Chapter 14
The next morning didn’t feel like a decision.
It felt like momentum.
Creed didn’t call when he woke up. There was no dramatic declaration, no reassurance meant to pin me to something solid before daylight fully settled. Instead, there was coffee waiting when I arrived at the office—already on my desk, still warm, exactly the way I liked it.
At lunch, he appeared in the doorway of my office like it was the most natural thing in the world. He leaned against the frame and watched me finish a sentence before speaking, as if interrupting would have broken something fragile.
“Jenny’s?” he asked.
I hesitated for half a breath. Then nodded.
And that was how it began. With proximity. Not with fireworks.
Creed started walking beside me in the corridors, his hand settling at the small of my back when people passed too close. It wasn’t possessive. It was simply there—steady, unannounced.
Meetings blurred into shared glances. A pen slid across my desk during a layout review. His knee brushed mine beneath the table at lunch, casual and unremarkable in a way that made it feel permanent.
At home, the pattern held.
He showed up when the girls were finishing homework and stayed while we ate dinner. Didn’t hover—but didn’t disappear either. Creed stole fries off my plate. He fixed the cabinet hinge without being asked, like he’d already noticed it was loose.
Still careful.
Still observant.
But closer every day.
And I let it happen.
Because I could feel the difference. This wasn’t borrowed time or a temporary calm before retreat. This was Creed staying inside the feeling instead of bracing for escape.
By the end of the week, it stopped feeling provisional. And that was when the truth settled low and heavy in my chest.
The hesitation hadn’t been a warning. It had been the last breath before the fall.
It happened without ceremony.
I was standing at the stove, flipping burgers, Morgan humming to herself at the table while Michelle colored with her tongue caught between her teeth. The house smelled like grease and crayons and something faintly sweet—vanilla, maybe—from the candle Aunt Ruth insisted on lighting every evening.
Creed was standing behind me. I didn’t flinch when I sensed him. I didn’t check the clock in my head to calculate how long he might stay. That was when it hit me.
I hadn’t wondered if he’d leave.
The realization slid through me slowly, settling where anxiety used to live. For weeks... months, I’d existed with that tension coiled tight inside me, always counting, always measuring the distance between us like it was a deadline. But tonight? I hadn’t counted at all.
Creed reached past me to grab a plate from the cabinet, his arm brushing mine. Casual. Domestic. The kind of contact that didn’t spark hope or dread, just familiarity.
“You’re going to burn those,” he murmured.
I glanced down, startled, then laughed softly as I flipped the burgers. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I noticed.” There was warmth in his voice.
I set the spatula down, my hands resting on the counter longer than necessary. My breath felt strange in my chest, like I’d just realized I’d been holding it for far too long.
“You okay?” he asked.
I turned, really turned, leaning back against the counter so I could look at him. His sleeves were rolled up, his forearms dusted with flour from helping Michelle earlier. A faint smear of glittery pink marker streaked his wrist.
Michelle’s doing.
The sight cracked something open in me.
“I think so,” I said quietly.
His focus sharpened, fully attentive. “Think so?”
I nodded. “I just realized I didn’t expect you to disappear tonight.”
The words hung between us, fragile but honest.
Instead of retreating, he stepped closer, slowly, deliberately, and rested his hand on the counter beside my hip.
“I didn’t expect to,” he said.
Behind us, the girls burst into laughter.
Morgan waved her coloring book triumphantly while Michelle announced she was done forever with purple.
Creed glanced over his shoulder, smiled, then looked back at me.
And in that ordinary moment, with grease on the stove, marker on his skin, and noise filling the room, I felt something settle into place.
The phone rang while I was plating the burgers. And it wasn’t my cell. It was the house phone.
Creed glanced at it from the table, Morgan mid-story on his lap, Michelle swinging her legs beside him.
“You want me to get that?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No. I’ve got it.”
I wiped my hands on a towel and crossed the kitchen, lifting the receiver.
“Hello?”
There was a pause. Just long enough to signal intention.
Then—
“Peyton.”
My pulse didn’t spike. But something old and cold slid neatly into place.
“Francesco,” I said evenly.
He exhaled. It was a practiced sound. Controlled. Polished. “I was hoping it was you.”
“How did you get this number?” I had blocked his number on my cell phone.
“It was listed,” he replied. “I didn’t want to intrude.”
Respect.
I almost laughed. “I don’t trust unwanted calls,” I said.
A beat passed.
“I wanted to say this,” he said quietly. “What happened shouldn’t have ended the way it did.”
“Things didn’t end,” I corrected. “They stopped.”
A soft chuckle. “You’ve always been sharp-tongued.”
Behind me, I felt Creed listening, widely aware. The air shifted subtly, like a predator registering movement without breaking stillness.
“I won’t keep you,” Francesco said. “I just thought you should know, I’m done reaching backward.”
“That’s generous,” I said. “Considering you called.”
Another pause.
“You sound settled,” he observed.
“I am.”
“That’s good,” he said. “Enjoy it.”
The line went dead.
I stood there for a moment longer than necessary, listening to the hollow tone before setting the receiver back in its cradle. When I turned, Creed was watching me. The look wasn’t suspicion, but focus.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said truthfully. Then, after a beat, “But I think someone just reminded me that calm doesn’t mean finished.”
Creed nodded once and didn’t ask questions.
“We’ll handle it when it comes,” he said.
Didn’t press. Didn’t posture.
Not if.
When.
And for the first time, the idea didn’t scare me.
* * *
CELINE APPEARED AT my office door, clipboard tucked neatly against her chest, expression composed as ever.
“Morning,” she said. “Do you have a second?”
“For you, always,” I replied, still skimming a layout mock-up.
She stepped inside, automatically closing the door behind her.
“I checked the voicemail at the agency,” she said, flipping the clipboard around. “We have a few outstanding debts that need to be paid.”
My pen stilled.
“I forgot all about the agency. How many accounts?” I asked.
“Just a few that Ray filed under his personal expense account,” she said easily.
“Oh—and the electric company called with a disconnection notice.” She gave me a small shrug.
“Nothing alarming. I just wanted to check whether you’d prefer I take care of them or flag them for the accountant to manage during tax season. ”
Elite Staffing.
Proof that ending something didn’t mean it stayed ended. Francesco had taught me that.
“I don’t even want to know what the other bills are,” I said truthfully. “It will just piss me off again.”
Celine nodded, already anticipating the answer. “I can take care of it,” she continued smoothly. “It’s less than three grand. I can make a list of creditors and exact totals for you.”
I met her gaze then. “No,” I said calmly. “Pay them out of the business account. There’s still money in there.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “Vincenzo money?” she asked.
The question landed sharper than it should have.
I shook my head. “Goodness, no. That’s over.”
Her shoulders eased. “Okay,” she said, a hint of relief threading her voice. “I had to ask.”
“I wouldn’t dare allow you anywhere near that account if it wasn’t,” I added lightly.
My phone rang.
As I reached for it, I said, “You’re good to go. The sooner you pay off the remaining debts, the sooner we can close the agency once and for all after the holidays.”
The sooner I closed that chapter with the Vincenzo family, the better.
“Of course,” Celine said, and paused. Just a beat, like she was about to say something. Then she smiled, nodded once, and left quietly.
When the door clicked shut, I sat back in my chair and said into the receiver, “Hi, Mommy. Happy holidays.”
* * *
THE CONFERENCE ROOM hummed with low conversation and the muted clink of coffee cups as my team filtered in, tablets tucked under arms, notebooks already open. End-of-year evaluations always carried a particular charge—equal parts nerves and anticipation and today was no different.
I took my place at the head of the table, posture easy, grounded. The screen behind me glowed with mockups for the Spring edition—clean lines, bold color stories, layouts that felt like momentum.
“Alright,” I said, scanning the table. “Let’s get into it.”
Creed stood at the back of the room, near the glass wall, arms loosely crossed, expression unreadable. He wasn’t looming. He wasn’t intruding. He was simply there, stillness among motion. The CEO was observing.
I launched into the agenda, my voice steady as I walked the team through performance highlights, growth areas, promotions that had been earned. I asked questions. I listened. I challenged them gently, praised them precisely. The room leaned toward me, engaged.
Every so often, I felt that awareness, like pressure behind my ribs. Not disruptive.
Present.
I caught a flicker of movement in the reflection of the screen. Creed shifted his weight, his gaze tracking the room.
Tracking me.
Not in the way that used to make me brace. In the way that felt... measured. Like he was learning the shape of this version of me without trying to reshape it.
When the discussion turned to the Spring cover, the energy sharpened.