Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
AUDRA
He shows up at seven fifty-eight.
Not early enough to feel like nerves.
Not late enough to feel casual.
It’s exactly the kind of timing that tells me he thought about it—and then stopped himself before it became something else.
I open the door barefoot, apron still tied at my waist.
He’s in dark jeans and a deep teal button-down, sleeves pushed up. The color sharpens his eyes in a way that makes me pause for half a beat longer than I intend.
That color looks amazing on him. Shows off his gorgeous eyes. Sexy.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
He steps inside when I move aside. No reach. No kiss. Just presence.
He holds out a bottle of wine.
He smells so good. Just like him. The scent I haven't forgotten.
“I brought this,” he says. “No expectations attached.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Counter.”
He sets it where I point.
“Stay out of my way,” I add, already turning back toward the kitchen.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I hear him moving behind me—not toward the stove, but away. When I glance over my shoulder, he’s wandering the living room slowly, hands loose at his sides, taking things in without touching.
The framed print over the couch.
The stack of books on the side table.
The throw I always forget to fold.
Me.
“Smells good in here,” he says.
“I hope so,” I reply. “I’ve already committed.”
That earns a small sound of amusement.
When the food’s ready, I plate it and nod toward the table.
“Okay.”
He comes over, pours the wine—careful, unhurried—and sets my glass down before his. Another small step. Another choice.
I sit across from him. He looks at the plate for a second.
“What if I was allergic to the pork loin,” he asks mildly. “Or the green beans. Or the mashed potatoes.”
I pause.
“Most importantly,” he adds, “gravy.”
I look at him. Smirk.
“Are you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He picks up his fork.
That moment—light, familiar—settles something low in my chest.
We eat.
Conversation comes easily at first. Work things. Alex’s questionable restaurant recommendations. A comment about how my building’s elevator is still possessed.
Normal.
Halfway through, I set my fork down.
“We need to talk,” I say.
He doesn’t tense. He doesn’t sigh. He simply sets his fork down too and leans back slightly, attention fully on me.
“Okay.”
I take a breath.
“Alex and Mark came by,” I say. “They filled in some gaps for me.”
His jaw tightens once. “They shouldn't have bothered you.”
I ignore that.
“They told me about the night you went out,” I continue. “About the drinking. About how out of character it was.”
He doesn’t interrupt.
“And they told me about the gala. About Chuck. About you shutting him down.”
A beat.
“That wasn’t about optics,” he says. “It wasn’t calculated.”
“I know,” I reply. “They were clear about that.”
I study him for a moment.
“I’m not bringing this up to punish you,” I say. “Or to reopen anything. I’m telling you because this is part of why I invited you here.”
He waits.
“I’ve been watching you,” I continue. “Not in a suspicious way. In a… noticing way.”
One brow lifts slightly.
“You don’t hover anymore,” I say. “You don’t manage. You don’t disappear. You check in, then you let things be.”
His mouth curves faintly. “I hadn’t clocked all of that.”
“I know,” I say. “That’s kind of the point.”
Silence stretches—not uncomfortable. Considered.
“You also didn’t tell me about the board,” I add. “I heard it from Alex.”
His gaze sharpens. “I didn’t want it to feel transactional.”
“It didn’t,” I say. “It felt… clean.”
That seems to surprise and please him at the same time. He nods once.
“I’m not saying everything’s fixed,” I continue. “It’s not. But this—” I gesture between us, the table, the room. “—feels different. And I needed to say that out loud.”
He studies me for a long moment.
“I’m not trying to get back to what we were,” he says finally. “I don’t think that version survives scrutiny.”
“And this one does,” I say.
“Yes,” he replies. Simple. Certain.
I pick up my fork again.
“So,” I say, “eat your potatoes before they get cold.”
A corner of his mouth lifts.
“Yes, ma’am.”
And just like that, we’re back at the table.
Not unchanged.
But moving forward—together, carefully, and on purpose.