Daphne’s POV
The afternoon light catches them perfectly—Archie and Maya in the garden below, standing too close for colleagues, not close enough for lovers. Yet.
I watch from the upstairs window, coffee cooling in my hands. They're near the stone bench beneath the old oak, supposedly discussing tomorrow's schedule adjustments. But the conversation ended five minutes ago, and neither of them has moved.
Maya says something I can't hear from this distance. Archie laughs—genuine and unguarded, his whole body leaning toward her like a plant seeking sun.
His hand gestures broadly as he responds, and she tips her head back with a smile that transforms her usually composed features.
Maya's posture is more contained than his, her arms crossed in that protective way she has. But her face—when she thinks no one can see it—holds something raw and wanting.
She looks at Archie the way I used to look at Xander across conference tables, when I was still pretending I didn't feel anything.
"Something's happening there," I murmur, more to myself than anyone else.
Xander appears behind me, his chest warm against my back. I didn't hear him approach, but his presence settles around me like a familiar weight.
His chin comes to rest on the top of my head as he follows my gaze, studying the pair below for a long moment.
"Archie's been finding excuses to be wherever she is for weeks now," he says finally.
"I thought he was being unusually diligent about household security. Turns out he's just being unusually obvious about his feelings."
"You noticed?"
"Hard to miss. The man manufactured a meeting about fire extinguisher placement yesterday. Fire extinguisher placement, Daphne. We have staff for that."
I laugh softly. "And Maya?"
"Harder to read." He shifts, pulling me closer against him. "But she watches him when he's not looking. And she's been wearing that blue blouse more often—the one he complimented during the coffee incident Archie told us about."
"You noticed what blouse she was wearing during the coffee incident?"
"I notice everything." His voice carries a hint of smugness.
"Also, Archie wouldn't shut up about how competent she was afterward. Went on for twenty minutes about her 'quick reflexes' and 'problem-solving skills.' Over spilled coffee."
Below us, Maya turns to leave. Archie says something that makes her pause, look back over her shoulder. The moment stretches, weighted with possibility before she continues toward the house.
"Reminds me of us," Xander says quietly. "Coworkers. Complications. Both of us fighting something we couldn't name."
I smile at the memory. The tension that crackled between us in conference rooms. The way my pulse jumped when he entered my space, when his hand brushed mine reaching for the same document.
How hard I'd worked to maintain professional distance, terrified of wanting something I couldn't have, something that would complicate everything I'd built.
"We weren't very good at fighting it," I admit.
"No." His arms tighten around my waist. "Though I was better at pretending. You kept looking at me like I was dessert."
I elbow him in the ribs. He doesn't budge. "I did not."
"You absolutely did. That meeting in April—the quarterly review with the Henderson account—you spent forty-five minutes staring at my mouth while I presented projections."
"I was analyzing your communication style. For professional development."
"You licked your lips three times."
"The room was dry."
"Mmhmm." I can hear the grin in his voice. "And that time you 'accidentally' brushed against me in the elevator? Very professional."
"The elevator was crowded."
"We were the only two people in it."
I turn in his arms, ready to defend my dignity, but the expression on his face makes the words evaporate.
He's looking at me with that particular blend of arrogance and affection I've never been able to resist—the one that says he knows exactly what he's doing and enjoys every second of it.
"Archie, though," he continues, his tone shifting to something more sardonic.
"The man's about as subtle as a billboard. I've seen him rearrange entire security briefings so he can present in whatever room she happens to be working. It's embarrassing, really. At least I had some dignity."
"Says the man who rearranged his entire meeting schedule so he could 'accidentally' be in the elevator with me."
"That was strategic positioning."
"You rode up and down four times without getting off."
"Building inspection. Very thorough."
"You got off on the wrong floor twice and had to take the stairs back."
"Cardio." He says it with a completely straight face. "Important for executive health."
I laugh, the kind that comes from somewhere deep and releases tension I didn't know I was holding. Xander's eyes crinkle at the corners, his own smile breaking through the facade.
"You're not actually going to give him a hard time about this, are you?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
"Wouldn't dream of it." His smile turns wicked, the expression of a man who has been handed an unexpected gift.
"I'm simply going to enjoy watching him fumble through the same thing I did. Consider it payback for years of unsolicited opinions about my business decisions."
"That seems petty."
"It is absolutely petty. I've earned some pettiness."
He pulls me closer, his hands settling on my hips.
"Besides, watching Archie try to be smooth is genuinely entertaining. Last week he brought her coffee and then forgot what he came into the room for. Stood there for thirty seconds before inventing a question about printer paper."
"Poor Archie."
"Poor Archie nothing. He's given me grief about my romantic choices since the day we met. This is justice."
"You're terrible."
"And yet…" He dips his head, his lips brushing my ear. "Here you are. Choosing me anyway."
I rise on my toes to kiss him. It starts soft—a greeting, an affirmation—but deepens when his hand slides up my back, pulling me flush against him.
He kisses me like he has all the time in the world, like we're not standing in front of a window where anyone could see, like the only thing that matters is this moment between us.
When we finally break apart, his eyes hold the same heat they held five years ago. That night in the crowded bar, when he looked at me across a sea of strangers and something inevitable clicked into place.
When I realized I was in trouble—the best kind of trouble, the kind you spend the rest of your life grateful for.
"I love you," I say, because some things bear repeating.
"I know." He kisses my forehead. "I love you too. Even when you pretend you weren't ogling me in quarterly reviews."
"I was not!"
He silences me with another kiss.
Below us, in the garden, Archie has reappeared. He's standing by the stone bench, looking toward the house with an expression I recognize intimately—the particular torture of wanting something you're not sure you're allowed to have.
Some patterns, I think, repeat for a reason.
I hope Maya figures that out before she loses something precious.