meet my gaze. “What is it?” she asks quietly.
“Iris…” I begin, taking a deep breath. I should tell her. I should say, My sister has this and I think you might too, and it’s okay, it’s wonderful and I want to help, but when I open my mouth, that’s not what comes out.
Instead, I take one look at her beautiful face, eyes soft and trusting, and say the words I can no longer contain.
“I love you.”