Page 45 of The Secrets We Built Together

"I should let you get some sleep," he finally said, stepping back to give me space to pass.

But I didn't move. Couldn't move. Because if I took one step closer to him, I wasn't sure I could trust myself to walk away.

"Xander..." My voice was barely above a whisper.

His eyes met mine, and I saw everything I was feeling reflected back at me. The want. The hesitation. The fear.

"You were right before," I said. "This is complicated enough."

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. "I know."

"So we should probably..."

"Keep things simple. For now."

For now. Those two words hung in the air between us, filled with possibility and promise. A concession that neither of us had voiced before.

"For now," I echoed, and the tension in his shoulders eased just a fraction.

He reached out, tucking a damp strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering just a heartbeat too long. "Goodnight, Blake."

"Goodnight, Xander."

I slipped past him, careful not to let our bodies touch, and retreated to my room. I closed the door and leaned against it, my heart hammering in my chest like I'd just run a marathon.

This was getting dangerous. The lines between real and pretend were blurring, and it was just the beginning of what we had to do.

I moved to the window, looking out at the moonlight painting silver shadows across the Farrington land. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called into the night.

Tomorrow I'd remember the rules. Remember our arrangement. Remember all the reasons why mixing feelings into this complicated situation was a terrible idea.

But tonight—just for tonight—I'd allow myself to wonder what might have happened if Amelia hadn't cried just then. If we'd both been brave enough to admit that this stopped being pretend before we’d even began.

Chapter 18

Blake

Iwoke up to sunlight streaming through the curtains I hadn't fully closed the night before. For a brief, disorienting moment, I couldn't remember where I was. Then it all came rushing back—Xander's cottage, the almost-moment in the hallway, the way my heart had raced when he'd tucked that strand of hair behind my ear.

"For now," he'd said. Two simple words that had kept me awake far longer than I should have allowed.

I stretched, surprised at how late it seemed. Amelia should have been awake hours ago—she hadn't slept this long since she arrived. When I glanced over at the bassinet I found it empty. Worry shot through me, and I leaped out of bed, throwing on the first clothes I could find.

When I stepped out of the bedroom, I found Xander sitting at the table drinking coffee with Amelia cradled contentedly in his arms.

"Morning," he said, glancing up with a small smile that did nothing to ease the flutter in my chest. "Someone decided to sleep in today."

"Why didn't you wake me?" I asked, running a hand through my sleep-tousled hair.

"You needed the rest. And Amelia and I were just fine, weren't we, little bug?"

I watched them together—this strong, steady man holding this tiny baby with such natural ease. It struck something in me, a spark of inspiration I hadn't felt in years. The beginning of an idea, like the first brush stroke on a blank canvas.

Xander looked up, catching me staring. "Hey, look, it's... erm, what are you calling yourself?" he asked.

I frowned, confused by the question. "Blake?"

"No, what are you calling yourself for Amelia? Like, are you Aunty Blake, or... mommy?"

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