CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE ALEXANDER'S POV

CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE

ALEXANDER'S POV

Monday evening I got home before Sophia. The framing photos from the day sat on my phone, but I waited to show her in person. When she walked through the door, I met her in the hallway and pulled her straight into a kiss.

“You look tired,” I said against her lips.

“Long board meeting.” She rested her forehead on my shoulder. “But I kept thinking about the frame. Show me what I missed today.”

I took her hand and led her to the couch, opening the photos. “They finished the second floor joists. The studio platform is framed exactly to your height spec. Look.”

Sophia scrolled through, her body leaning into mine. “It looks right. You kept the north windows unobstructed like I asked.” She turned to me, eyes soft. “You remember every detail I throw at you. That still surprises me. It makes me feel important to you in a way that goes deep.”

I slid my arm around her waist. “You are important. I stood on the lot today thinking about how the light will hit your work table. Your preferences live in my head now. I’m fascinated by how you balance being direct without being demanding. It makes me want to keep giving you control on the things that matter to you.”

She set the phone aside and turned fully toward me. “I want that control because you offer it so freely. Today during the meeting I caught myself sketching the studio layout on my notes instead of donor budgets. You’ve gotten inside my thoughts completely. I yearn for these evenings where I come home and you’re waiting with updates. It makes the hard days shorter.”

I brushed her hair back from her face. “Then keep coming home to me. I spent half the day wondering what you’d say about the joist spacing. Your eye makes the design better. I crave your input, Sophia. Not just on the build. On everything. I want to hear about your board meetings, your tough donors, the pieces that moved you today. All of it.”

Sophia’s hand rested on my chest. “You really want that? The full mess of my day?”

“Every bit.” I covered her hand with mine. “I like hearing how your mind works. You see people and art with this quiet clarity that fascinates me. It makes me hungry to know more of you. The version that fights for studio height and the version that sits through long meetings and still chooses to come here afterward.”

She smiled, small and real. “I do choose this. I told the board today I’d be stepping back from one committee so I can be on site more during sheathing. They weren’t happy, but I didn’t care. Because standing next to you while the walls close in feels more real than any meeting. I keep imagining the day we walk through the finished house and remember these weeks. That future with you pulls at me constantly now.”

The yearning hit me sharp and steady. I wanted her voice in every room, her opinions shaping our days, her body against mine at the end of them. “I feel the same pull. I think about carrying you over the threshold someday, then watching you claim every corner. You make me want to slow down the build just to savor doing it with you. Your strength, your honesty, the way you show up even when you’re tired it all fascinates me. Makes me crave you more each day.”

Sophia shifted closer, legs draping over my lap. “Then crave me. Because I crave you right back. The way you text me photos from the lot, the way you adjust plans without being asked, the way you listen like my words actually change things. It makes me want to open up more. To bring you to my next gallery install and ask what you see. To make you part of my world the same way you’re making me part of this .”

We talked while I heated dinner. She told me about the donor who pushed back on funding; I told her about the framer who suggested a better bracing detail. The conversation flowed easy, our knees touching under the counter.

“I like this,” she said, taking a bite. “Coming home and unloading the day with you. It feels natural already. Like we’re practicing for the house.”

“It does.” I reached across and took her hand. “I keep picturing us at the new kitchen table doing exactly this. You are telling me about foundation work, me showing you revised drawings. Then we moved to the couch where I can pull you close like this. That everyday life with you is what I’m building toward. I yearn for it more than the finished structure.”

Sophia squeezed my fingers. “I yearn for it too. The quiet nights where we don’t have to explain ourselves. Where I can crawl into your lap after a long day and just be. You make me feel safe to be tired, safe to be opinionated, safe to want more time with you. That safety is new for me. And addictive.”

After dinner we moved to the couch. She curled against my side, head on my shoulder.

“Tell me one thing you’re nervous about with the next phase,” I said.

“The roof going on too fast,” she admitted. “I want to be there for every stage. I don’t want to miss the moment the studio gets its ceiling. I want to stand inside it with you and feel how the height works.”

“You won’t miss it.” I kissed the top of her head. “I’ll make sure the schedule gives you time. Your presence on site changes how I see the work. You make me slower, more thoughtful. I’m fascinated by how you do that without even trying. It makes me want to be the kind of man who always considers you first.”

She looked up at me, eyes dark with quiet want. “You already do. That’s why I’m falling so fast. The way you include me, the way you touch me after we talk about concrete like it’s foreplay. This chemistry between us feels deep even if we’re still learning the edges. I like learning them with you.”

I pulled her fully into my lap, hands settling on her hips. “Then let’s keep learning. I want your thoughts at midnight and your body at the end of long days. I want to argue about cabinet depths and then kiss you when we agree. You’ve become the center of every plan I make, Sophia. Your laugh when something fits, your focus when it doesn’t. I crave all the versions of you.”

Her fingers threaded through my hair. “And I crave all of yours. The architect who adjusts for me. The man who waits with photos and kisses when I come home tired. The one who makes me want to protect this us, the build, the future we’re shaping one conversation at a time.”

We stayed tangled on the couch, talking softly about the week ahead, about sheathing, about her upcoming gala. Every word carried that steady undercurrent of yearning me wanting her mind, her time, her honest presence; her wanting the same from me.

Later, when we moved to bed, she pressed close immediately.

“I missed you today,” she whispered in the dark. “Even though we texted. I missed this. Coming home to someone who wants my full day and gives me his.”

“I missed you too,” I said, holding her tighter. “More than the build sometimes. You’re becoming my favorite part of every twenty-four hours. Your voice, your touch, the way you make ordinary evenings feel important. I’m completely gone for you, Sophia.”