Page 99 of The Secrets We Built Together

God, this was awkward. I resumed pacing, grateful that Blake wasn't here to witness this particular conversation. "We're still...we're in separate rooms. Blake has her room, I have mine. And I want—" I stopped, running my hand through my hair again. "Shit, this is embarrassing."

"Just spit it out," Booker said, though his tone had gentled slightly.

"I want her in my room. In my bed. Every night. I want to wake up next to her every morning. I don't want us living like roommates who happen to share a fake engagement anymore." The words tumbled out in a rush, and I felt my face burning. "But I don't know how to tell her that without sounding like some kind of caveman. 'Hey Blake, move into my room so we can have sex every night' doesn't exactly scream romance."

Dex nearly choked on his beer, and Trace was fighting back a grin.

"You know," Booker said thoughtfully, "for a guy with a medical degree, you can be pretty dense sometimes."

"Thanks for the pep talk," I said dryly.

"I'm serious. You're overthinking this," Booker continued. "Women aren't that complicated. Well, they are, but not about this. You tell her you love her. You tell her you want to be a real family. The bedroom situation will sort itself out."

"But we did that already, and then we kinda got stuck where we always were," I told them feeling the heat starting to rise in my cheeks. "What if she's not ready for that step? What if I scare her off?"

"Then you'll know where you stand," Trace said simply. "Look, if you want to know if you should tell Blake how you feel, the answer is yes. Always yes."

Trace took a long pull from his beer, his eyes distant. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. "You know my biggest regret is all the time I lost with Delaney and Cade because of secrets. Because I didn't fight when I thought she'd walked away."

We all knew Trace's story, how our mother had manipulated him into believing Delaney had left town, how he'd missed years of his son's life because of it.

"If there's one thing I've learned," Trace continued, "it's that you never get back the time you lose. So if you love her, tell her. Don't wait for the 'right moment' or the 'right time.' Those don't exist."

I nodded, knowing he was right but still feeling that familiar twist of anxiety in my gut. "I want to do something big for her. Something that shows her I'm in this for the long haul. That this isn't just some temporary arrangement anymore."

"Something romantic," Dex said with a grin. "Women love that shit."

"What does Blake love?" Trace asked, setting his empty bottle aside.

"Art," I answered immediately. "Her paintings. She talks about how she hasn't painted anything worthwhile in years, but I see her sketching constantly now. She tries to hide it from me, but she's always got a pencil in her hand."

"So do something with that," Booker suggested. "Something that shows you pay attention, that you see her."

I thought about it, about all the conversations we'd had, all the moments we'd shared. About the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her art, the way she'd gotten so excited when she showed me around her studio, but she hadn’t been back there for days. The way she sketched constantly now but never seemed satisfied with anything she created.

And suddenly, I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

"I've got an idea," I said slowly, the plan taking shape in my mind. "But I'll need your help."

"That's what we're here for," Booker said, and the others nodded in agreement.

For the next hour, we hammered out the details. It was surreal, the four of us planning this romantic gesture in Dex's garage, but it felt right somehow. Like this was exactly where I was supposed to be.

"You know," Dex said as we wrapped up our planning session, "I never thought I'd see the day when Xander Farrington was asking for relationship advice."

"I never thought I'd need it," I admitted.

"For what it's worth," he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder, "I think you and Blake make a hell of a lot more sense than you realize. Some things just... fit, you know?"

I nodded, feeling a strange sense of calm settle over me. The fear was still there. I doubted it would ever fully disappear, but alongside it was something stronger. Conviction.

I loved Blake Mitchell. I loved her pink hair and her smart mouth and her stubborn independence. I loved the way she hummed as she drank her coffee, and the way she mothered Amelia, and even the way she saw through all my bullshit. I loved that she made me feel like I could be more than the sum of my mistakes.

And it was time I showed her just how much.

But first, I had a studio to build.

Chapter 35

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