Chapter 420: No More Pretending...

Amelia’s fingers rested lightly against Stan’s on the table.

The polished wood was cool beneath her palm, but his skin was warm, distinctly, steadily warm. For a few quiet seconds neither of them moved. The contact was barely anything, just the gentle press of skin against skin, yet she could feel the faint ridge of his knuckles, the subtle calluses along the edge of his hand, the slow pulse that seemed to answer her own.

Every time she thought her heartbeat might settle, the simple reality of what had just been said rose up again and stole her breath.

’He likes me too.’ She still couldn’t quite believe it.

Stan’s thumb shifted, brushing once across the side of her hand in a slow, deliberate stroke. The small movement sent a warm current up her arm, raising a soft trail of sensation that lingered even after his thumb stilled.

Amelia’s eyes flicked to his face. Soft amber light from the recessed fixtures caught the edges of his features, gilding the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.

He was watching her with that calm, faintly amused expression she had come to know so well, except now there was something softer beneath it, something that made the air between them feel thicker.

"You’re still smiling," he said quietly. His voice was low enough that it almost blended with the distant clink of glassware and the muted murmur of other conversations.

"I’m not."

"You are."

She tried to press her lips into a straight line. It lasted less than a second before the smile returned, smaller this time but impossible to hide.

The scent of his cologne, clean, understated, with a faint woody note, reached her when he leaned a fraction closer. "You’re enjoying this far too much."

"I am," he admitted without shame. "I’ve waited a long time to see you look at me like that without trying to hide it."

Amelia’s cheeks warmed. She could feel the heat blooming beneath her skin, the slight flush that always betrayed her when she least wanted it to.

She glanced down at their joined hands, then back up. The tablecloth beneath their wrists was smooth linen, cool against the underside of her forearm. "I wasn’t that obvious."

"You flew to Inksea the moment you heard I was back."

"That was..."

"Work," he finished for her, voice dry. "Yes. You’ve said."

She gave him a narrow-eyed look. The low lighting painted soft shadows under his cheekbones, making the curve of his mouth more pronounced when he almost smiled. "You’re never going to let that go, are you?"

"Not a chance."

Despite herself, a soft laugh escaped her. The sound surprised her, light, unguarded. She had been so tightly wound for so long that the simple act of laughing with him like this felt almost luxurious.

The tension that had lived between her ribs for a long time was finally loosening, thread by careful thread. Somewhere behind her a cork popped softly, followed by the quiet pour of wine into a glass. The restaurant’s warm air carried the faint aroma of seared herbs and aged wood.

Stan turned his hand fully beneath hers, guiding her fingers into a more natural hold. His palm was warm. Steady. She didn’t pull away. The slight pressure of his fingers closing around hers sent another quiet ripple through her chest.

"I meant what I said earlier," he continued, quieter now. "I was glad you came. Not because of the intelligence, or the Vanguard updates. Just... you."

Amelia’s throat tightened. She had spent so many nights convincing herself that his attention was professional, that the way he sought her out was only because she was useful. Hearing the opposite spoken so plainly made something in her chest ache in the best possible way. The soft background music, something slow and instrumental, seemed to fade further into the distance.

"I almost didn’t message you," she admitted. Her voice came out softer than she intended. "When I landed. I told myself I should wait, that it would look too eager."

"I’m glad you didn’t wait."

"You’re very sure of yourself tonight."

Stan’s mouth curved. The corner of his eyes creased slightly. "Am I?"

"Yes. Asking me that question right here, in the middle of a restaurant, like it was nothing."

"It wasn’t nothing." His eyes held hers. In the warm light they looked darker than usual, focused entirely on her. "I just decided I was tired of pretending I didn’t notice."

Amelia looked at him for a long moment. The soft lighting caught the edges of his features, the faint shadow of stubble, the quiet confidence that had always drawn her in even when she refused to name it. She could hear the faint rustle of fabric as he shifted slightly in his chair. He looked steady. Certain. And for the first time she allowed herself to believe that certainty included her.

"How long?" she asked, voice low.

"How long have I known?"

She nodded. The movement made a loose strand of hair brush against her cheek; she left it there.

Stan considered the question, thumb still moving in that slow, absent stroke against her hand. The gentle friction of his skin against hers was almost distracting. "Long enough that when I saw your message tonight, I already knew I was going to ask. I just wasn’t sure you’d say yes with how shy you are and how hard you always tried to hide that shy version of yourself..."

Amelia’s heart gave a soft, treacherous flutter. She could feel it in her throat, in the tips of her fingers where they rested against his. "You thought I might say no?"

"I thought you might still be trying to protect whatever this was." He gestured lightly between them with his free hand. The motion stirred the air just enough for her to catch another faint trace of his cologne. "You care about the work, and various other stuffs. I didn’t know if you’d risk changing it."

She swallowed. That was exactly what she had been doing. Protecting the professional distance. Protecting herself. Protecting the version of their relationship that felt safe. The cool rim of her glass brushed her other hand when she shifted slightly.

"I was," she said honestly. "For a long time."

"And now?"

Amelia looked down at their hands again. Her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around his. The warmth of his palm seemed to sink deeper into her skin. "Now I think I’m tired of pretending too."

Stan’s smile deepened, quiet and genuine. The teasing light in his eyes softened into something warmer. "Good."