Page 44 of The Focal Point

I OPENED THE CAR DOOR for Bailey and watched for only a moment as she struggled to get out of my low car, hands full with the pie box she had brought before I reached down to help her up.

“Thanks,” she murmured, a shy smile on her face that blossomed as, on impulse, I drew her head toward me and kissed the top.

“Just to keep me until after the barbecue,” I explained.

Bailey’s laugh was quiet, her cheeks pink as her gaze swept Tom’s front yard. But despite all the cars lined up along the driveway and sidewalk, it was empty, faint noises coming from the back of the house. And smells—my mouth watered at the scents wafting to us over the breeze. I could tell already this was going to be a good dinner.

But clutching the pie box to her, Bailey still seemed hesitant, her teeth sunk into her lower lip. This was the first time we had been out together on something other than a date in front of people we knew. Granted, they were mostly people I knew, but it was a step for both of us.

We had talked and agreed that if anyone asked, we wouldn’t define what we had, mostly because we hadn’t defined it for ourselves yet. We were taking things slowly for Bailey’s sake—she was still skittish about anything involving a relationship. Someday, if I ever got the chance, I was going to deck her ex.

But, also, we were both busy professionals. My company was preparing for another launch and a possible expansion, and work had picked back up for Bailey, so she was doing multiple projects besides mine. We hadn’t had much time to spend together, though we had made the best of it when we could, which hadn’t been often since she had begun the project on the third house.

The result was though something had grown between us, we hadn’t figured out exactly what yet. And I was fine with that—I was content as long as the path led forward. I didn’t need to define anything right now, and I didn’t care what the people at the barbecue thought or asked. The only thing they would get was the truth.

However, Bailey’s hesitancy told me she didn’t quite feel the same way.

“Hey.”

Her gaze moved slowly to me, finally focusing on my face instead of whatever was happening inside her head, and I offered her a smile.

“It’ll be fine. These are good people—they don’t care what’s happening between us. I hired each one of them, remember?”

Bailey’s tight smile was more of a grimace, and I draped an arm across her shoulders to move us toward the house.

The party was in the extensive backyard, the executive team members milling around the grass, talking, laughing, and enjoying the spring sunshine. Not that it was ever truly frigid in Sacramento, but it didn’t mean we couldn’t enjoy a gorgeous 70-degree day.

Scout was the first to see us, barreling across the yard to knock into me with all his awkward puppy force, ears and tongue lolling. I laughed, scratching him behind the ears.

“There he is.” Our CFO, Jordan, greeted me by lifting her bottle of beer. “Always has to make an entrance.”

I opened my mouth to quip a reply, but Bailey beat me to it.

“Sorry, that’s my fault. I wanted to bring something but didn’t have time to pick it up earlier.”

At Bailey’s words, Jordan’s gaze moved from me to the woman beside me. Her cheeks were slightly pink, her tone hesitant and apologetic as she clutched the pie box to her. Everyone’s attention was on Bailey now, conversations quieted as they realized I had actually brought someone with me.

My arm tightened around Bailey’s shoulders, and I pulled her into my side, a clear sign of our relationship to one another without actually defining it. “Everyone, this is Bailey Page.”

“Oh, yeah.” Jordan’s face cleared. “She’s the one who did Tom’s office and guest room, right? Nice to meet you.” She was the first to come up, her hand extended toward Bailey, who took it awkwardly around the box. The others followed.

“I’ve also done work—I’m doing work—on Liam’s houses.”

“Houses, plural?” My assistant Gloria had come up to give Bailey a motherly hug in greeting, but she arched an eyebrow at me as she pulled away, and I shrugged.

Damn it, I cursed. I hadn’t thought about that question or how I would answer it.

“Hey, Liam, you made it.”

Tom saved me from an explanation, coming around the corner of the house lugging a propane tank, Scout dancing around his legs in an entirely unhelpful way.

“Scout, seriously?” he asked with a sigh of resignation, having narrowly avoided tripping before he returned his attention to me. Tom opened his mouth to say something more, then snapped it shut when he spied Bailey.

For a moment, his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. But he recovered quickly, pasting a smile on instead as he left the tank and came toward us to exchange a side hug with Bailey.

“Hey, good to see you. How are you doing?”

“Good. Busy,” she replied, happy to see another familiar face.