Chapter 10 - The First KissWe did not kiss that night.
This disappointed Mina so deeply she questioned whether continuing our friendship had professional value.
“You went to his office at night.”
“Yes.”
“You confessed you missed each other.”
“Yes.”
“You hugged.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“I went home.”
She stared at me over video call.
“That is not a romance. That is Scandinavian furniture assembly.”
I laughed.
“It’s complicated.”
“Stop using that word.”
“It is.”
“Does he want to kiss you?”
I thought about the North End street.
His eyes on my mouth.
“Yes.”
“Do you want him to?”
“Yes.”
“Then what exactly is stopping everyone?”
I knew.
Fear.
Not only mine.
Adrian’s too.
We were both frightened of moving too quickly for opposite reasons.
I feared becoming dependent on another man before recovering from Preston.
Adrian feared that wanting me would automatically damage me.
So we did something neither of us was naturally good at.
We went slowly.
He texted.
Actual messages.
Sometimes irritating ones.
Have you eaten?
Yes.
Define yes.
Food entered my body.
Suspiciously vague.
Other times:
Meeting ended. Terrible.
Billionaire problems?
People used 63 slides to explain 4 numbers.
My condolences.
Once, at 1:17 a.m.:
Are you awake?
Unfortunately.
I dislike sleep.
Sleep probably dislikes you too.
That earned me my first full typed laugh from Adrian:
Ha.
I took a screenshot.
We ate lunch twice.
Always away from Blackwood properties.
We walked along the harbor.
Daniel followed at increasingly ridiculous distances.
One Saturday, Adrian came with me to a salvage warehouse to choose reclaimed wood.
He wore a $7,000 coat into a building filled with sawdust.
By the end, his sleeve had a streak of dirt.
I pointed.
“You’re contaminated.”
He looked down.
“Tragic.”
“Should we preserve the coat for historical purposes?”
His eyes narrowed.
“Miles told you.”
“I figured it out.”
“You are both problems.”
At the warehouse exit, he bought me coffee from a vending machine.
The billionaire stared at the paper cup like it had personally offended him.
“This is terrible.”
“It cost $1.75.”
“That does not excuse it.”
“You own companies that manufacture medical robotics and satellites, but a vending machine defeated you.”
“I could buy the company.”
“That would be an overreaction.”
He looked at the machine.
“Would it?”
I laughed so hard I spilled coffee on my glove.
That was when he kissed me.
Not dramatically.
Not under chandeliers.
Not after a declaration.
I was laughing, head tilted down, trying to wipe coffee from my glove.
He said my name.
“Eve.”
I looked up.
His face had changed.
Quiet.
Unprotected.
I stopped moving.
He stepped closer.
“Tell me no.”
My heart pounded.
“I don’t want to.”
His eyes dropped to my mouth.
“Then tell me yes.”
“Yes.”
His hand touched my face.
Warm fingers against my cheek.
He kissed me carefully at first.
Almost impossibly carefully.
A question.
I answered by gripping the front of his coat.
Something broke.
The second kiss was not careful.
His other hand moved around my waist.
I rose onto my toes.
His breath caught when I pulled him closer.
For several seconds, the warehouse, coffee, Preston, newspapers, careers, money, and every rational complication ceased existing.
There was only his mouth.
His hands.
The sharp cold air.
My heartbeat.
Then Adrian stopped.
Abruptly.
He pressed his forehead against mine.
His breathing was rough.
“Why did you stop?”
“Because I don’t trust myself.”
My stomach flipped.
“That is either romantic or concerning.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“You have no idea.”
I smiled.
“Maybe I do.”
He opened his eyes.
“You just ended a relationship.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want you to regret this.”
“I might.”
His expression changed.
I continued.
“People regret things. That doesn’t mean we never choose them.”
He stared at me.
“When did you become philosophical?”
“Approximately 4 seconds after you stopped kissing me.”
That made him laugh.
A real laugh.
Low.
Rare.
I kissed him again just to hear whether I could make it happen twice.
I could not.
But I tried.
Three weeks passed.
The harbor project accelerated.
My relationship with Adrian remained private where possible.
No statements.
No staged appearances.
No corporate dinners.
He came to my hotel once and watched me work on floor plans for 3 hours.
He read.
I drew.
At midnight, he ordered Thai food.
It felt absurdly intimate.
One night, he told me about boarding school.
Another, I told him about the last morning my father was conscious.
We learned the architecture of each other slowly.
Where the doors were.
Which rooms stayed locked.
Where not to push.
Then Preston returned.
Not physically.
Legally.
I received a letter at work.
He was threatening Keaton & Moss with litigation, claiming the company had retaliated against him after his anonymous ethics report was traced.
Preston’s consulting firm had business relationships with several Keaton clients.
The complaint threatened reputational damage.
Gregory was furious.
“This is personal now.”
“It always was.”
“We can fight it.”
I knew what fight meant.
Months.
Depositions.
Money.
Stress.
That evening, I showed Adrian the letter.
His face became frighteningly calm.
“I can end this.”
“No.”
“Eve.”
“We have discussed this.”
“He’s threatening your employer.”
“And we have attorneys.”
“He’s exploiting procedural leverage.”
“Yes.”
“I can purchase Hale Consulting before breakfast.”
I stared at him.
“You cannot buy my ex-boyfriend’s employer because he annoys you.”
“I can.”
“You may not.”
“Important distinction.”
I covered my face.
“This is exactly what I mean.”
He walked toward the window.
“I can protect you.”
“No. You can destroy whatever threatens me. Those are different things.”
He turned.
“Sometimes destruction is protection.”
“Not to the person who has to live next to the crater.”
Silence.
His jaw tightened.
“What would you have me do?”
“Nothing.”
His face hardened.
“That is difficult.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
I approached.
“I know your entire life taught you that control equals safety.”
He looked away.
“But loving someone cannot mean controlling every variable around them.”
His eyes returned to mine.
The word had slipped out.
Loving.
Neither of us moved.
My heart stopped.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
His voice was quiet.
I swallowed.
“Maybe.”
Adrian’s face had gone completely still.
I felt suddenly exposed.
“I should go.”
He caught my wrist.
Not tightly.
Just enough.
“Eve.”
I turned.
His eyes were unlike anything I had seen before.
Terrified.
Not of losing a company.
Not an elevator.
Me.
“I love you.”
The words came without decoration.
My breath disappeared.
He looked almost angry after saying them.
As though love itself were an act of rebellion.
“You don’t have to say it back.”
I could barely think.
“Adrian…”
“I wasn’t planning to say it tonight.”
“I gathered.”
“I was planning not to say it for several months.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
“Very efficient.”
“This is not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
His hand loosened around my wrist.
“I love you,” he repeated, quieter.
I stepped closer.
“You barely know how to do Sunday mornings.”
“I can learn.”
That broke me.
I kissed him.
Slowly.
When I pulled away, I whispered the truth.
“I’m not ready to promise forever.”
He nodded.
“I’m not asking.”
“But I think I’m falling in love with you.”
His eyes closed.
For one brief second, Adrian Blackwood looked like a man who had been holding a weight his entire life and had finally set it down.
May you like
When he opened them again, he touched my cheek.
“I can work with that.”
