Chapter 36
Chapter thirty-six
Izzy
The house is quiet by the time I get home from work, that weird kind of stillness that settles in when you’re alone—the kind of silence I should be used to.
It's only Thursday, but my brain is fried, I’m actively avoiding returning three calls, and I’ve flagged two emails as “URGENT” that are just going to have to wait until tomorrow.
I toss my bag onto the counter and check my phone for the third time since I walked through the door.
Nothing. No missed calls. No new emails.
No “We’re so excited to work with you!” subject line lighting up my inbox.
Each day that passes makes it seem less and less likely that I’ll get good news from W&R Mercantile, but, as Becca keeps reminding me, it hasn’t even been a full workweek yet.
Maybe they’re busy. Maybe they’re still reviewing. Maybe they’ve ghosted us and decided to go with a firm that has an actual Nashville presence and doesn’t have a project lead who requires a pep talk every time she has to meet someone new.
I know we don’t need this client, but I want it.
I want it for what it means—for what it would prove. That I’m good at my job. That all the time and money invested in my education and career weren’t a waste. That I’m leveraging all the opportunities I’ve been afforded.
I groan and shove my phone face down on the counter.
Staying out with everyone last night was a bad idea. I can barely function as a normal human when I have eight-plus hours of sleep. It’s a shitshow when I get less.
In the quiet that follows, I feel it again—the weight of yesterday. The weight of him.
Jaxon.
He sat at that dinner table like he’d always belonged there. Teasing Jameson. Laughing at Bryn. Arguing with Kelsey and Carter like they were his friends rather than his employees, which, I guess, they are.
And me?
I couldn’t stop watching him.
He blended so easily with my people. With my life. And I hadn’t realized—until he was sitting there grinning with a beer in his hand and my knee tucked against his under the table—just how dangerous that was.
Because when he leaves—and he will—it’s going to hurt more than I ever thought possible.
A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts, and I jump up as Jaxon walks in. He holds a six-pack of Belgian-style wheat ale in one hand and a pizza box in the other.
“I come bearing carbs,” he says, his usual grin stretching across his face.
Because why wouldn’t it be his usual grin? Nothing has changed.
I drop onto one of the stools. “Thank goodness. Though I’m not sure I need carbs before whatever we have in store for spice coaching today.”
He sets everything down on the island, kicking off his shoes like he’s done it a hundred times before. Like it’s normal.
“Carb-loading is essential for peak athletic performance,” he jokes.
We sit side by side at the island, eating our pizza and sipping on beer. I try not to notice how close he is. Or how he smells clean and masculine, like he just took a shower with something called “scent of clean male.”
‘So,” he says, biting into his third slice of pizza, “have you heard back from the Nashville client?”
I give a small, tight shake of my head. “No word yet, and I’ve checked my email more times than I’m proud of.”
“They’d be idiots not to hire you.”
“How would you know? I could be terrible at my job.”
He nudges my shoulder. “You’re amazing at everything. You always have been. I have no doubt you’re fantastic at your job as well.”
I smile, but it feels forced. “Thanks.”
He casually slips his crust onto my plate before grabbing another piece. “If they do say yes…would you go?”
The full crust I just shoved in my mouth—why waste the best part of the pizza?—gets caught in my throat as I attempt to answer.
“To Nashville?” I ask after a long swig of the cool beer helps ease the choking.
He nods. “Yeah. Would it be a big enough deal that you’d have to move?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Not for this first contract, but we are looking at this as a land-and-expand opportunity, so at some point, it might make sense for us. But…” I trail off, picking at the edge of my plate. “It’d be hard. All my friends are here, so I’d be starting over with no one.”
Jaxon tilts his head slightly, and I wish I could take back those last few words. “You’d have me.”
Maybe. I do now, but how much longer will that be true?
We both agreed this is temporary. A pause from our real lives to get what we want.
I try to laugh it off. “You don’t count.”
“Wow. Rude.”
“I just mean…you have houses in, like, twenty cities and regularly go on tours. How many days are you actually in Nashville in any given year?”
He tilts his head to the side as if doing some math. “This year, almost all of them. In a normal year? Maybe a third? Half?”
“See? My point exactly. It’s not even enough for it to truly be considered your primary residence by the powers that be.”
“My life is pretty transitory.”
Neither of us says anything else on the subject, and my head spins around the idea of me working in Nashville and what it could mean.
I’ve been so worried about screwing up the proposal that I haven’t thought through what it would mean for the company—for me or Becca—if we do manage to land this client and grow it into the major contract we envision.
No matter what, one of us will be in Nashville on a regular basis. Likely me, based on the type of client W&R would be.
Which means this doesn’t have to have an end date. Even if Jaxon isn’t staying around.
“So,” Jaxon says, breaking the silence. “I have a new plan for coaching today.”
“Does it include a full lobotomy? Because I think that’s the only thing that’s truly going to help,” I joke.
I mean, it’s mostly a joke.
I don’t think a lobotomy is the answer.
But I’m also beginning to think there might not be an answer.
I mean, if Jaxon Steele, in his steam shower from space, can’t get me there, I don’t know if it’s possible.
I’ve also had to face the unfortunate realization that the couple of minor self-induced “orgasms” I’ve experienced before might not even count. The shower redefined the high—even if I couldn’t jump over the new cliff.
So, somehow this experiment has made me lose orgasms. I’ve come negative times now.
“Nah,” Jax says. “I like that brain of yours too much to consider cutting it in half.”
A ball of warmth sparks to life inside of me, despite the fact that he’s joking. “But I did learn a new brain science fun fact for us to try.”
I do love fun facts. “Oh really? What did you learn?”
“Music with lyrics activates more sympathetic nervous system responses than music without lyrics, which induces a calming state.”
“Are you telling me I need to calm down, Jaxon Reid?” I ask, shoving his shoulder.
“I would never say that,” Jaxon says on a laugh. “It’s just an easy change that might help us. If nothing else, it doesn’t hurt to try.”
“I really appreciate all the research you’re doing into this, Jax. I know you thought this was going to be a lot more fun than it is when you signed up.”
He grabs my hip, spinning me toward him. “Are you kidding me, Iz? This is more fun than I ever thought it would be. And you? You are worth any amount of effort.”
Suddenly, it all feels too heavy. The weight of the work decision hovering above my head. The realization that this thing with Jaxon could be something if I’m in Nashville for work more often. The knowledge that I just might want that, even if I’m too terrified to admit it.
It’s all just…too much.
I know all the lyric-less music in the world isn’t going to get me there tonight.
“Would you…mind if we pushed pause on the spice coaching this week?” I ask Jaxon tentatively. “I know you did a bunch of prep for it, but I’m just not in the right frame of mind.”
Jaxon searches my gaze…for something.
I stare back, willing him to recognize that this isn’t about him—this isn’t about us. It’s about me and my inability to let things go.
“Counteroffer,” Jaxon says, his warm fingers brushing over the exposed skin between my sweatshirt and my jeans. “Netflix and chill. But the way the kids meant it in like 2015.”
I let out a snort of laughter. “You mean actual Netflix and actual chill?”
“Exactly. No spice. No coaching. No pressure,” Jaxon says, offering me his hand like we’re about to ballroom dance instead of scroll through a million shows we’ll never finish.
“We’ll argue over snacks, get halfway into an episode, and then end up talking through the good parts. The real couple experience.”
I let him pull me to my feet. “Are you saying we’ve already reached the ‘talks through the movie’ stage of our fake relationship?”
“Absolutely. I plan to be extremely annoying and ask questions about plot holes I missed because I was texting.”
“Perfect,” I say, cracking a real smile. “I’ll be sure to sigh dramatically and pretend I hate it.”
“That’s my girl.”
My heart stutters…just once.
He doesn’t notice what he said. Or maybe he does and meant it exactly the way it sounded. Either option is equally terrifying.
We migrate to the couch, and Jaxon insists on flipping through at least fifteen titles before we land on some heist movie neither of us has seen.
It’s the kind with over-the-top explosions and suave criminals who somehow have time to flirt mid-crisis.
I grab us both cans of sparkling water and dig out a forgotten bag of peanut M&M’s from the pantry.
We don’t talk about Nashville or clients or how to get my body to act like a normal human’s should.
Instead, we just…exist.
Comfortable.
I stretch my legs over his lap without thinking about it, and he absently starts rubbing circles into my calf with his thumb.
I should pull away.
I don’t.
At some point, I start giving my own running commentary about how the lead actress’s dress is both wildly impractical and secretly genius.
He jumps in to defend the con artist's honor, attempting to equate him to Robin Hood. We start mock arguing over the morality of robbing billionaires, and I tell him he’s clearly been breathing the fumes from too many tour buses if he thinks this many explosions are realistic.
Halfway through the second half, I realize I’m leaning fully into his side. My head on his shoulder. His arm around me. Like we do this all the time.
Like we are a real couple.
I should feel weird about that.
I don’t.
I feel safe. Warm. Like the tension that’s been curling in my chest since the dawn of time is finally loosening.
The movie ends.
I don’t move right away. Neither does he.
“Thanks,” I say softly. “For the pivot. I needed that.”
Jaxon doesn’t answer right away. Just tugs me a little closer, like maybe he needed this too.
“Sometimes I get it right,” he murmurs. “Not often. But sometimes.”
I lift my head, just enough to look at him.
His eyes are already on me.
There’s no performance in them. No flirtation. Just quiet intensity. Real feeling.
It hits me then—this isn’t just him being Jaxon-the-charmer. He means it. All of it. The snacks, the shoulder, the offer to just be here instead of pushing for more.
My heart stumbles again, and this time, I let it.
His gaze meets mine, a question there.
A question I know the answer to, even if it’s new.
So, I lean in.
He meets me halfway, his lips firmer and softer than I could’ve ever imagined. It’s a first kiss like they write about in songs. The ones it takes rom-com actors fifteen tries to even come close to. It starts soft. Easy. Familiar. The kind I said was off-limits.
He rests his hand on my jaw, his thumb brushing just under my ear like he’s memorizing the shape of me.
I sigh against his mouth, and he pulls me even closer.
Suddenly, we’re making out on my couch like two people who don’t have years of history or fear or emotional landmines between them. Like we’re just a couple on a Thursday night. Because maybe that’s who we are now that I’ve forgiven him.
His fingers find the hem of my sweatshirt but don’t push further. Just rest there, grounding us both. My hands twist into the front of his shirt, anchoring myself as my mind spins with too many feelings I haven’t named yet.
When we finally break apart, both a little breathless, I rest my forehead against his.
“This feels…easy,” I whisper.
“It does,” he says, voice low. “It is. The best things are always easy.”
My stomach flips in that dangerous, glowing way that has nothing to do with coaching or casual anything.
And for the first time, I wonder what it would feel like if he didn’t leave. Or if I went too.
But I don’t say anything. I don’t want to be the person who doesn’t know real from fake.
Instead, I curl into his side and press my lips to the edge of his jaw. A small kiss. A promise without words.
We turn on another movie, one neither of us pays attention to, and explore each other in a way that feels more personal than anything else has up to this moment.