His Secret Addiction

Chapter Thirty-Five

Damien's POV

Three months after selling my shares, I woke up at nine without an alarm.

Alex was already up, working in the office. I could hear him on a video call, explaining something about brand metrics to a client. I made coffee and sat at the kitchen counter, scrolling through emails that didn't require immediate responses.

My calendar was empty. Again.

It still felt strange. Three months in and I hadn't adjusted to having nothing scheduled. No meetings, no board calls, no crisis demanding my attention.

Alex finished his call and came out looking frustrated.

"Client wants to change direction completely after we've already done three rounds of revisions," he said, pouring coffee.

"Fire them."

"I can't just fire a client."

"Why not? They're wasting your time. Time you could spend on clients who actually value your work."

He considered it. "That feels too simple."

"Business is simple. People make it complicated." I pulled him onto the stool next to me. "You're allowed to say no to bad clients. That's the whole point of working for yourself."

"When did you get so wise about this?"

"When I stopped running a company and started watching you run yours." I kissed his temple. "Fire them. Casey can handle the transition."

He pulled out his phone and typed an email. Hit send before he could overthink it.

"Done," he said. "That felt good."

"It should. Now what?"

"Now I have an unexpected free afternoon." He looked at me. "What are you doing today?"

"Nothing. As usual."

"Want to do nothing together?"

"Always."

We ended up at a farmers market in Union Square.

Same one we'd visited months ago. Alex bought apples again, testing different varieties. I carried the bags, same as before. It felt routine now. Comfortable.

"I've been thinking," Alex said while examining peaches.

"About?"

"Moving. Somewhere bigger. Your apartment is great but it's still just yours with my stuff crammed into it." He set down a peach. "We could find a place that's ours. From the start."

I hadn't thought about moving. The apartment had been mine for eight years. But he was right. It was my space that he'd adapted to, not something we'd built together.

"What kind of place?" I asked.

"I don't know. More space. Maybe an office for each of us. Somewhere we both choose." He looked at me. "Unless you're attached to this place."

"It's an apartment. I'm attached to you." I took the peach from his hand and added it to our bag. "Let's look at places."

"Really?"

"Really. We can start looking this week."

He smiled, the kind that reached his eyes. "Okay. Let's do it."

We looked at six apartments over the next two weeks.

The first was too modern. All glass and metal and no character. The second was too small. The third had great space but terrible light. The fourth was perfect except for the neighbors who fought loudly enough to hear through the walls.

The fifth was in Brooklyn. A brownstone that had been converted into three units. Top floor, two bedrooms, exposed brick, massive windows that let in afternoon sun.

"This could work," Alex said, walking through the second time.

"Could or should?"

"Should. Definitely should." He opened a closet. "This could be storage for your architecture books. That room could be my office. The other one yours."

"We'd be working from home together every day."

"Is that a problem?"

"No. Just different." I looked around. High ceilings, original hardwood, a kitchen big enough for both of us to cook without bumping into each other. "I like it."

"Me too."

We put in an offer that afternoon. It was accepted by evening.

**********************

Moving took three weeks.

I didn't realize how much stuff I'd accumulated until we started packing. Alex was worse. Books everywhere, clothes he forgot he owned, kitchen gadgets he'd bought and never used.

"Why do you have three coffee makers?" I asked, finding them in a cabinet.

"Different brewing methods. They serve different purposes."

"We use one."

"The others are backups."

"That's not how backups work."

Casey helped us pack during her lunch breaks. She and Alex had developed an easy rhythm. She handled his schedule, managed client communications, and occasionally told him when he was being unreasonable about deadlines.

"You're good with her," I observed one afternoon while we packed books.

"She's good at her job. Makes it easy." He taped a box shut. "I'm thinking about hiring someone else. Another consultant. Someone with experience I can learn from instead of just delegating to."

"That's growth."

"That's terrifying. What if I hire wrong?"

"Then you fix it. Stop expecting perfection." I handed him another box. "You're building something real, Alex. Let it grow."

We moved in on a Saturday.

Marcus and Victoria showed up to help despite us not asking. Tom brought his truck. Casey brought coffee and organized everything with military precision.

By evening the furniture was in place and boxes were stacked in mostly correct rooms. Everyone left around eight and Alex and I stood in the middle of our new living room surrounded by chaos.

"We have a place," he said.

"Our place."

"That's different than your place or my place."

"Very different." I pulled him close. "Good different."

We ordered pizza and ate it sitting on the floor because we hadn't unpacked plates yet. Drank wine from mugs because the glasses were buried somewhere in labeled boxes.

"This is ridiculous," Alex said, looking around at the mess.

"This is perfect."

"We're drinking wine from mugs."

"And it tastes exactly the same as it would from glasses." I refilled his mug. "Stop overthinking."

He leaned against me. "I'm happy here. In this mess. With you."

"Me too."

That night we assembled the bed. It took forty minutes and multiple arguments about which piece went where. The instructions were useless. Alex insisted we were doing it wrong. I insisted we were doing it fine.

Eventually we got it together. Put sheets on. Collapsed onto it.

"First night in our bed," Alex said, staring at the ceiling.

"In our apartment."

"Our home."

I turned to look at him. "Yes. Our home."

He rolled toward me. "I love you."

"I love you too."

We fell asleep in our new bedroom, in our new apartment, in the life we'd built together without planning it.

Morning came with sunlight through unfamiliar windows.

Alex was already awake, scrolling through his phone.

"Casey found another client," he said without looking up. "Tech startup, needs full rebranding. Big project."

"Are you taking it?"

"I'm thinking about it. Would mean hiring that senior consultant sooner than planned."

"So hire them."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that." I pulled him back down. "You're allowed to say yes to things, Alex. Not everything has to be carefully calculated."

He set his phone aside. "When did you become the spontaneous one?"

"When you showed me it was possible."

He kissed me.

"Let's make coffee," he said eventually.

"Let's unpack the kitchen first so we can actually find the coffee."

"Deal."