Page 44 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband
"Nothing?" She raises an eyebrow, settling into the chair across from me. "You have your philosophical thinking face on. The same one you get when you're reading Heidegger."
"I don't have a philosophical thinking face."
"You absolutely do. It's very serious and intense, and it makes me want to ask if you're contemplating the nature of existence or just figuring out what to eat for lunch."
I open the first pizza box, grateful for the distraction. "Right now, I'm contemplating how someone who claims she can't cook has the most organized spice rack I've ever seen."
"Oh, those are just for show," she admits, taking a slice of pepperoni. "I buy them thinking I'll learn to cook, then order takeout and feel guilty about my failed domestic aspirations."
"That's the most relatable thing you've ever said."
"I'm full of relatable failures. It's part of my charm."
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and I find myself watching the way she eats pizza—cutting it into smaller pieces instead of just picking up the slice, careful not to let anything drip on the papers spread across her table. It's completely Tessa, this need to maintain control even during something as simple as dinner.
"So," she says finally, gesturing to the annulment papers with her fork. "We should probably talk about these."
"Yeah." I set down my slice, suddenly not hungry anymore. "Did you read through everything?"
"Twice. It's pretty straightforward—mutual consent, brief marriage, no shared assets or debt. The judge will probably approve it without question."
"And then we're legally free to pursue whatever this is without the complication of being accidentally married."
"Exactly." She pauses, twirling her fork between her fingers. "Which brings us to the question of what this actually is."
I lean back in my chair, studying her face. "What do you think it is?"
"I think it started as damage control and turned into something I wasn't expecting."
"What weren't you expecting?"
"To actually like you this much," she admits quietly. "To want to know everything about you. To miss you when we're not together."
The honesty in her voice makes my chest tight. "Is that bad?"
"It's terrifying. I've spent the last three years convinced that wanting someone was dangerous. That caring too much would just give them power to hurt me."
"And now?"
"Now I'm sitting here having dinner with you, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. Like maybe I've been protecting myself from the wrong things."
I reach across the table and take her hand, threading our fingers together. "What would it look like? If we did this for real?"
"I don't know. Dating while working together is complicated enough without adding Harrison's fraternization policy into the mix."
"Speaking of Harrison," I say, remembering something that's been nagging at me. "You mentioned a performance evaluation earlier. What was that about?"
Her expression shifts slightly, becoming more guarded. "Routine stuff. He's evaluating all the new staff members after their first month."
"That's not what your face is saying."
"My face isn't saying anything."
"Your face is saying that Harrison is making you nervous, and that makes me want to have a conversation with him about appropriate workplace conduct."
"Dax, no." Her grip on my hand tightens. "That's exactly the kind of thing that would make him suspicious. I can handle Harrison."
"What did he say to you?"
