16. Rediscovering Love Too long #2
“All right, let’s get started,” he says. “Thanks for coming, everyone. Today is our quarterly client-integration touchpoint, and we’re highlighting some major wins.”
He nods at me. “And a lot of those wins are because of Amelia Morales.”
My stomach jumps. I shoot him a warning look that he ignores.
“We’ll get into specifics later,” he continues, “but just know she carried half of you over the finish line this quarter.”
A few people laugh. I force a small smile and try not to look at Reid, but I can feel his focus on me like a warm hand between my shoulder blades.
Eric clicks through slides, giving context on projects I’ve been living and breathing for months.
When it’s my turn, I step forward and try to pretend the room isn’t suddenly bigger because Reid is in it.
I go through my portion—status updates, client notes, efficiencies I implemented, projected timelines. My voice stays steady, practiced, sharper than it used to be. I’ve had to grow up fast. Work doesn’t tolerate wishy-washing. When I finish, Eric claps first.
“See?” he says. “This is why we steal her from the rest of you every chance we get.”
More laughs. I roll my eyes, but my cheeks heat. When I step back to Reid’s side, he leans down slightly.
“You were incredible,” he whispers.
“Thank you,” I say, and it comes out softer than I meant.
As the room breaks into smaller groups, people come up to congratulate me. I shake hands, answer questions, talk through details. Normal. Routine. But every time I glance at Reid, he’s watching me with a kind of quiet awe… and something else. Something tight around the edges.
Eric approaches again, holding his tablet. “Amelia, quick question about the integration logs?—”
I nod and move with him a few feet away. We go over a minor issue, nothing important, but it takes a couple of minutes. When we return to where Reid is standing, his expression is careful.
“You good?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “Just listening.”
But he’s quieter now. Less relaxed. The shift is small, but I feel it. As we step out of the room, Eric gives Reid a polite nod.
“Good meeting you,” he says.
“You too,” Reid says.
Eric heads off. I stand beside Reid for a second, studying him.
“You sure you’re okay?” I ask.
“I’m proud of you,” he says. “Really proud. I just didn’t… I didn’t realize how much you’re doing here. I knew, but actually seeing it is different.”
There’s no jealousy in his tone. Just honesty. And underneath that, the weight of comparison he didn’t ask for.
“You’re doing a lot too,” I say. “Different, but real.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I know.”
His voice is steady, but the insecurity—tiny and quiet—is there. I take his hand briefly.
“Come on,” I say. “We have twenty minutes until I need to change for Mom’s thing. And you look like you need sugar.”
He snorts. “That obvious?”
“Painfully.”
We grab pastries from the table on the way out.
I finish up last-minute tasks at my desk while Reid scrolls his phone with one leg bouncing under the chair.
Every so often he glances at me—soft, thoughtful, conflicted.
When we leave the building, he holds the door for me, then slides his hand along the small of my back. A simple gesture. Calm, grounding.
“I really am proud of you,” he says quietly.
“I know,” I say. “And I want you here for it.”
He nods, but the crease between his brows stays.
The family gathering is at my mom’s house, because of course it is.
Morales gatherings don’t exist anywhere else—too much noise, too many opinions, too much food.
Reid tightens his grip on the casserole dish he insisted on carrying, like bringing something store-bought will earn him survival points.
“Remember,” I say as we walk up the path, “they love you.”
“Your mom loves Liam,” he says. “She tolerates me.”
“That’s not true,” I say. “She likes you. She just… has questions. And concerns. And a personality.”
He squeezes his eyes shut dramatically. “Save me.”
I knock because the doorbell is broken and has been broken for approximately seven years. My mom swings the door open, already mid-sentence.
“There you two are—Lord, come in, it’s cold. Give me the baby?—”
She snatches Liam the second she sees him, cooing and kissing his cheeks until he squeals.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, a step behind.
“Amelia,” she says, waving me off. “Move, let me see this child.”
Reid laughs under his breath. Then Destiny appears in the hallway, arms crossed.
“Well, well, well,” she says. “Look who decided to descend from College Mountain.”
Reid lifts the casserole dish like a shield. “Hi, Des.”
She raises a brow. “Mm-hmm.”
Behind her, Iris pops out of nowhere like a gremlin, snagging a dinner roll from the counter.
“You brought food?” she asks.
“Store-bought,” Reid says.
“Coward,” Iris says, stuffing the roll into her mouth.
Liam squirms, already reaching for her hair. Hazel appears next, dramatic as ever in a bright sweater that probably blinds satellites.
“Oh my GOD,” she says, rushing over. “Look at you two—functioning adults in the same ZIP code. I’m emotional.”
“Hi, Hazel,” I say, hugging her.
“You look stressed,” she says.
“You always say that,” I say.
“Because it’s always true,” she says.
Reid gets pulled into the chaos—Mom asking questions about school, Destiny giving him the protective-big-sister stare, Hazel nudging me with her elbow every time he answers well. But underneath all the chatter, I feel the shift. It starts small.
“When’re y’all getting married?” someone asks from the dining table.
I freeze. Reid freezes.
Mom shoots them a look. “They’re young. Let them breathe.”
Destiny shrugs. “I’m just saying. They’ve been through a lot.”
“Too much,” Mom says, eyes flicking to me. “Life has already forced them to grow up fast. Marriage is work. You don’t jump into it because everyone else thinks it’s cute.”
I swallow. She’s not wrong. But hearing her say it out loud—here, in front of Reid—stings. Reid shifts his weight, jaw moving once like he’s stopping himself from reacting.
Another relative jumps in. “Long distance must be hard. Amelia, you really doing this all on your own most days?”
The room quiets just slightly. My chest tightens.
“I’m not doing it on my own,” I say. “We’re figuring it out.”
Destiny’s eyes soften at me, then sharpen at Reid. “I know you’re trying. I do. But she’s carrying a lot.”
Reid straightens. “I know.”
There’s nothing defensive in his tone. Just truth layered with something heavy.
Hazel nudges me quietly. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Just tired.”
The night keeps going—loud, warm, overwhelming.
Liam gets passed around like a celebrity.
Mom pulls Reid aside at one point, talking low and firm.
Destiny watches us both like she’s a bouncer.
Iris steals dessert twice. Hazel leans on my shoulder and whispers commentary like she’s narrating a documentary.
But the whole time, Reid is quieter. Thoughtful. Processing. By the time we load Liam into the car and buckle him in, the air feels thick between us. Not tense. Just full. Reid closes the door gently and leans against the car for a second.
“Tough crowd,” he says.
“They love you,” I say.
He nods. “I know.”
But he’s still staring at the sidewalk, and I know that look. It’s the one he gets when he feels like he isn’t measuring up. I step closer and touch his arm.
“You did good tonight,” I say.
“Did I?” he asks quietly.
“Yes,” I say. “They’re just… protective. And loud. And a lot.”
He breathes out slowly. “Yeah.”
I slide my fingers between his.
“You’re trying,” I say. “And they see that. I see that.”
He lifts his eyes to mine. “I just want to be enough.”
“You are,” I say. “Even when it’s messy.”
His shoulders loosen just a little. He squeezes my hand.
“Let’s go home,” he says.
We drive in comfortable silence. Liam sleeps. The streetlights flash across Reid’s face in soft patterns. And even though the day was long, even though we’re both stretched thin, his hand finds my knee halfway home and stays there. Not possessive. Not apologetic. Just present.
And it feels like rediscovering something we almost lost. The apartment is dim when we walk in, the only light coming from the lamp by the couch that I forgot to turn off earlier.
Liam is out cold in my arms, cheek pressed against my shoulder, tiny breaths warm through my shirt.
Reid locks the door behind us, sets the casserole dish on the counter like it personally offended him all night, then turns back to me.
“You need help?” he asks.
“No,” I say softly. “I got him.”
We move through the apartment quietly, the way parents learn to do without thinking—stopping doors before they can creak, timing footsteps around the spots in the floor that squeak, whispering without meaning to.
I take Liam to his room, settle him into his crib, and rub his back until his fingers unclench and he sighs into deeper sleep. When I step out and gently close the door, Reid is standing in the hallway with his hands in his pockets, watching me like the scene did something to him.
“He passed out fast,” he whispers.
“Long day,” I whisper back.
He nods, then gestures toward my room. “You want to get changed? I can wait.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Give me a minute.”
I change into soft shorts and an oversized t-shirt, wash off my makeup, and pull my hair up.
When I step into the living room, Reid is sitting on the couch with two glasses of water on the coffee table and a blanket thrown over the back of the sofa.
The quiet is different tonight—not heavy like it used to be, just tired. Earned.
“You okay?” I ask as I sit beside him.
He nods once. “Yeah.”
“You sure?” I ask.
He lets out a slow breath. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
I pull my legs up and face him. “About?”
He gives a small shrug. “Your family isn’t wrong.”
I blink. “About what?”