Chapter 6 #2
We walk in together, me holding the baby—who is finally, finally asleep, heavy and soft and warm against my chest—and Desmond carrying my things. Not that I have much. A duffel, a blanket, two grocery bags that jingle like shame every time they bump against his leg.
He doesn’t say where he’s taking them. Just moves with quiet purpose, like it’s obvious, like it’s not even up for debate.
He heads straight down the hall and pushes open Leon’s room.
The light from the hallway spills onto the blue walls, soft and familiar, and he sets my things neatly in the corner.
Not hidden.
Not shoved.
Just… placed.
Like they belong there.
It knots something deep in my throat.
He straightens up, brushing his hands on his jeans out of habit, and glances at me. Not at my bags. Not at the mess of who I am. At me.
And that’s somehow worse. Kinder. Too much.
I shift Leon a little, careful not to wake him, and my voice comes out thinner than I mean. “You… didn’t have to put my stuff in here.”
Desmond shrugs like this is nothing. Like letting a half-stranger stay the night, carrying her belongings into his baby’s room, and rearranging his life around her isn’t a big deal at all. “Figured you’d want him close,” he says quietly. “And it’s the only room with space.”
Space.
God. I forgot what that feels like.
He steps back into the hallway, giving me room to move, but not stepping far. Not leaving me alone with the weight of the moment. He’s near enough that I feel steady, far enough that I don’t feel cornered.
That balance—no one’s ever done that for me before. Not on purpose.
I walk slowly into the room, lowering Leon into his crib. He sighs in that deep, baby way that says he’s safe now. Really safe. I smooth a hand over his hair and something warm hits my chest, painful and sweet.
Desmond stands in the doorway, one shoulder leaning against the frame. Hands in his pockets. Watching, but not staring. Waiting for me to finish like this is my moment, not his.
When I straighten, turning toward him, my pulse jumps. His expression is soft in a way he probably doesn’t even know he’s doing. A little tired. A little worried. Mostly steady. So steady it scares me.
“You can make yourself comfy,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m pretty sure you know where things are better than I do at this point.”
That makes me smile—small, but real. It feels strange on my face.
He takes one step into the hall, nodding toward the living room. “I’ll just take the couch, you can take the bed and—”
“No.”
It comes out faster than I mean to. Sharper. I shake my head, clutching the crib rail like it might steady me. “Desmond, I can’t let you do that. You’ve got work in the morning. You need proper rest.”
He pauses, one eyebrow lifting. “Brielle, it’s fine.”
“It’s not,” I insist, softer this time. “You already… you already did a lot. I’m not kicking you out of your own bed.”
He crosses his arms over his chest—not stubborn, just planting himself, like if he roots hard enough I’ll stop acting like I’m two seconds from running. “First off, you’re not kicking me out of anything. I’m offering.”
“Still—”
“And second,” he continues, voice dipping lower, steadier, “I’ve slept on worse than that couch. A lot worse.”
I swallow. “Yeah, but you don’t have to tonight.”
He studies me for a second, eyes narrowing the tiniest bit—not suspicious, just trying to understand the shape of my panic.
“Brielle,” he says quietly, “I’m not trying to put you out. Or make you uncomfortable. I just want you to sleep somewhere that doesn’t fold in half.”
My throat tightens. “I don’t… I don’t want to take something from you.”
“You’re not,” he says immediately. No hesitation. “I’m giving it. There’s a difference.”
I look away, blinking fast. My hands twist together in front of me, nervous, unsure what to do with the softness of all this.
He takes a step closer. Not enough to crowd me—just enough that I feel the warmth of him, gentle and grounded.
“You’ve been running on fumes,” he murmurs. “Let me do this one thing. Just this.”
My voice comes out tiny. “Why?”
He exhales through his nose like he’s fighting the urge to say something bigger than either of us is ready for.
“Because you deserve one night of actual rest,” he says finally. “Because you helped me more this week than you realize. Because Leon clings to you like he’s glued on. And because—”
He stops. Jaw tenses. He looks away for half a second.
“Because I want you to feel safe here,” he finishes, quieter now. “That’s all.”
My chest goes warm and tight at the same time, like my heart doesn’t know whether to melt or bolt.
I shake my head weakly. “I don’t want to be a problem.”
“You’re not.”
He says it like it’s fact. Like it’s already settled.
Silence stretches for a moment. The apartment hums around us—fridge clicking on, floor creaking faint under his weight, Leon breathing softly in the crib.
Then Desmond softens, tipping his head a little as if trying to catch my eyes.
“How about this,” he says. “If you really don’t want the bed, fine. We’ll flip a coin.”
I blink. “A coin?”
“Yeah.” He pats his pocket like it’s a perfectly reasonable solution. “Winner gets the bed, loser takes the couch.”
A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it—small, surprised, almost shy. “That’s ridiculous.”
He shrugs. “Yeah. But it’s fair.”
I look up at him, and he’s smiling—barely, but enough to knock something loose in me.
“Desmond,” I say, voice trembling around the edges, “I’m not used to people… being like this.”
“Like what?” he asks, genuinely confused.
“Kind,” I whisper.
His face changes—nothing dramatic, but something in his eyes goes warm, deep, almost aching.
“Get used to it,” he says softly.
And God help me…
I might.