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“I woke up with her kid curled into me this morning,” I say. “And all I could think was… I wanted it to be real.”

He lets out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s not complicated. That’s crystal clear.”

I grunt, hitting harder.

“Ihaveto question it. It started as a job. And yeah, somewhere between escorting her to press events and sleeping on her couch, the lines got blurry. But she set the rules. Temporary.” I roll back my shoulders before hitting again. “And now she’s packing up. After the product launch, she and Eric are leaving my house.”

“So what now? You two just go back to work like nothing happened?”

“That’s the plan, isn’t it? Next contract. Next client.”

He holds the bag steady while I continue throwing jabs.

“You know what the worst part is?” I say, between hits. “I don’t want the next contract. I want this. Her. Eric. Mornings on the couch, waffles and cartoons. But if she doesn’t want that too… I’ll just be the guy who overstepped. The guy who mistook proximity for something more.”

Marcus grunts. “You didn’t mistake anything. I’ve seen you shut people out for years. Then she walks into your life, and all of a sudden you’re cooking breakfast and laughing. That doesn’t happen unless it’s real.”

“It’s confusing because I don’t know where I stand with her. It’s like we’re holding our breath waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Sounds messy.”

I let out a breath. “It is. But I’ve fallen for her.”

“Then tell her. Before it’s too late.”

I drag a hand over my head. “She’s still got a lot going on though the chaos is dying down. But she's still very busy. She’s had a surreal few months. I’m being careful not to add to her burden. It’s not exactly the time for declarations.”

“There’s never a perfect time,” he says. “There’s only your time. And it’s running out.”

I stop punching. My heart’s already racing, but not from the workout. “I don’t even know what I’d say.”

“Try the truth,” he says. “Start with ‘I love you.’ End with, ‘I want more than just a job.’”

I stare at the floor for a long second. Then I nod, grabbing my water bottle. “After the launch.”

Marcus walks with me toward the locker room. “For what it’s worth, I’ve been profiling people for two decades. That womanis not pretending when she looks at you. But you’re not the only one who knows how to build a wall.”

I nod, knowing his words are more true than he knows.

We hit Roxy’s Diner after our workout, sweat still drying on our backs. The place is half-empty this time of morning, all worn booths and the smell of bacon grease that has soaked into the walls over the last twenty years.

We slide into a booth in the back, away from the windows out of habit. Marcus orders a black coffee and the steak-and-eggs special. I go for the protein scramble, extra avocado, and a double espresso. It’s routine. Familiar and comforting in a way the rest of my week hasn’t been.

He leans back and lets out a satisfied groan. “Damn, I forgot how much I missed a post-lift breakfast. You don’t get this kind of bacon in the field.”

“You don’t get baconat allin the field,” I mutter, tapping my fingers on the table. “Just MREs and regret.”

He snorts. “Truth.”

The waitress drops off our coffees, and as soon as she walks off, Marcus shifts gears.

“So,” he says, “about our next job. Got a preliminary call from Wexler Industries. They’re looking for discreet protection on a short-term executive retreat. Small group, high-level, minimal movement, but they want full oversight. Physical security, intel monitoring, transport logistics.”

“Wexler. Oil and gas money. Private resort in Jackson Hole?”

“Yeah. You already read the file?”

“Skimmed it last night.” I take a sip of coffee, setting the mug down with a dull thud. “I’m interested. It’s tight, professional. No media. No drama. Corporate-level trust. We’d need a small team. Maybe Lena on surveillance and Miles on perimeter rotation.”