Chapter 90: Ninety

The morning started wrong, and it only went downhill from there.

I’d been running late already. Noah had woken up cranky, my coffee machine decided it hated me, and then, just as I was about to leave, my car coughed twice and died like it had been waiting for the most inconvenient moment to give up on life. I sat there in the driver’s seat, forehead pressed to the steering wheel, breathing in the faint smell of gasoline and my own growing panic.

Then I broke down. I buried my face in my hands. They smelled like garlic from the garlic bread I had packed for Jacob’s lunch. That made me almost throw up.

Fuck, some days it was so hard being a mom.

Jacob’s knock on the window startled me. He was in a crisp shirt and slacks, coffee in hand, looking far too composed for the chaos in my morning.

I rolled down the window. “You haven’t left yet?” I inquired. He had come down before me, around ten minutes ago.

He shook his head. “Bumped into Mr. Pritcher and we were catching up.” Our neighbor Mr. Pritcher was a man in his early fifties who loved to talk. If you bumped into him at nine am or nine pm, it didn’t matter.

“Car trouble?” he asked, crouching so his face was level with mine.

“It just… won’t start,” I muttered, getting out. “It’s fine, I’ll call a cab. You’ll be late for work.”

“I’ll drive you,” he said, already walking toward his car before I could protest.

“Jacob, really, it’s fine…”

He stopped, turned, and gave me that look. The one that said this wasn’t up for discussion. “Willow, you’re not taking a random cab when I can just drive you. Get your bag.”

The tone left no room for argument. I grabbed my tote and followed him, trying not to feel like I was burdening him. I sat down in the car and he put on my seatbelt for me. This was normal ritual. Lately when I would hang out one on one with Jacob, without Noah, I would get reminded of the times I was pregnant and we would hang out and he’d be so sweet to me. The stage where he was wooing me. And even from before, when we were in university. We barely had any time together, now.

The ride was quiet except for the hum of the AC and the occasional turn signal. I stared out the window, mentally rehearsing the meetings I had lined up, while Jacob tapped the steering wheel in time with whatever bland pop song was playing.

When he pulled up outside my office, he leaned over to kiss my cheek. “I’ll pick you up at six.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I’ll be here,” he said firmly. And just like that, the conversation was closed.

God, this is what had made me fall in love with him all those years ago. He took care of me. He had never not.

Guilt was clawing at me. I was being horrible to him. A horrible fiance. A horrible girl.

I got out, my heels clicking against the pavement, and pushed the unease down.

Inside, the office smelled faintly of printer ink and burnt coffee, just like normal Monday things. Declan was already there, leaning against the edge of my desk like he owned the place. His tie was loose, his sleeves rolled up, and he had that infuriating half-smile that made it seem like he knew something I didn’t.

“Chauffeured in today, huh?” he said, nodding toward the window where Jacob’s car had just disappeared from view. “Very… protective.”

I dropped my bag on the desk and shot him a look. “It’s called being considerate. He’s my fiancé, Declan. It’s normal.”

“Mm.” He leaned back slightly, eyes flicking over my face. “I’m just saying, one night stranded at a motel and now he’s gonna drive you around. Didn’t know you needed a bodyguard like that.”

I busied myself with opening my laptop. “And I didn’t know you’d taken up passing judgment on my personal life.”

His smirk deepened. “Not judgment. Observation.”

“Of all people,” I said, finally meeting his gaze, “you shouldn’t be talking about being protective.”

Something flickered across his expression, gone in a second, but I caught it. That same quiet intensity I remembered from years ago, when he’d walk me home after late nights even though I insisted I was fine, when his jaw would tighten if someone looked at me too long.

I smiled a little, thinking of the time he had literally punched Jacob in the University. And now, look how things had turned out.

We fell into the rhythm of work, or at least we tried to. Every so often, Declan would toss in a comment that made my stomach clench.

When I went to grab a coffee from the break room, he followed. “So, Jacob’s picking you up too? Efficient. Saves him from worrying about what you might get up to.”

I gave him a sharp look. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged, the picture of innocence. “Just… attentive man, your Jacob.”

“Cut it out, Declan.”

“Cut what out?”

“This,” I said, waving a hand between us. “The little digs, the… whatever this is.”

For a moment, he just looked at me, his expression unreadable. Then he took a slow sip of his coffee. “Sure.”

But of course, that wasn’t the end of it.

Later, when I mentioned a site visit for next week, he said, “Guess Jacob will want to tag along, make sure you don’t get lost.”

When I laughed at something a coworker said, Declan murmured, “Careful, he might think you’re enjoying yourself too much without him.”

By the afternoon, I was on edge. Not just from his words, but from the way he said them all light, and teasing, but threaded with something else. Something sharper.

At five-thirty, I shut my laptop with more force than necessary. “I’m serious, Declan. Whatever game you think you’re playing, stop. It’s not funny.”

His eyes softened, but his mouth curved into that infuriating half-smile again. “It’s not a game, Willow.”

“Then what is it?”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at me like he was trying to read every thought in my head.

The silence stretched, heavy and complicated, until my phone buzzed with a message from Jacob: Outside.

I grabbed my bag, heart pounding for reasons I didn’t want to name, and walked out without another word.