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I glance at him and see there’s a vase in his hand. Simple, clean lines. Beautiful and understated.

“This would work in your office.” He’s practically vibrating with excitement at the idea.

I huff a quiet laugh. “Why would I have a vase in my office?”

Jackson looks at me like I’ve asked a difficult question.

“Just another thing to keep track of,” I add, turning back to the vanity. “Something else I’d have to remember to do, refill the vase, water the flowers, throw away the dead flowers …”

He nods, and we wander off, continuing to browse this gem of a store. I don’t think about it again until we’re checking out and he sets it on the counter.

“Jackson—”

“I’ve got it.”

He doesn’t look at me when he says it. Just pulls his wallet out with certainty. Outside, the sun’s lower, casting everything in the late-afternoon light that makes it feel like the world has slowed just for us.

He hands me the vase once we’re back by the car. “It’s not something you have to keep up with,” he tells me, gently stroking my hand as I take it from him.

I tilt my head. “No?”

“I’ll keep it filled, always.”

There’s something in the way he says it that has me holding my breath.

“You want to keep this between us,” he adds, quieter now. “I get that.”

My fingers tighten slightly around the smooth edge of the vase as he reaches over, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear.

“But when you’re in your office,” he continues, “and you look up and see it … You’ll know I see you, that I want this, us.”

My breathing hitches, my eyes sting as the weight of the moment sinks in.

“It’s not … public,” he says, like he’s choosing the words carefully. “But it’s something out in the open. For anyone to see.”

I don’t believe in things like devotion, dependability, or even long-lasting love amongst romantic partners. But if I did … this is where it would start, and love is what I would name it.

Tape being pulled off the roll hits my ears as the pungent smell of paint fills my nose. I hold the wooden stick, stirring the color as I study the kitchen around me. It only needs finishing touches now, but it already feels refreshed and new.

I watch as Jackson tries to apply the painter’s tape to the corners in a bubble instead of flattening it down. His face is a mask of concentration, and my lips twitch.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Jackson looks over his shoulder at me, his bare shoulders flexing with each movement, his shirt discarded on the floor an hour ago. His mouth curls into a smirk. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.” He sets the tape down, turning his body toward me, completely unaware of himself, like he hasn’t realized yet how delicious he looks standing in my kitchen.

He closes the distance between us, scooping me up. I automatically wrap my legs around him as he moves to set me on the newly-installed butcher block counter.

“Good thing I have such a patient teacher, willing to put in the hours to help a hopeless student like me,” Jackson purrs, arms on either side of me, leaning in so we’re nose to nose. My heart thuds—a slow and steady rhythm that fills my chest with his nearness.

When Jackson came over the first night I met him to help with a tile floor install, he was hopelessly clueless but had a can-do attitude. One night of repairs bled into the next, and we are where we are today. Delirious, happy, and utterly secret.

We started small, Jackson wanting to learn about power tools. Messing up horrifically. That turned into late-night coffee sessions before court and lingering glances across the office. And somewhere in between all of that, I feel … lighter, forgetting my exhaustion.

We don’t talk about us at work. No one knows, not even the Zentrology girls. I’ve almost told them a thousand times but stop myself at each moment. It was my idea to keep things hidden. But each day the secret hurts a little bit more. One fleeting moment of a coworker walking by turned into the best thing in my life, and I haven’t told a soul.

Jackson’s eyes meet mine as his hands come up to cup my face. “Most people would have given up on this place, you know, right?” His voice drops lower, smooth and hypnotic. “You’re amazing for sticking to it. Has anyone ever told you that?” he asks, and I can feel the raw honesty in his voice.