Love Rents A Room
Chapter 205: Unintentional Intimacy

Chapter 205: Unintentional Intimacy

Jeffrey’s hand reached for her forehead but he stopped midway. If she had lost her trust in him, he will show her again and again how much he loved her.

First, he needed to schedule her a proper check-up. Her safety and privacy had to come before everything else. And then... the wedding.

He stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Letting the warm water run down over his shoulders and chest, he leaned against the tile, thoughts swirling. This wedding, wouldn’t be simple. Not because she didn’t deserve simplicity, but because he wanted to give her more. He needed the world to know he had chosen her. That he loved her. That he was hers. He wanted the gesture to match the depth of his love.

She might not want grandeur, but he needed to show her she was worth a thousand grand gestures.

When he returned to the bedroom, she had shifted, still asleep but turned toward the window now, brows slightly knit. He hesitated. Was she cold? Or uncomfortable? Or maybe...

Maybe she was hungry.

She’d only had a bowl of soup all day, which was barely enough for her. Joanne had always eaten well, never shy with her portions. He smiled faintly at the memory.

He made his way to the kitchen and found his grandmother there. She turned, saw him, and her face lit up with quiet amusement.

Without a word, she handed him a tray, already prepared.

"For your wife," she said, with the smallest spark of mischief in her eyes.

He stilled for a beat. Your wife.

He had called Joanne that earlier. Not fiancée. Not partner. Wife. It hadn’t been a slip.

He already held her that way in his heart.

He didn’t notice the teasing in his grandmother’s tone. All he could feel was a warm pulse in his chest.

"Thank you," he said, softly, and took the tray.

When he returned to the room, he placed the tray on the nightstand. He noticed something on the nightstand and paused.

The ring box sat there. Neat. Closed.

He stared. He had left it on the floor. She must have picked it up.

His fingers brushed over the velvet as he picked it up and held it to his chest. Did she look inside? What did she think? Was there hope in her silence, or had she already made her decision?

A thousand questions crowded his mind, but he pushed them away.

He sat beside her and gently laid a hand on her shoulder. "Jo," he whispered. "Eat something. Then sleep."

She stirred, her lashes fluttering open. Wordlessly, she sat up.

He reached for the tray and began plating the food. His grandmother had thoughtfully prepared dishes gentle on her stomach, knowing the toll morning sickness and exhaustion could take.

Joanne watched in silence as he moved. There was tenderness in every action—how he adjusted the tray, made sure the food wasn’t too hot, chose the pieces he thought she might prefer. It wasn’t just obligation. She knew that.

Even after everything she’d said, even after the distance and the hurt, he was still here, gently taking care of her.

She could have told herself it was because of the child. But her heart knew better.

He would have done this for her. Just for her.

A quiet thought slipped out of her mouth, barely audible. "I’m not a snowdrop anymore..."

Jeffrey looked up, but she wasn’t speaking to him. Her gaze was distant, almost wistful.

"I’ve turned into a sunflower," she murmured. And he... he had become her sun.

He didn’t catch all of it. But the way she said it stayed with him.

She ate, and he stayed with her, ensuring she had her fill. Then she used the bathroom and came back to bed, too tired to think or worry anymore. The weight of the past days, the anxiety of the unknown, finally gave way to rest.

She wasn’t able to sleep well the past few days back in her home because of the doubt that she might be pregnant. She couldn’t seek refuge from her trusted whiskey either. Somehow, she could rest deeply, not minding anything else on his bed.

Jeffrey moved quietly, taking the tray back, adjusting the covers, and charging her phone. Then he returned to her side, watching her face as if memorizing every line. Every freckle.

For months, he had longed for this—for her beside him.

And now she was here.

Yet... they lay as strangers, divided by unsaid words and unhealed wounds.

Still, she was here. With him.

And now... there were three of them.

Before he knew it, the ache in his chest softened into quiet warmth and he fell asleep beside the woman he still loved.

-----

In the soft hush of an early February morning, birds sang their tentative hymns to the waking world. Sunlight slipped past the curtains in golden streaks, spilling across the hardwood floor, inching its way toward the bed.

Joanne stirred.

After a full day of sleep and the warm, nourishing meal she’d managed to eat the night before, she felt better. Not just physically, but in that deeper, quieter place that had been worn thin.

But the view that greeted her startled her.

Jeffrey’s bare chest.

Warm. Solid. Rising and falling with the slow rhythm of sleep.

She was curled up against him, snug in the circle of his arms, her head resting near his shoulder, their legs loosely tangled. She didn’t remember falling asleep like this. Had she unconsciously leaned into him, craving warmth? Or had he reached for her in the middle of the night?

Either way... it had given her more than just heat.

It had given her rest. And clarity.

And when she looked, it looked like she was in his side of the bed. So, it was she who rolled to him in her sleep.

And now... she felt awkward. Yesterday’s words still echoed between them—I don’t know if I love you anymore. How did one share a bed after that? Even unintentionally?

She gently tried to shift out of his arms.

But then his eyes opened.

Still clouded with sleep, hazel and green like dappled forest light, his gaze locked with hers. Surprise flickered in them, like he, too, had just realized how close they were.

Joanne blinked.