Page 84 of Worth the Risk

As we leave the studio, the fresh air hits us like a relief. I glance over at her. She’s still chuckling under her breath, her ponytail swinging as she walks beside me. There’s something about this—how easy it’s become, the way she fits into my life without even trying, and the way we both just melded our lives together.

And before I can second-guess myself, I say it. “You should move in with me.”

Taylor’s steps falter slightly, but when she looks at me, there’s no hesitation. “Okay.”

“Wait—seriously? Just like that?” I’m stunned. I expected some back and forth, maybe a little apprehension from her, and a snarky jab or two. Not an immediate okay.

She shrugs, her face softening. “Yeah. I’m not scared anymore. I’m all in with you, Austin.”

My heart races, and not from the workout this time. I can’t believe how easy this feels. Usually, she at least makes me work for it before agreeing. “But what about your place? You’ve got, what, six months left on your lease?”

“I’ll pay to break it,” she says casually, like it’s no big deal.

I shake my head. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll take care of it. It was my suggestion.”

Taylor rolls her eyes. “Austin, I’m perfectly capable of handling my own lease. I don’t need you paying for everything.” When we stop at a crosswalk, she turns to face me with her arms crossed, but there’s a playful gleam in her eyes. “I know you love taking care of me, and I appreciate it, and I love that about you, but I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” I say, smirking. “But what’s wrong with me helping you out a little? It makes me feel useful.”

“You’re not useful as a man just because of your money, you know? You have intrinsic value outside of that.” She gives me the same speech about how my identity as a man is not determined by my job or self-worth, a fun little diatribe I know gets her riled up when I protest.

“Maybe I want to be a source of money for you, treat you right.” I loop my arm around her neck. “Knock you up so you can’t work anymore,” I tease, knowing it will launch her into yet another speech.

And just like that, we’re mock-arguing, her stubborn independence going head-to-head with my need to make her life easier. I love this side of her—the way she refuses to let me do too much, even though I want to.

As we reach my place, we transition back to the routine of getting ready for work. I’m standing in the kitchen, sipping coffee, when the thought hits me.

“Hey,” I say, “do you think we should send out an email or something? Let everyone at the company know we’re officially together?”

Taylor laughs out loud, shaking her head as she applies her makeup in front of the bathroom mirror. “Are you serious? No way. They’ll figure it out eventually.”

“When’s eventually?” I ask, following her into the bathroom.

“Eventually,” she says nonchalantly with a shrug, not even looking at me. She’s focused on her eyeliner like this is the least concerning topic in the world.

I can’t help but smile. Little does she know, they’ll figure it out soon enough because I plan to propose to her this weekend.

I’m adjusting my shirt in the mirror when Taylor walks into the room, finishing the last touches on her makeup. She looks at me and raises an eyebrow.

“You nervous or something?”

I shrug, feeling the slight tension settle in my chest. “I just think tonight’s a good time to tell our friends that we’re officially together.”

We’re meeting friends for dinner tonight, and while we haven’t seen them all together since the pickleball incident, I know, between my conversations with Miguel and Taylor’s conversations with Becca, the rumor mill has been churning.

Taylor bursts out laughing. “Austin, come on. They’ve probably figured it out by now, considering we’ve been basically MIA the entire week.”

I grin, but I’m serious. “Maybe, but I want to make an announcement. I’m proud to be your man, Taylor.”

Her expression softens, and she crosses the room to stand in front of me, resting her hand on my chest. “I know, but trust me, they already know. You don’t need to announce it. It’s been written all over our faces for months.”

I tilt my head in a playful challenge. “Well, I’m still going to say it. Just wait.”

Taylor sighs dramatically, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips. “Alright, Mr. Proud Boyfriend. Let’s go. We don’t want to be late.”

I reach out to grab her hand. “Wait. Say it again.” Her brows furrow, but I elaborate, saying, “It’s the first time you’ve said it. At least that I’ve heard.”

“Oh, boyfriend?” She grins as her hands slowly slide back up my chest.

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