The question came when Jay least expected it.
They were in the middle of a strategy meeting, the room full of department heads, when one of the senior managers laughed lightly and said, "You two seem very… in sync lately."
The room stilled—not awkward, just curious.
Jay felt her shoulders tense without realizing it.
Keifer noticed immediately.
He didn't rush. Didn't bristle. He simply leaned back slightly and said, calm and composed, "Good teams usually are."
That was it.
No defensiveness. No explanations.
The conversation moved on, but Jay's heartbeat took a moment longer to settle.
Later, when they stepped out together, she murmured, "That didn't bother you?"
Keifer glanced at her. "Why would it?"
"People talk."
"They always do," he said. "What matters is that you feel safe here."
She looked up at him, surprised by how easily he said it. "I do."
And she meant it.
That evening, the company celebrated landing a major deal.
The office buzzed with laughter, music low and warm, conversations overlapping. Jay stood with her friends, smiling, relaxed—something she hadn't been at work in a long time.
Keifer watched from across the room, pride quiet but unmistakable.
When someone clinked a glass and thanked the team, Keifer spoke only once. "This happened because people trusted each other."
Jay met his eyes across the room.
She felt seen.
Later, she found him by the balcony, city lights stretching endlessly behind him.
"You vanished," she said.
"I needed air," he replied. "And you?"
She leaned beside him. "I wanted to stand where you are."
He smiled at that.
"You were brilliant today," he added softly.
Jay shrugged. "I felt confident."
"That's new."
"No," she corrected gently. "That's you."
That night, long after the lights were off and the city quieted, they sat together in the living room, legs tucked under them, sharing silence that didn't need filling.
Jay spoke first. "Keifer?"
"Yes?"
"I'm scared sometimes."
He didn't interrupt.
"I've never had something this steady before," she continued. "And a part of me keeps waiting for the ground to shift."
Keifer turned to face her fully. "Jay."
She looked at him, vulnerable but honest.
"I can't promise the world will never shake," he said quietly. "But I can promise I won't let go when it does."
Her eyes softened. "That's all I ever wanted."
He reached for her hand, threading their fingers together. "I fell harder than I planned," he admitted. "Not because of anything dramatic. But because of who you are when no one's watching."
Jay leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "You know you've ruined me, right?"
He smiled faintly. "How?"
"My standards," she said softly. "They're somewhere near heaven now."
Keifer kissed the top of her head. "Good. Stay there with me."
She closed her eyes, warmth spreading through her chest.
And in that quiet—no audience, no titles, no expectations—Jay realized something simple and sure:
This wasn't just love at work.
Or love in private.
It was love that showed up everywhere.