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“Well, good luck with that,” Sophie snorts. “You two have the worst poker faces I’ve ever seen. Natalie already texted me this morning asking why you kept ‘accidentally’ brushing hands during the marketing meeting.”

My cheeks burn. “We were not—“

“You totally were,” Sophie laughs. “It’s cute, though. Like watching teens try to be subtle about their first crush.”

“Says the woman who once fake-fainted to get Michael O’Connor’s attention in high school,” I counter.

“That was a legitimate dizzy spell!”

“That conveniently happened right as he walked by? Three days in a row?”

Lucas laughs, the sound rich and relaxed. “I’d forgotten about that. Didn’t Mom make you see Dr. Sanders about your ‘recurring vertigo’?”

Sophie checks her watch and grimaces. “Speaking of Mom, I promised to call her tonight about the charity gala next month.” She gathers her empty takeout containers, stacking them neatly. “And you two obviously have work to do that doesn’t require a chaperone.”

She glances around at the spreadsheets and project documents scattered across Lucas’s desk.

“Well,” she says, standing up, “I’ll leave you to your work. Try not to let being disgustingly happy interfere with saving the company.”

As the door closes behind Sophie, Lucas pulls me close, pressing a kiss to my temple. “That went well.”

“She’s never going to let us live this down.”

“Worth it.” He smiles against my hair. “Now, about that dashboard integration...”

We settle back into work for another hour, but everything feels different now. Professional focus intertwines with casual touches and shared glances. There’s an ease between us, a warmth, a certainty. No more pretending we don’t feel this magnetic pull, no more maintaining careful distance.

When I yawn for the third time, Lucas closes his laptop decisively. “We should call it a night. The presentation’s ready, and we both need to be sharp tomorrow.”

“Just a few more tweaks to the integration timeline—“

“Emma.” His voice is gentle but firm. “You’ve been staring at the same paragraph for ten minutes. Let me drive you home.”

“I have my car,” I protest, but without conviction. The thought of a few more minutes with him is too tempting to resist.

“I’ll pick you up on my way to work tomorrow.” He’s already gathering my things, slipping my tablet into my bag with more care than I usually show it. “We can stop for coffee, then come back here together.”

I hesitate, practicality battling desire. “That’s not exactly keeping a low profile.”

“Or,” he offers with a slight smile, “I could drive behind you to make sure you get home safely since you’re clearly exhausted.”

“And then what?” I ask, my voice softer than intended.

“And then I’d say goodnight at your door.” His eyes meet mine. “Though I’m not ready for that part yet.”

He studies my face for a moment, and then his expression softens. “Actually, you’re too tired to drive. Let me take you home, and I’ll pick you up in the morning. We can get your car after work.”

My resistance crumbles under the warmth in his gaze. “Okay. But I’m buying coffee in the morning.”

“Deal.” He zips my bag closed and hands it to me, our fingers brushing. “I’m just not ready to say goodnight yet.”

The simple admission sends a flutter through my stomach. How long has he felt this way? How many evenings did we work late, carefully maintaining our distance, when we could have been honest about wanting just a few more minutes together?

The drive to my apartment is quiet, a comfortable silence punctuated by the occasional comment about stars or trafficlights. At some point, Lucas reaches across the console and takes my hand, and we stay that way until he pulls up in front of my building.

“Thank you for the ride,” I say, making no move to leave the car.

“Thank you for the company.” His thumb traces circles on my palm. “And for making a boring Tuesday into something special.”