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“I’m making us coffee,” I whispered.

He groaned dramatically as I slipped from bed. “Only if you promise to do it in my shirt and nothing else.”

I glanced over my shoulder and arched a brow. “Then congratulations,” I said, tugging his black tee from the floor and slipping it over my head. “Fantasy unlocked.”

I padded to the kitchen, bare legs chilled by the tile, and froze at the sight of the complicated espresso machine on the counter. “Uh, we have a problem.”

As smart as I considered myself to be, a simple pour-over was all I needed to function—hot, strong, and uncomplicated. But of course, billionaire Richard had to install the Rolls Royce of espresso machines in the guest house. The thing looked like it could brew coffee and file taxes at the same time.

I was a scientist, not a barista. I measured the grounds with shaking fingers and pressed some buttons in another language. Italian?

I didn’t know, couldn’t think. Because somewhere in the quiet between our tangled bodies last night and the stillness of this morning, fear had crept in.

What were Brooks and I to do now? Could we really do this?Could something so tangled in timing and near misses in the past actually work now?

The coffee began to drip and hiss, making a mess everywhere.

“Ugh, this... this thing-a-ma-jig. I just want a damn coffee.”

Behind me, I heard footsteps rush in.

Brooks entered the room shirtless, wearing nothing but jeans—top button undone, hair still a mess, and mouth twitching like he already knew what I was thinking. He casually pushed a few buttons, cleaned up the mess, and apparently got the machine to work.

I leaned against the counter and crossed my arms.

“I know that look,” he said.

“What look?”

“The one that says, ‘I just slept with a sexy man I’ve pined for since the day I met him with a grin that should be illegal, and now I’m worried I’m going to ruin it.’”

I blinked. “That’s... very specific.”

He grinned and crossed the kitchen, closing the distance between us.

“I’m observant. Must be your scientific method wearing off on me.”

He lifted me onto the counter and stepped between my legs before I could protest.

“Brooks…”

“Nope.” His hands were firm, squeezing my hips. “Don’t even try to wriggle out of this. I’m not letting you go this time.”

My breath hitched.

“I know I said we could be professional,” he said, voice quiet, eyes searching mine. “But here’s the truth, Maisy. I don’twantto figure out a way to keep you at arm’s length anymore. I want to hold you. Wake up with you. Build a million overpriced calming rooms with you. I wantyou.”

I swallowed. “What if I mess it up?”

“Then we’ll mess it up together and we’ll figure out how to make it right.”

I stared at him, heart tight in my chest. “I want to be brave,” I whispered.

“You already are.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know.”