Page 65 of The Secrets We Built Together

He nodded, understanding without needing me to explain further. That was becoming a pattern with us—this silent communication that shouldn't have felt so natural for two people who'd only known each other for weeks.

Xander stood, stretching his arms above his head. His t-shirt lifted slightly, revealing a strip of skin above his jeans that I pretended not to notice. "I'll make more coffee."

As he disappeared into the kitchen, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, listening to the familiar sounds of him moving around. The clink of mugs, the soft hiss of the coffee maker, the quiet curse when he inevitably bumped into that one cabinet door he always forgot stuck out too far.

These domestic rhythms had become the soundtrack to my life, and I wasn't sure when I'd started finding comfort in them.

When he returned, he handed me a fresh mug, our fingers brushing. The simple contact sent a current of awareness through me that I'd been trying to ignore since the day I moved in.

"Thanks," I murmured, taking a sip to hide whatever expression might be giving me away.

Xander settled beside me, closer than before, his thigh almost touching mine. "I think we're overthinking some of these questions," he said, picking up a form. "We don't need to have every detail of Amelia's future mapped out. We just need to show that we're stable and committed to her care."

"Stable and committed," I repeated, the words catching in my throat. "That's us, right? Just two people pretending to be engaged so they can raise a baby together?"

He looked at me then, really looked at me, in that way that made me feel like he could see every thought I'd ever tried to hide. "Is that all it is, Blake? Pretending?"

My heart hammered against my ribs. "I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do."

The air between us shifted, charged with something I wasn't ready to name. I set my mug down carefully, aware of how my hands wanted to tremble.

"Xander, we agreed this arrangement was about giving Amelia stability. About creating a family for her that wouldn't fall apart."

"And we're doing that," he said softly. "But I didn't expect..." He trailed off, running a hand through his hair in that way he did when he was struggling to find words.

"Didn't expect what?"

"I didn't expect to feel like this isn't an arrangement at all." His voice was low, almost a whisper. "I didn't expect to wake up every morning wanting to see your face. I didn't expect to count the hours until I get home from the clinic, just to hear you tell me about your day."

I swallowed hard, my defenses wavering. "Xander—"

"No, let me finish." He shifted to face me fully. "I know this started as a solution to a problem. I know we both have our reasons to be cautious. But Blake, I'm not pretending anymore. Not when I look at you. Not when I think about our future."

My chest tightened, hope and fear warring inside me. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I don't want to go to bed tonight and lie awake wondering if we're still just playing house. I'm saying I want this—us—to be real."

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. His words hung between us, an offering I was terrified to accept.

"What if it doesn't work?" I whispered. "What if we try and it falls apart and Amelia—"

"What if itdoeswork?" he countered, his eyes never leaving mine. "What if we stop being so damn afraid of what could go wrong and just let ourselves have this?"

He was so close now, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath, see the flecks of gold in his eyes I'd never noticed before.

And then Xander's mouth was on mine, when his fingertips crazed just beneath the hem of my T-shirt like he'd been waiting his whole life just to touch me. It didn't feel like pretending anymore.

It felt like coming home.

His kiss wasn't rushed. It was slow and deliberate, lips brushing, teasing, deepening with every exhale. He kissed me like he had nowhere else to be. Like I wasn't someone he was pretending to love—but someone he already did.

His fingers skimmed the side of my thigh, then the dip of my waist. I melted under his touch, the last of my defenses crumbling as he drew me closer, one hand threading into my hair. His other hand settled over my hip, grounding me, anchoring me to this moment and nothing else.

"Tell me if you want to stop," he murmured against my lips.

I didn't even hesitate. "I don't."

---