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“They sound and smell delicious.” I tilted to the side and pushed up onto my toes to see if I could catch sight of them in the kitchen, but the window to the room wasn’t wide enough. “I’m sure everyone’ll be excited to try them.”

“Really? It’s not against your diets or whatever? And before you ask how many calories are in them, I have no fucking clue. I don’t remember if the recipe provided that info and if it did, I’ve made so many changes, it wouldn’t matter.”

“I think only Kean and I take the trainers dietary recommendations seriously. And even then, a couple of cookies won’t hurt.”

“Hopefully they’re worth it. The dark chocolate is a new addition. Apparently it’s good for your health or some shit.” She let go of me and went to the couch, plopping down before patting the cushion beside her. “We’ve got five-ish minutes to kill, so go ahead and sit down.”

“So,” I said, carefully sitting next to her with just enough space between us to not feel awkward. “This is your place, huh?”

“Oh, right, you haven’t been here before. Um … I’d offer you a tour, but I kinda don’t wanna be on my feet more than necessary.”

“Here.” I grabbed her legs and pulled them onto my lap. Rolling up the legs of her romper, I massaged her calves.

“Oh, that’s …” She shuffled to fully settle in and let her head fall back over the arm rest. “That’s so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” I said, chuckling. “We do a lot of massage therapy as sort of muscle upkeep, so I’ve picked up on some things.”

“Damn, one of your job perks is regular massages?”

“I’m not sure I’d call it a perk, so much as maintenance so I perform well.” As I made my way down to her ankles, I rested her feet on my forearms and tried to memorize how her foot fit so I could measure the space and get her foot size. She never sent me her size even after saying I could buy her socks and if she already doesn’t want to be on her feet, I need to order those socks with expedited shipping.

“Do you have a foot fetish I should know about?” Leah asked, poking my arm with her toe.

“No. I was trying to figure out your shoe size so I can order you those compression socks.” When she didn’t respond immediately, my eyes shot to her, worry gnawing at my bones. “Or I’ll just send you the link so you can order them yourself. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she grumbled, nudging me with her toes again. “I just forgot about it. Maybe a medium and a large, just to be safe.” She looked down at her knees, chewing at her lip for a second before saying, “Sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t get me the most basic gift of all time.”

“It’s okay,” I said instinctively. “We both had reasons to not … start a relationship, of any kind. You were just doing what you needed to feel safe. I just hope … I can make you feel safe one day. Platonically or otherwise.”

I kept my gaze on her leg, kneading out some tension in her calf. It would hurt if she didn’t want more, if she wasn’t willing to make it work. But her well-being came first in every sense of the word. Honestly, it was wild for me to even ask with everything else she had going on.

Determined to not pressure her anymore, I rolled her pant legs back down and shifted to move her off me. But as I lifted her legs, she pushed them back down.

“I think I like you, Niall. And I haven’t liked anyone, for more than a night, in a really, really long time. I don’t know what to do on a general scale, let alone with my trauma.”

“I don’t know what to do either. And the only thing I can blame it on is … being a workaholic. My schedule, my career, our situation, our possible relationship wouldn’t be normal, even without our …” My brows furrowed as I tried to think of the right word for the things that scared us.

“Hangups? Baggage?” Leah offered.

“I guess so.” I shrugged. “But I still want to try to make it work.”

“I do too,” she said softly. “We just need to start small.”

“Small?” I repeated, hands twitching to reach out and hold hers.

“I don’t know,” she groaned, letting her head fall back and sort of stomping her feet against me. “Stop asking me hard questions. I spent a lot of mental energy debating if this was a good decision or not. I can’t think any more.”

The frustrated puffs she made as she pouted were cute and without letting myself think too much, I leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose. Then, resting my forehead against hers, asked, “Is that good?”

“Is that another question?” she huffed. I sat back and laughed.

“You can’t expect me to ask no questions. I need to know if I’m doing something you don’t like.”

“Well, for the next … forty-eight hours, assume if I’m not smacking you, you’re good.”

My eyes fell on her lips and I suddenly remembered I hadn’t kissed her in roughly fourteen weeks. That thought propelled me forward, leaning over our legs to catch her lips. Her hands went to the collar of my shirt, tugging until I was nearly horizontal on top of her, mouth falling open so our tongues could meet.

There were so many things I wanted to ask her. I wanted to know about her family, the hobbies that decorated her living room, her favorite food, if she had any thoughts on baby names. And there were the practical things we needed to discuss, things that would ideally end with me … living here maybe or her with me or a new place for all of us. Even if I was in a spare room, it’d make caring for the baby easier. I’d be around for when Leah needed a break, there wouldn’t be any travel between our places, we wouldn’t need two of everything.