Page 37 of One Reckless Night

She chuckled softly. “I’ve noticed.”

“It’s not that I don’t care,” I continued, surprising myself with how much I was willing to share. “I just don’t see the point in pretending to be something I’m not. If people can’t handle me being direct, then they can leave. It’s less complicated that way.”

Amelia nodded slowly. She was looking at me with an intensity that made me feel exposed. “I understand that. But have you ever considered that maybe you use that directness as a shield? A way to keep people at a distance?”

I frowned. “That’s presumptuous.”

“Is it?” She sipped her wine. “I’ve met people like you before. Brilliant minds who find it easier to push others away than to let them in. It’s safer that way, isn’t it?”

“And what about you? You spend all your time in the lab, you don’t date, you moved across an ocean for a job. Are you really in a position to analyze me?”

She laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Touché. I suppose we’re both a bit broken, aren’t we?”

The thunder boomed outside, rattling the windows. Amelia flinched slightly, her hand tightening around her wine glass. I noticed but didn’t comment.

She didn’t offer much about her own life. I could tell there was something she wasn’t saying, something she was holding back, but I didn’t push. Not yet.

Something about Amelia made me want to keep talking.

“My brother’s kids are probably the only children I can stand for more than five minutes,” I said, reaching for another slice of cheese. “They’re smart and honest, which is more than I can say for most adults. The older one, Emily, she’s nine and already building robots. The younger one’s obsessed with bugs.”

“You sound like a proud uncle.” Amelia smiled.

I nodded. “I am. I spoil them rotten whenever I see them. Buy the loud toys, fill them with sugar, then send them home. Unfortunately, my schedule keeps me pretty busy, and I can’t spend as much time with them as I would like. And my brother lets me know just how much it irritates him.”

She tucked her legs underneath her on the couch. “There’s just never enough time.”

“I love those kids, but I don’t want any of my own,” I said. “Never have. Some people are meant to be parents. I’m not one of them.”

I watched her face carefully, waiting for the reaction I usually got—disappointment, shock, the immediate mental calculation of whether I was worth pursuing if children weren’t on the table. But Amelia’s expression didn’t change. She just nodded thoughtfully.

I didn’t elaborate on why, but the truth was, it came down to trust. I didn’t trust myself to be the kind of father a kid deserved. Not after everything that had happened.

The storm sounded like it was beginning to ease, the rain slowing to a gentle patter. Amelia yawned, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. I felt a pang of disappointment. I didn’t want the night to end. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so comfortable with someone. She seemed to understand me in a way other people didn’t.

“Do you want a blanket?” I asked.

“That would be nice. I haven’t slept well the last couple of days. I’m ready to pass out.”

I stood, grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch. She took it, her fingers brushing against mine. I felt a jolt of electricity at the contact. She hesitated, her eyes meeting mine, and for a moment, I thought she might say something. But then she looked away, her cheeks turning red.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you the other night,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

I froze. I knew I should apologize, tell her it was a mistake, but the truth was, I wasn’t sorry. Not even a little bit. Instead, I bit my tongue, forcing myself to stay calm.

“You’re an exceptional scientist, Amelia,” I said. “The people who doubted you in the past are going to eat their words when you win a Nobel prize.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s not what I’m doing this for. I don’t need recognition or accolades.”

“Then why? Why did you go into this line of research?”

She hesitated, her expression thoughtful. “It’s just always been a part of who I am.”

I didn’t understand what she meant.

“You can sleep in the guest room,” I offered.

“I’m good right here,” she said. “I’m actually quite comfortable. This couch is divine.”

She nestled deeper into the blanket, pulling it up to her chin. Her hair was slightly disheveled. I hesitated for a moment. “Goodnight. If you get scared, I’m right upstairs.”

“I’ll be fine, thank you. For everything.”

“You’re welcome.”