Page 39 of Protected By My Best Friend's Brother

As evening deepens into night, we end up on the porch swing. Emma nestled against my side as stars begin to appear. The air carries the scent of my neighbor’s jasmine, and distant laughter from children playing in the street creates a backdrop of peaceful normality.

“I missed you,” she says softly. “Not just the big moments. The little ones. Like how you always knew when I needed someone to listen. How you made me feel like my ideas mattered, even when they came with color-coding systems no one else understood.”

“I missed you too. Every day.” I press a kiss to her temple. “Even in New York, living the life everyone thought I wanted, I kept thinking about movie nights and study sessions and how nothing felt real without you there to roll your eyes at my attempts to be sophisticated.”

She tilts her head up, moonlight catching in her eyes. “And now?”

“Now I’m choosing this. Choosing us.” I cup her cheek, my heart racing at how she leans into my touch. “No more running, no more pretending, no more wasting time. I want everything with you, Emma.”

Her smile is softer than I’ve ever seen. This is different. This is us finally stepping over that line between friendship and forever.

When our lips meet, it’s soft, sweet, and perfect—nothing like our heated moment at O’Sullivan’s. This is coming home, finding something we’ve both been seeking without fully acknowledging it. It’s a promise and a new beginning rolled into one perfect moment. My fingers thread through her hair as she sighs against my mouth, and I pour everything into the kiss—years of friendship, moments of almost, and the absolute certainty that this is exactly where we belong.

When we part, Emma’s eyes are bright with something that looks a lot like joy. “We’re really doing this?”

“We really are.” I brush my thumb across her cheek. Because she’s not just Sophie’s best friend or my brilliant analyst anymore, she’s now my Emma. “Though your best friend might be insufferable about being right all along.”

“Sophie’s been plotting this since high school,” she laughs, settling her head against my shoulder. “We should probably send her a thank you note.”

“Later,” I murmur, drawing her closer. “Right now, I just want to be here with you. No more almost-moments. Just us, finally getting our timing right.”

We settle into a comfortable silence, watching the stars emerge one by one in the deepening twilight. The weight of Clara’s visit, Brighton’s merger attempts, and the patent claims all fade compared to the feeling of Emma in my arms.

“Lucas, are you sure this is what you want?” Her voice carries a hint of lingering insecurity.

I turn to face her fully, making sure she can see the truth in my eyes. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. Clara, New York, the corporate world—that was me trying to be someone else. This—you and me—this is real.”

Her smile is the last thing I see before our lips meet again. This is coming home – to something authentic, something we’ve both been waiting for.

When we part, Emma’s eyes stay closed for a moment, like she’s memorizing the feeling. “That was...”

“Worth the wait?”

“Worth everything.” She curls closer, fitting perfectly under my arm. “Though maybe we keep the kissing away from glass-walled offices.”

I laugh, pressing another kiss to her hair. “Probably wise. Garrett might spontaneously combust.”

We stay there, talking about everything and nothing, sharing soft kisses and quiet laughs. She tells me about her half-dead houseplants that she refuses to give up on. I confess to the book of cloud shapes I bought in New York, trying to understand what she saw in random formations. No thoughts of Clara, mergers, or complications. Just Emma and Lucas, finally brave enough to take our friendship to the next level.

Some things are worth waiting for.

Some things are worth coming home to.

And Emma Hastings, with her color-coded organizational systems and brilliant chaos, is both.

Chapter Fourteen

Emma

Nothing says dedication quite like spending your evening in your boyfriend’s office—not that we’re using that word at work yet—surrounded by presentation materials and empty coffee cups.

The term “boyfriend” still feels new, like a delicate secret that might vanish if I examine it too closely. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since our evening on Lucas’s porch swing since we finally crossed the line from friendship to something more, and I’m still adjusting to this new reality.

Today at the office, I tried to act normal, as if my world hadn’t completely transformed overnight. Each time Lucas walked past my office, each message about meeting notes or sustainability reports carried a hidden meaning—a subtext onlywe understood. We’ve agreed to keep things professional at work until we figure out how to navigate the boundaries between our personal and professional lives, especially with Brighton’s merger attempts and Garrett’s watchful eyes.

But professional doesn’t mean distant anymore. Now it’s a private game—seeing how close we can stand during meetings without giving ourselves away, how long our fingers can touch when passing documents, and how much we can communicate with just our eyes across a conference room.

“If we look at Brighton’s offer,” I tap my pen against my bottom lip, studying our comparison chart on the whiteboard, “they’re leading with AI integration and cost reduction. But they can’t match our existing infrastructure within the Johnsons’ systems.”

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