Updated Nov 2, 2025 • ~9 min read
Layla woke to sunlight streaming through the windows and the solid warmth of Garrett beside her.
For one sleep-hazy moment, she didn’t remember where she was. Then it all came rushing back—the hotel, the shared bed, the kiss, falling asleep in his arms.
She turned her head slightly and found him already awake, propped up on one elbow, watching her with an expression so soft it made her heart ache.
“Morning,” he said quietly.
“Morning.” Her voice was rough with sleep. “How long have you been awake?”
“A while.” His hand was resting on her waist, thumb tracing lazy patterns through her shirt. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
“You were watching me sleep? That’s not creepy at all.”
His lips quirked. “You’re beautiful when you sleep. When you’re awake too, but there’s something about—” He stopped himself, looking almost embarrassed. “I’m being weird.”
“You’re being sweet.” She shifted closer, and his arm tightened around her. “I like this version of you.”
“What version?”
“Unguarded. Honest. Not constantly trying to push me away.”
Garrett’s expression clouded slightly. “We should probably talk about last night—”
“Don’t.” Layla pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t spiral into guilt and overthinking. Not yet. We have—” She glanced at the clock. “At least another hour before we need to worry about reality. Can we just… have this?”
He captured her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. “Yeah. We can have this.”
They lay there for a while longer, tangled together, comfortable in a way Layla had never experienced with anyone else. Eventually, Garrett’s stomach growled audibly, and she laughed.
“I guess we should think about breakfast,” she said.
“The hotel has a continental breakfast downstairs, but we’d have to be seen together—”
“Or,” Layla sat up, “this suite has a kitchenette. I saw coffee and some basics yesterday. We could make something here.”
Garrett sat up too, his hair adorably mussed. “You said you can’t cook.”
“I said I can’t cook well. There’s a difference. I can manage scrambled eggs without burning down the building. Probably.”
“That’s not confidence-inspiring.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
He grinned. “I’ll help. Between the two of us, we should be able to manage breakfast without disaster.”
Twenty minutes later, Layla was standing at the kitchenette counter, cracking eggs into a bowl, while Garrett made coffee. She’d changed into comfortable clothes—leggings and an oversized sweater—and her hair was piled in a messy bun with pieces escaping everywhere.
She felt Garrett’s eyes on her and looked up. “What?”
“Nothing. You just look—” He gestured vaguely. “Comfortable. Real.”
“As opposed to my usual fake self?”
“You know what I mean. At the resort, you’re always so put-together. Professional. This is different.”
“Better or worse different?”
“Better.” He poured coffee into two mugs. “Definitely better.”
Layla tried to focus on the eggs, but hyperawareness of Garrett moving around the small kitchen made concentration difficult. He was wearing sleep pants and a t-shirt, his hair still rumpled, looking more relaxed than she’d ever seen him.
“You’re staring,” he said without looking up from the toaster.
“You’re one to talk. You watched me sleep.”
“Fair point.”
The eggs were almost done when a strand of hair escaped Layla’s bun and fell across her face. She tried to blow it away while stirring, but it stubbornly remained.
Garrett appeared beside her, reaching out.
His fingers tucked the strand behind her ear, gentle and deliberate. But instead of pulling away, his hand lingered—fingers sliding down to cup her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek.
The gesture was so tender, so intimate, that Layla’s breath caught.
“Hi,” she whispered, even though he was right there.
“Hi.” His eyes were soft, searching hers. “Is this okay?”
“More than okay.”
He leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, and kissed her softly. Not the desperate kisses from last night, but something sweeter—like they had all the time in the world.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers. “I could get used to this.”
“Domestic breakfast making?”
“You. Like this. Just—us, without all the complications hovering.”
“We’re going to have to deal with the complications eventually.”
“I know.” He pressed another kiss to her forehead. “But not right now. Right now, we have eggs that are probably burning.”
Layla yelped and turned back to the pan, rescuing the scrambled eggs just in time. Garrett laughed—that full, genuine laugh she’d only heard a handful of times—and the sound filled the small kitchen with warmth.
They ate breakfast at the little table by the window, overlooking the ocean. It should have been awkward—the morning after they’d finally acknowledged this thing between them—but instead it felt natural. Easy.
“This isn’t terrible,” Garrett said, trying the eggs. “Actually pretty good.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“You told me you couldn’t cook!”
“I told you I usually burn things. This time I had supervision.” She smiled at him over her coffee mug. “Maybe I just needed the right cooking partner.”
Something shifted in his expression. “Layla—”
“I know. We need to talk about what happens next.”
“Yeah.” He set down his fork, suddenly serious. “We do.”
The comfortable bubble around them felt fragile suddenly.
“Okay,” Layla said. “Talk.”
Garrett was quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “Last night—this morning—all of it has been—” He paused. “Perfect. The most perfect thing I’ve experienced in years. Maybe ever.”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming.”
“But nothing changes the reality. Your father, the resort, the age difference—”
“I thought we were having an honest conversation. Those excuses are getting old.”
“They’re not excuses. They’re real concerns that we actually have to address if—” He stopped. “If we’re going to try to make this work.”
Layla’s heart jumped. “Is that what you want? To try?”
“Do you?”
“I asked you first.”
Garrett reached across the table, taking her hand. “I want this. More than I’ve wanted anything in a long time. But I need you to understand what you’re signing up for. We’ll have to be careful at work. We’ll eventually have to tell your father, and that conversation is going to be horrible. People will talk. They’ll say you got ahead because of me, they’ll judge the age difference, they’ll—”
“I don’t care what people say.”
“You will. When it affects your career, your relationships, your life—you’ll care.”
“Maybe. But I’ll care more about losing this.” She squeezed his hand. “Losing you.”
Garrett’s eyes closed briefly. When they opened, there was something raw and vulnerable in them. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to disappoint you. I don’t want to be the reason you have regrets.”
“Then don’t be. Be honest with me, communicate with me, choose me even when it’s hard—and we’ll figure out the rest.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“It could be. If we let it.”
He was quiet, studying their joined hands. “I’m forty-two years old, and you’re braver than I am.”
“So lean on me when you’re scared. Let me be brave for both of us sometimes.”
Garrett stood, pulling her up with him, and wrapped his arms around her. Layla melted into the embrace, her head on his chest, his heartbeat steady under her ear.
“Okay,” he said into her hair. “Let’s try. Really try. Not sneaking around, not pretending—actually try to make this work.”
Layla pulled back to look at him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He cupped her face with both hands, that gesture she was coming to crave. “But we do this right. We keep it quiet at work until we figure out how to handle it. We tell your father when the time is right, together. We’re careful, we’re honest, and we—”
“We give this a real chance,” Layla finished.
“Yes.”
She stretched up to kiss him, and he met her halfway—softer than last night’s desperate kisses but just as meaningful.
When they broke apart, Garrett was smiling. Really smiling. The kind of smile that reached his eyes and made him look years younger.
“What?” Layla asked.
“I’m happy. I haven’t been able to say that in a long time. But right now, with you—I’m happy.”
“Good. Me too.”
They cleaned up breakfast together, bumping into each other in the small kitchen, stealing touches and smiles. It felt like playing house, like a glimpse of something Layla wanted desperately—a future where this was normal, where they could have mornings like this without fear or guilt.
“We should probably get ready,” Garrett said eventually, glancing at the clock. “We have those meetings in an hour.”
“Back to reality.”
“For now.” He pulled her close one more time. “But we have this. And tonight, when we drive home, we’ll have three more hours to ourselves. And tomorrow—”
“We figure out how to navigate being together while working together.”
“It’s not going to be easy.”
“Nothing worth having ever is.”
He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being patient with me. For not giving up when I kept pushing you away. For being brave enough to want this despite all the complications.”
“Thank you for finally letting me in.”
An hour later, they were in the lobby, professional and composed. Layla in her work clothes, hair styled neatly. Garrett in his suit, director persona firmly in place.
To anyone watching, they were just colleagues who’d stayed overnight for business.
But when Garrett held the door for her on the way out, his hand brushed her lower back—brief and barely noticeable, but intentional.
And when she glanced back at him, the look in his eyes was anything but professional.
They had a long road ahead of them. Difficult conversations with her father. Judgment from coworkers. The constant fear of being found out.
But as they walked out into the morning sunlight, Layla realized something had shifted.
Last night, they’d stopped running from what they wanted.
Now they just had to figure out if wanting it was enough.
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