Chapter 43
Thomas sat near the window, one hand resting on the edge of his chair, the other gripping a pen. He stared out at the skyline, his thoughts far removed from the towering buildings and bustling streets below.
“You’re not yourself today,” Marcus said without looking up, his tone casual but curious.
Thomas glanced at him, his jaw tightening. “I’m fine.”
Marcus’s fingers paused on the keys, his brow lifting.
“Fine?” He leaned back, folding his arms. “Come on, Thomas. I’ve worked with you long enough to know when something’s eating at you. Spill it.”
Thomas hesitated, weighing whether to share what had been circling his thoughts for weeks. He wasn’t a man who indulged in vulnerability—not in his personal life and certainly not in business. But Marcus was different.
“It’s Emma,” Thomas admitted finally, his voice low.
Marcus leaned forward, his elbows resting on the polished table as he studied Thomas intently. “I had a feeling,” he said, his tone neutral but laced with curiosity. “What about her?”
Thomas exhaled deeply, his hand running through his hair in a familiar gesture of frustration. “I think I fell for her.”
Marcus’s brow shot up. “Think?”
Thomas shot him a look, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Alright, I know. I have feelings for her. Strong ones. But it’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?” Marcus asked, genuinely intrigued.
Thomas shook his head, frustration evident in his movements. “She’s been through so much.” He exhaled again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Emma knows I care about her. I told her as much, but I also told her I wouldn’t push. She doesn’t need that right now.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow. “And how’s that going for you? Keeping it all bottled up?”
Thomas let out a humorless laugh. “Not well. Because I’ve realized it’s not just… admiration or a passing thing. It’s love, Marcus. I’ve fallen for her, and it’s bad. Really bad.”
Marcus leaned back in his chair, his brows furrowing in thought.
“So, what’s stopping you? Besides her history with Alex and the obvious chaos of her life?”
Thomas shook his head, his jaw tightening. “Everything. She’s been through hell and back—the accident, the twins, the Diaz nightmare. She’s trying to rebuild her life one piece at a time. The last thing she needs is me adding to the pressure with my feelings.”
Marcus considered him for a moment before speaking. “You think telling her would make things harder?”
Thomas nodded, his expression somber. “She deserves space to figure out what she wants without me clouding things. I want her to be happy, Marcus. Even if it’s not with me.”
There was a beat of silence as Marcus regarded him. “That’s noble and all, but you know what they say about timing. Wait too long, and someone else might step in.”
Thomas’s jaw clenched, a flicker of jealousy flashing across his face before he quickly buried it. “If that’s what happens, then that’s what happens. Her happiness is all that matters.”
Marcus sighed, shaking his head. “You’ve got it bad, man.”
“Yeah,” Thomas admitted quietly, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken hope. “I really do.”
“Or,” Marcus countered, “you could be the thing that makes her life better. Maybe she hasn’t thought about it because she’s been too busy surviving. But maybe—just maybe—she needs to know there’s someone in her corner who feels something real for her.”
Thomas sighed, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t want to risk hurting her.”
Marcus leaned back, nodding slowly. “Fair enough. But you can’t keep bottling this up, Thomas. If you do, it’s going to eat away at you.”
The warning landed heavier than Marcus likely intended, but Thomas didn’t respond.
Across the city, Emma stood in her living room, surrounded by boxes of baby supplies. The scent of freshly laundered baby clothes lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of coffee from the mug she had abandoned on the table.
She folded a small blanket, her movements slower than usual. Her mind was restless, turning over thoughts she didn’t know how to process.
Thomas had been different lately. Subtly, but undeniably.
She had always felt his support—his steady, unwavering presence through every crisis. But now, there was something else, something deeper that lingered in the way he spoke to her, the way he looked at her.
It wasn’t unwelcome, but it was unsettling.
Her phone buzzed on the table, and she picked it up, smiling faintly when she saw Thomas’s name.
“Hey,” she answered, tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder as she returned to folding.
“Hey,” Thomas said, his voice warm. “How’s the great baby-prep operation going?”
“Chaotic,” Emma admitted with a laugh. “I think I’ve spent more time trying to figure out the instructions for this crib than actually assembling it.”
Thomas chuckled softly. “Want some help?”
Emma hesitated, the offer catching her off guard. “You’d really come over to help with a crib?”
“Of course,” he said without hesitation. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
True to his word, Thomas arrived quickly, his presence filling the small apartment with an ease that made Emma’s tension melt away. He carried a toolbox in one hand and wore a slightly bemused expression.
“Alright,” he said, surveying the pile of parts and incomprehensible instructions. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
Emma couldn’t help but laugh as they tackled the project together. Thomas’s determination to decipher the manual was both impressive and endearing, and despite the challenges, they made progress.
At one point, Thomas handed her a piece of wood, their hands brushing briefly. The contact was fleeting but enough to make Emma’s breath hitch. She glanced at him, but he was already focused on the next step, his jaw set in concentration.
As they finished the assembly, Emma leaned back against the couch, a small, tired smile playing on her lips. “Well, that only took… forever.”
Thomas chuckled, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Forever, but worth it. It looks sturdy enough to survive anything.”
Emma laughed, the sound soft and genuine. “Thank you.”
He sat beside her on the floor, his expression thoughtful. “You don’t have to thank me, Emma. I’m happy to help.”
Their eyes met, the air between them thick with unspoken words.
Thomas hesitated, his heart pounding in a way that felt foreign to him. This wasn’t a boardroom negotiation or a strategic move—it was raw, vulnerable, and terrifying.
“Emma,” he began, his voice low, “there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”
She tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowing. “What is it?”
But as he looked into her eyes, he saw something that stopped him—traces of pain, of unresolved emotions that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with Alex.
He swallowed hard, forcing a small smile. “I just… I’m proud of you. For everything you’ve done, everything you’ve overcome. You’re incredible, Emma.”
Her expression softened, and she reached out to squeeze his hand. “Thank you, Thomas. That means more than you know.”
As the moment passed, the tension eased, but a flicker of confusion lingered in Emma’s mind. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Thomas had been holding something back—something significant.
Later that evening, as Emma stood in the nursery admiring their handiwork, her thoughts drifted again to Thomas.
Why does it feel like there’s more to this?
The question lingered, unanswered, as Emma’s heart wrestled with the growing realization that her bond with Thomas might not be as simple—or as platonic—as she had believed.
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