Chapter 36 - No More Pretending
The office was hushed at the end of the day, lanterns glowing low against the shelves stacked high with scrolls and ledgers. The faint smell of ink and old leather filled the air. Caelan sat behind his desk with his jacket unbuttoned, sleeves rolled back, pouring whiskey into two heavy glasses.
“You look like you could use this,” he said, sliding one toward Gideon without waiting for a reply.
Gideon sank into the chair opposite him, unfastening his cloak and rubbing at his neck. “Long day.”
“Patrol?”
“Aye.” Gideon took a sip, grimaced at the strength, then sighed. “First week back out there after months buried in reports. I swear I nearly forgot how bitter the wind feels when you are standing still for hours. Shield on your arm, eyes stinging, just waiting for some fool to try their luck.”
Caelan chuckled, lifting his glass in a small salute. “And here I thought you were settling nicely into office life. Quill in one hand, pastry in the other. Soft work for a hard man.”
“Never had a pastry belly,” Gideon muttered, though his mouth twitched as if he wanted to smile.
They drank in comfortable silence for a moment, swapping stories about mismanaged supply lines and the new recruits. Eventually Gideon cleared his throat. “And… Alena? How’s she doing?”
“She is healing,” Caelan answered, voice level. “Better with each day. And before you ask, yes, having a roommate is… oddly pleasant. Not what I expected. Sometimes it feels like I am babysitting a little creature who lives half in her romance novels, but it is good to have someone in the house. To come home and find it alive.” He gave a faint shrug, but there was warmth in his tone. Gideon nodded slowly. Then Caelan’s eyes narrowed with purpose, the way they did when he was lining up a strike.
“How about you, then? How much longer are you going to wait before you find someone of your own to come home to?”
Gideon nearly choked on his drink. He coughed, scowled, and waved a hand. “That’s— I’m fine. Truly. Do not start.”
Caelan poured them both a fresh measure of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the lamplight as he slid a glass across the desk. “Everyone knows, Gideon.”
Gideon frowned, lifting the drink but not yet sipping. “Knows what?”
“That you have a thing for Neia.”
The statement landed with all the weight of a battlefield command. Caelan leaned back in his chair, gaze steady, his tone more factual than teasing. “And she has a thing for you too. Do not insult both of you by pretending otherwise.”
The words struck clean and sharp. Gideon went rigid in his chair, his hand tightening around the glass until his knuckles whitened. His jaw worked once before he forced it still. His ears burned crimson. “She is… she is kind. To everyone. Maybe she’s only being polite.”
Caelan arched a brow, unimpressed. “That woman looks at you the way no one else does. If you do not see it, then you are a lot slower than I thought.”
Gideon let out a breath through his nose, half flustered, half wounded. He took a swallow of whiskey, hoping it would hide the way his heart was stumbling in his chest. Caelan leaned forward, voice low and steady. “Listen to me. She does not look at everyone the way she looks at you. Do you not notice how her eyes soften when she sees you? How she lingers by your side even when she has a dozen other places to be? You think it is one-sided, but it is not. She feels something too. Clear as day.”
Gideon’s lips parted, but no words came. Caelan pressed on, merciless. “Tell me the truth. Do you not get lonely? Walking her home every night, only to turn away at her door? Do you not wish, ache even, to follow her in? To sit with her, to stay? You cannot tell me you do not think about it.”
Gideon’s chest rose sharply. “I would never—” He broke off, groaning into his hand. His voice was rough when he admitted, “Fine. Yes. Maybe. Especially after that morning.”
“What morning?” Caelan asked, curious now.
Gideon dragged a hand down his face, ears scarlet, voice strained like it hurt to say it aloud. “When I woke up with her in my arms. I could feel her breathing against me, warm and trusting. Gods, Cael, it was torture. Like being given everything I’ve ever wanted, only to have it ripped away the moment she stirred. I lay there, holding her, knowing I had no right, no claim. It near split me in two.”
Caelan studied him with quiet amusement, then lifted a brow. “You poor bastard.”
But Gideon wasn’t finished. His expression softened, and slowly, he smiled like an idiot who didn’t care how foolish he looked. “Last time I walked her home… we held hands. Just for a while. And I thought my heart would burst clean out of my chest.”
Caelan let out a bark of laughter. “Gods above, you really are pathetic.” He shook his head with fond exasperation. “You are twenty-nine, not nineteen. Stop acting like a boy who has never kissed a girl before.”
“I have kissed girls before,” Gideon muttered, sulking into his glass.
“Not like her,” Caelan replied without hesitation. “Which is why you need to stop circling and start moving forward. Tell her. Or else you will keep tearing yourself apart, and for what? To keep pretending you do not want her? You will lose her if you do nothing. Sooner or later, some other man will see what you see, and she will not wait forever.”
Something sharp flashed across Gideon’s face. “…F’kin Finlay.”
Caelan blinked. “Who?”
“Forget it,” Gideon muttered, tossing back the last of his drink as if to drown the name. He stood, straightening his cloak. “I will think about it. That’s all I can promise.”
Caelan regarded him quietly, then gave a single nod. “Goodnight, Gidlet.”
“Goodnight,” Gideon murmured, slipping out the door.
When the room fell silent again, Caelan poured himself another measure of whiskey and allowed a small, knowing smile. Gideon was closer than he realized.
Saturday morning found Gideon sitting at his small kitchen table with Sir Pounceforth perched on the chair opposite, tail flicking lazily as if judging his human’s toast-to-egg ratio. Gideon absently tore a piece of bread and dropped it to the floor, lost in the hazy memory of Neia’s hand slipping into his the night he walked her home. He could still feel it, how her fingers fit between his, how the world seemed to shrink into that single point of contact. His lips twitched into a smile before he caught himself.
The sharp chime of his crystalink jolted him out of the thought. He picked it up, squinting at the screen. A message. From Neia.
She was telling him about some famous chef who had just released a cookbook. There was a signing that afternoon at the bookstore, complete with finger foods and drinks. Did he want to come with her?
Gideon sat up straighter without even realizing it. His pulse quickened, ears heating. Slowly, his gaze slid to Sir Pounceforth, who blinked at him with imperious indifference. “I need to get dressed,” Gideon muttered. The cat gave a slow blink that seemed more like disapproval than encouragement.
He stood in front of his closet longer than he’d admit, flipping through shirts and jackets as though the right one might leap out and announce itself. He hated the thought of fussing, but part of him wanted — no, needed — to look good for her. Impressive. Like someone she could actually see herself with. In the end, he sighed and reached for his usual casual wear, convincing himself that it was better not to overthink it.
On his way to the bookstore, his hands buried deep in his pockets, his mind looped back to the conversation with Caelan the night before. Was today the day? Could he even do it? Half a dozen different scenarios played out in his head, each one more mortifying than the last. Every word he rehearsed sounded ridiculous, every imagined expression on her face made his stomach knot. He gave up after a block, shaking his head at himself.
He was still lost in thought when a voice called his name. He turned, and there she was, Neia, waving with a bright smile that sent his heart stumbling. It was maddening, how easily she made him feel like a boy again. She ran up to him without hesitation, and before he could even manage a proper greeting, she slipped her arm through his. Gideon felt every muscle in his body stiffen in surprise, but she tugged him along with such cheerful ease that he forced himself to relax, though his ears burned.
The event itself passed in a blur. They stood shoulder to shoulder as the chef spoke, laughed together at his stories, and shared quiet remarks as they tasted the little finger foods set out on trays. When it was their turn, they had their cookbooks signed, Neia’s grin wide enough that Gideon caught himself watching her more than the famed chef.
Afterward, they drifted back into the streets, their steps falling into an easy rhythm. Gideon had just begun to think he could walk beside her like this forever when he felt a tug at his sleeve. He glanced down to see her tilting her head toward him, hazel eyes alight with hopeful mischief.
“Do you want to have some food and drinks with me? There’s a tavern I’ve been wanting to go to.” Her tone was casual, but her expression betrayed her anticipation.
Gideon’s throat went dry. Of course he wanted to. He always wanted to. But the words that slipped out betrayed his nerves. “I have no plans as usual.” The moment the sentence left his mouth, he regretted it, realizing how it made him sound like a man with no social life whatsoever. His ears went red.
Neia’s laugh rang out, light and pleased, and she squeezed his arm. “Perfect. Then you can keep me company.” She told him where the tavern was, her voice full of excitement, and Gideon followed her lead, his heart pounding harder with every step.
The tavern was lively but not overly packed when they first arrived. They found a tall table tucked into the corner, one of those narrow ones with high stools. Gideon, ever the gentleman, waited until Neia climbed up onto hers before settling on his own. But the moment she adjusted on the seat, her skirt rode up her thighs, and Gideon’s eyes went wide. Heat surged up his neck. Before he even thought it through, he was shrugging out of his jacket and holding it out to her, his voice low and awkward. “Here. In case you, ah, feel a bit chilly.”
Neia blinked at him, then giggled, soft and musical, the kind of laugh that made his chest tighten. She arched a brow at him but took the jacket anyway, draping it over her lap. “Thank you, Captain Thorne,” she teased. “Very gallant of you.”
He cleared his throat and busied himself with the menu, ears hot.
They ordered light food to share, nothing too heavy, and drinks to go with it. Neia wrinkled her nose after sampling the ale Gideon had chosen, pushing the mug away with mock dramatics. “I’ll never understand how anyone can drink that. It’s like bread that went wrong.” Gideon chuckled into his own glass. “It’s not so bad. But I had a feeling you’d be more of a sweet tooth.” She grinned at him over the rim of her glass of fruit liquor. “Caught me. Stronger, but worth it.”
The night wore on, the tavern filling with laughter and chatter. By the time a bard troupe started up near the stage, the place had grown warm and bustling, patrons clapping along and whistling. Neia’s eyes lit up. She set her glass down and all but bounced in her seat. “Gideon. Dance with me!” She grabbed his hand and tugged so suddenly that she nearly toppled from her stool, only for Gideon to steady her with quick reflexes.
His heart leapt. “I—” His face must have betrayed the panic instantly, because she laughed at him, her eyes dancing with mischief.
“It’s easy,” she said. “Just loosen up. No one’s here to judge.” And before he could protest, she tugged him toward the throng near the stage.
At first, it was all Neia, swaying, spinning, laughing with carefree abandon while Gideon stood rooted like a fortress in the middle of the floor. He looked utterly out of place, scanning the crowd like it was a battlefield. Neia pouted up at him, then seized his hands, forcing him into a twirl that nearly made him stumble. “You’re supposed to enjoy yourself!” she scolded lightly, her smile softening the words.
And slowly, impossibly, he began to. Tentatively at first, stiff shoulders and awkward movements, but the longer she coaxed him, the easier it became to simply follow her lead. Soon he was moving with her, not perfectly but enough, and her delighted laughter made him want to keep trying.
The music swelled, the crowd pressed tighter, and suddenly Gideon found himself close — too close — to Neia. The dancers around them jostled, bodies swaying and bumping, and he instinctively slid his arms around her to shield her from being pushed. His massive frame made a barrier, holding her safely against him. She tilted her head up, and he was too busy scanning the room to notice the way she studied him. The strong line of his jaw, the glint of his slate-grey eyes beneath the tavern lights, the sweat at his temple. Gorgeous, she thought. Absolutely gorgeous. And his arms… she could hardly stop herself from leaning into them. “You’re supposed to be dancing, Gideon,” she teased, her voice lilting with amusement.
“I am,” he muttered, though his feet had barely shifted.
She laughed softly, pressing closer, and her hands slid around his waist. “No, you’re guarding. Which is sweet, but not the point.”
His breath hitched, his entire frame tensing at her touch. He looked down at her, caught off guard by the warmth of her body pressed into his. Her face was so close he could see every detail. The curve of her lips, the sparkle of mischief in her hazel eyes.
Neia felt it. Oh, she felt every bit of his tension. It made her want to laugh, to kiss him, to tease him all at once. She tipped her head forward until it brushed his chest, and she swore she heard him curse softly under his breath. Gods, he was adorable. He’d guarded lives a dozen times over without so much as a flinch, yet here he was, unravelling because she chose to dance too close.
And she liked it. She liked that she could undo him.
With a sly little smile, she slipped her hands from his waist, turning in his arms until her back pressed to his chest. She guided his palms back to her hips, holding them there as she swayed with deliberate slowness. The music roared, the crowd laughed and spun, but Neia only heard the way his breath stuttered behind her, only felt the tremor that went through him as she ground ever so slightly against him.
“Neia,” he said, low and warning, his voice rough enough to make her shiver.
She angled her head, catching his storm-grey eyes over her shoulder, her lips curving with daring. “What?” she asked innocently, though her smile told him she knew exactly what she was doing. He clenched his jaw, his arms tightening instinctively as the crowd pressed closer, but it did nothing to disguise the heat in his gaze. For once, Neia didn’t look away. She held his stare, letting him see that she wasn’t teasing idly. She wanted him to break past whatever wall he’d built around himself.
But as much fun as it was to tease him, a flicker of guilt nudged her. Maybe she was being a little too relentless. Gideon wasn’t some roguish flirt; he was Gideon. Earnest, guarded, shy in ways he’d never admit. She turned back in his arms, facing him again, her smile gentler now. “My heels are killing me,” she confessed, giving him an apologetic little grin. “If I stay out here much longer, I might not be able to walk tomorrow.”
The words hit him like a splash of cold water. Relief and disappointment crashed together in his chest; thank the heavens she was calling it, yet gods, he hadn’t wanted it to end. Gideon straightened, forcing his voice steady even as the heat still burned under his skin. “Then let’s call it a night,” he said, the protective steadiness returning like armour sliding back into place. “I’ll walk you home.”
Neia’s eyes softened, her lips curving into that smile that always seemed to undo him anyway. He draped his jacket over her shoulders, and she slipped her hand into his as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and Gideon, still reeling, guided her out of the tavern and into the cool night air, his mind a mess of clashing thoughts he couldn’t begin to untangle.
The streets of Korth had quieted into their late-night hush, lanterns glowing in pools of gold along the cobblestone. Gideon walked beside Neia, every step measured, his hand in hers. He told himself it was just another night, just another walk home, but his chest had been tight since the tavern, his pulse unsteady as if the evening had left a current in the air that he could not shake.
They reached her door all too soon. Neia turned to face him, her smile soft, framed by the lanternlight.
“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice warm. “For always making sure I get home. You’re far too serious for your own good, you know that?”
Gideon gave a low laugh, but it sounded strained even to his own ears. He shifted his weight, searching for something to say, but his words snagged and fell apart when their eyes met. The quiet between them was different tonight. Too heavy. Too alive. His chest tightened. He leaned in before his mind caught up with his body, stopping just short, his face hovering ever so close to hers. His jaw clenched hard enough to ache, his fists curling helplessly at his sides. Neia didn’t flinch. She should have looked startled, flustered, but instead, her eyes held his like an invitation, daring him to keep pretending he didn’t want this.
Gideon leaned closer, breath hitching, then froze a hair’s breadth from her lips. His jaw locked like a man standing at the edge of a cliff. “If I do this,” he rasped, “I won’t be able to stop.”
Her smile turned playful, teasing yet sure, her eyes bright with that daring spark. “Then don’t.”
Before he could gather the courage, she closed the gap herself, pressing her lips to his with sudden, deliberate boldness. The shock of it nearly undid him, but instinct roared louder than thought, and Gideon caught her face in his hands like he’d dreamed of doing for months. He kissed her back fiercely, desperately, as if he’d drown without her. Neia deepened the kiss on purpose, tugging at his hair, pressing herself flush against him so he had no space left to retreat into shyness. Her fingers splayed against his chest, sliding up to his collar, pulling him down to her height, tempting him to lose control.
A groan tore out of him, low and unguarded, as her smile curled against his mouth. Gods, she knew what she was doing to him. Every time he tried to steady himself, she pulled him further, her lips parting under his, her hand tracing the line of his jaw like she was memorising him. When he broke the kiss to breathe, she nipped his lower lip with a wicked little grin. The spark of it went straight to his gut, and suddenly she was pressed against the door, his broad frame braced over her as if instinct had taken command. It was everything he had dreamed of and everything he had feared; her lips, warm and yielding, the way she clung to him, the way he felt her smile against his mouth. It was too much and not nearly enough. His body shook with the effort to hold himself back, but she only angled her head to give him more, her pulse fluttering beneath his lips.
He broke away with a shudder, forehead pressed to hers, chest rising and falling like he’d run himself to the brink. The words were there, on his tongue. Words he had bitten back for weeks, months, until they almost choked him. Now they clawed their way out.
“I don’t want another night pretending I don’t love you.” His voice cracked with the force of it. His hands framed her face, thumbs brushing her flushed cheeks. “I love you, Neia. I love you.” The second time was hoarse, raw, almost broken, as though one confession wasn’t enough to release the weight of holding it in for so long.
Her eyes glistened, her smile both tender and triumphant. She cradled his face as if it was something precious. “About damn time. I thought all my hints had flown right over your head, beyond Korth, all the way back to Faerûn.” Then her voice softened, trembling with warmth. “I love you too, Gideon Thorne. And gods, I’ve fallen so far for you. Too far.”
The thought hit him so hard it nearly stole the breath from his lungs. She’s been waiting for me this whole time.
Something inside him gave way at her words. His arms crushed her against him, his lips grazing her temple, her ear, her throat like he couldn’t breathe unless he touched her. His voice came low and hoarse, the last of his restraint slipping. “Don’t send me away tonight. Please.”
Her breath shivered against his skin, her hand sliding to the back of his neck. “Then don’t go.”
She opened the door, tugging him inside. His jacket slid from her shoulders to the floor, forgotten, as the door shut softly behind them, leaving the lanternlight burning on the empty step.