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Kipp’s head tilts to the side. “There you go again, being decidedly laissez-faire about your space. Don’t you, I don’t know, like to be in charge of your possessions?”
I still, my entire body prickling with awareness before I shove the feeling away. Far away.
“With certain things,” I admit, heading past Kipp toward the bedroom. He follows, watching as I clear a drawer in my dresser. I go to the closet next, pushing everything to one side. “Better?”
“Yeah, thanks,” he says with a sheepish smile.
I nod, and Kipp walks with me back toward the kitchen.
“Do you ever do your software development from home?” I ask, pulling a few things from the fridge to make a smoothie.
He looks at me curiously. “You know about my job?”
“I do.” I’ve heard him talk to Niko about it.
“Well, no, it’s rare for me to work remotely,” he says, poking through one of his boxes. “In fact, I don’t do the coding side of things much anymore. I mostly deal with clients and coordinate projects amongst the staff.”
“So you’re in charge,” I note, popping some berries into the blender.
Kipp chuckles. “I mean, no. I’m not the boss. That’s Carly.”
“But it sounds like you keep everyone organized. I don’t think you’re nearly as much of a mess as you think you are, Kipp.”
He looks at me with a crinkled sort of smile. “Heh. Not sure about that.”
I shrug, powering on the blender. The yogurt and fruit mixes, the sound of it temporarily blocking out conversation. Once done, I dump the contents into two glasses, setting a reusable straw in one. I offer it to Kipp. “Here.”
“Oh. Thanks,” he says, accepting the drink. He takes a sip as I start cleaning out the blender. “Holy shit. Teddy. That’s good.”
I chuckle, although the sound he makes as he sucks down more of the smoothie has me feeling things I’d rather not think about. “Glad you like it.”
“Love it,” he says, tucking the cup in the crook of his arm as he brings some clothes down the hall.
I shake my head. “Stop it. He’s not yours.”
Kipp saunters back into the room, straw in his mouth. His cheeks hollow as he drinks.
Not. Yours.
“Should we cut the cake?” he asks.
I still. “What?”
Kipp motions to the white mini-monstrosity on the counter. “Our cake.”
I clear my throat and grab a knife, handing it over. “Have at it.”
“No. Teddy, you have to do it with me,” he pleads, apparently not caring that he’s systemically chipping away at every single wall I’ve so carefully erected. Hell, I’m pretty sure he knocked his way clean through the other night.
“Do I, though?” I ask weakly.
“Yes,” he says, tone firm. “I mean, shit, this might be the only time I ever get married. I want to do it right, you know?”
This man… He’s dangerous.
Blowing out a breath, I concede with a nod. “Fine. Let’s cut the cake.”
Kipp grins.
