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Chapter Text

__________________________

We'll wait and see

A few days more

There may be something there that wasn't there before

________________________

Rebecca's desk looks like a paper monsoon swept through her office and decided to take up permanent residence. The coffee table that she has now taken up residence at isn't faring much better. 

Fabric swatches in varying shades of black, white, and silver compete for space with vendor contracts, seating chart drafts that she has started and restarted so many times the page numbers no longer make sense, and at least three different catering menus that all somehow fail to adequately address the dietary restrictions of 150 VIP donors. Her laptop displays a color-coded timeline that has more red "URGENT" flags than any single document should reasonably contain.

She's been staring at lighting design mockups for the past forty-five minutes, trying to determine whether "moonlight silver" and "champagne silver" are actually different colors or if the vendor is simply taking the piss.

Her reading glasses slip down her nose for the second time in ten minutes. A strand of hair escapes her previously meticulous hair. She shoves it back with more force than necessary, taking the frustration out on herself.

Eight weeks. She has eight weeks to pull off An Evening in Silhouette – the most exclusive, high-stakes donor event AFC Richmond has attempted in years. One hundred and fifty ultra-wealthy guests expecting perfection. A silent auction featuring items she's had to personally source and verify. A multi-course dinner that has to accommodate everything from vegans to guests with shellfish allergies to one particularly difficult board member who apparently only eats foods that are white.

She should have hired an event manager.

The knock on her door is gentle enough that she almost misses it over the sound of her own frustrated paper-shuffling.

"Come in," she calls, not looking up from the seating chart that is absolutely not going to solve itself no matter how hard she glares at it.

"Hey there."

Ted's voice is warm, familiar in a way that makes something in her chest settle. She glances up to find him in her doorway, a box of biscuits in one hand and that ever-present smile on his face. Though the smile falters slightly as he takes in the state of her office.

Things have been different between them since he decided to stay. Since a conversation in her office after she'd been vulnerable in a way she rarely allows herself to be, asking – no, begging –him not to leave. Since he'd been equally as vulnerable after a long painful silence, and told her everything his mother had said and done and then admitted all of his greatest fears to her. Since she'd held back all her unhelpful thoughts about his mother and helped him make a plan instead. Since he'd finally looked at her with those steady brown eyes and accepted her offer. 

They've been spending more time together, their daily check-ins stretching longer, conversations drifting from football to everything else. She has learned to read the subtle shifts in his expressions, knows when the cheerfulness is genuine versus performed. And Ted…well, he seems to see her in ways that still catch her off guard.

"That's, uh..." He steps inside, letting the door close behind him. "That's a lot of paperwork there. Especially this early."

Rebecca straightens on the sofa, painfully aware of how she must look. "Just the usual event planning chaos. Nothing I can't handle."

Ted moves closer, his eyes scanning the organized disaster that is her workspace. He hands her the biscuits after searching the table for an open space and coming up empty.

"What's the event?"

"The VIP donor gala." She gestures vaguely at the materials surrounding her. "Very exclusive, very expensive, very..." She pauses, searching for the right word. "Everything."

"That's right. I remember now. You got a name for it yet?"

Rebecca nods, reaching for one of the design mockups. "An Evening in Silhouette."

Ted tilts his head, considering before he nods. "That's real nice. What's the theme?"

"Black tie. Everything black and white – attire, décor, florals, maybe even the menu." She shows him the mockup, all elegant monochrome sophistication. 

"Five-course dinner, silent auction, live music. A hundred and fifty of the wealthiest, most influential donors Richmond AFC has." She tries to keep her tone light, professional. "Eight weeks away."

He lets out a low whistle. "Sounds fancy."

"It is….well, hopefully."

Ted is quiet for a moment, and she watches his gaze move from her face to the desk and back again before he slowly takes a seat on the sofa a few cushions away. 

"How many people you got helpin’ with this?"

Rebecca feels her jaw tighten. 

"Leslie handled the initial venue booking and compiled a list of appropriate vendors. Keeley's managing some PR for sponsors and such. But the actual planning – coordinating all the details, managing the vendors, arranging the auction items, finalizing the menu, the seating charts, the timeline, the –" She cuts herself off, hearing the edge creeping into her voice. "That's me."

"Just you," Ted says quietly.

"Yes. Just me. It's fine." She shuffles the seating charts into a neater stack, giving her hands something to do. "I've planned dozens of events. I know what I'm doing."

"I don't doubt that for a second." Ted's voice is gentle, careful. "But this seems like...well, it seems like the kind of thing that usually has a whole team behind it. One of those event management companies or whatever."

Rebecca's hands still on the papers. She closes her eyes briefly, then meets his gaze.

"I should have hired an event manager. I know that. But by the time I fully realized the scope of what I had actually planned – the expectations, the sheer number of moving pieces, the level of detail these donors expect – it was too late. The event is in eight weeks. No professional event planner would take on something this size with such short notice. So here we are." 

The frustration in her voice is evident now, impossible to hide. Frustration at herself, mostly. At her own hubris for thinking she could simply add this to her already overwhelming workload. At her failure to ask for help before it became too late to get any.

"Let me help."

The words are so simple, so genuine, that for a moment Rebecca isn't sure she's heard him correctly.

"You?"

Ted nods, his expression earnest. "I mean, I know I'm no fancy event planner. But I've organized plenty of fundraisers – booster club dinners, charity auctions, community events. Different scale, sure, but same basic principles, right? So I'll at least understand whatever needs done. And I can follow a timeline, make phone calls, wrangle vendors..." He smiles. "Taste-test fancy hors d'oeuvres. I'm real good at that last one."

Rebecca feels something catch in her chest – a mix of surprise and something else she can't quite name. 

"Ted, you have an entire football team to manage. A season to win. You can't possibly–"

"And I've got Beard, and Nate, and Roy, and a whole staff helpin’ me do that," Ted interrupts gently. "You're doin’ this completely solo. That doesn't seem right."

She wants to argue. Wants to insist she's fine, that she can handle it, that accepting help is somehow an admission of failure. But she's so tired. And the mountain of work on her desk isn't getting any smaller.

Ted leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, his full attention focused on her. When he speaks again, his voice is soft, sincere.

"Rebecca. You don't have to do everything yourself. I know you can – I'm not sayin’ you're not capable. But you don't have to. Let me help. Please."

There's something in his voice when he says please – like helping her genuinely matters to him. Not out of pity or obligation, but because he cares. Because he wants to share the burden.

The way he's looking at her is what really, truly convinces her. His gaze is steady, patient, concerned. Like he can see past the armor she wears so carefully, past the composed exterior, to the person underneath who's drowning but too proud to ask for a life raft.

Rebecca feels the unexpected sting of tears behind her eyes and blinks them away quickly. When has someone last offered to help her like this? Without wanting something in return, without an agenda, just...because?

The relief that floods through her at his offer is almost physical – a loosening in her chest she hadn't realized was there. And underneath the relief is something else. Something warm and dangerous that she absolutely does not have time to examine.

She becomes suddenly, very aware that Ted has moved closer at some point during their conversation. That she can see the exact color of his eyes – warmer brown than she's ever noticed before. That his hands are clasped loosely between his knees, his posture open and honest in a way that feels entirely Ted. That there's a small crease between his eyebrows as he waits for her answer.

She should say no. She should deal with the mess she made, like the boss she is. She should handle this herself like she handles everything else in her life.

But she's so tired of handling everything alone.

"Well." She manages what she hopes is a wry smile. "I suppose I could use someone to blame if it all goes pear-shaped."

Ted's face lights up, and the smile that spreads across his features is so genuinely pleased that Rebecca feels that dangerous warmth bloom a little brighter in her chest.

"Now that's the spirit," he says. "I'm an excellent scapegoat. It's one of my most underrated qualities."

Despite everything, Rebecca laughs. 

“Okay, so. Eight weeks. What needs to happen first?"

And just like that, they're planning. Ted asks smart questions – about vendors, about the auction items, about what elements are locked in and what still needs attention. He picks up the mockups she had been glaring at earlier and immediately agrees that "moonlight silver" and "champagne silver" are absolutely the same color and she can definitely tell the vendor to stop trying to upsell her.

His enthusiasm is infectious. His practical approach to problem-solving is exactly what she needs – no drama, no overthinking, just clear steps forward. They work through the timeline together, and as Ted makes notes in his phone Rebecca feels the knot of tension in her shoulders start to ease.

There's an ease to the conversation that surprises her. They've always worked well together. But this feels different. Like a partnership. Like she isn't carrying the weight alone anymore.

But she also notices things she shouldn't be noticing.

The way Ted rolls up his sleeves at some point, revealing forearms that are more distracting than they have any right to be. How animated he gets when he's problem-solving, how his hands move as he talks. The comfortable way he occupies space in her office – sitting across from her like he belongs there, like this is the most natural thing in the world.

The way he says "we" instead of "you" when discussing the event. 

"We can definitely schedule that tasting you marked so we can confirm the menu by next week." 

"We can move this up in the timeline." "We've got this."

We.

How long has it been since anyone has used that word with her? Since anyone has volunteered to stand beside her rather than expecting her to handle everything alone?

And how good it feels. That's the dangerous part. How much she's already looking forward to their next planning session, to more time sitting across from him like this, to not facing the next eight weeks alone.

He goes even further, and starts saying “I.”

“I can follow up with them once you're sure you like those colors.”

“I'll schedule that meeting about the linens.”

She's noticing too much. Feeling too much. But she can't seem to stop.

"Alrighty," Ted says eventually, standing and gathering some of the vendor contracts she's given him to review. "I'll take a look at these tonight, maybe make some notes, jot down my questions.”

“Alright. Let me know if anything is confusing.”

“When do you wanna meet again? I wanna put it on my calendar that way I'm actually helpin' instead of just creatin' more work for you by makin' you keep tabs on me.”

"That sounds..." Perfect. Too perfect. "...very organized of you."

Ted grins. "I have my moments. How about we start with Wednesday? Your office, after training? I'll bring snacks, you bring your scary good eye for color, and we'll knock out at least three things on that checklist. Maybe four if we're feelin' real ambitious."

"Wednesday works."

He moves toward the door, then pauses with his hand on the handle, turning back to face her. The smile he gives her is softer now, genuine in a way that makes her heart do something complicated.

"We're gonna knock this outta the park. Swankiest soiree Richmond has ever seen.”

It should sound like empty reassurance. Coming from anyone else, it might be. But when Ted says it, Rebecca finds herself believing him.

"Thank you, Ted."

"Anytime."

And then he's gone, clicking the door softly shut behind him.

Rebecca sits back in her chair, looking at the table. The fabric swatches are still scattered across every available surface. The seating charts still need three more revisions. The timeline still has far too many red flags. Nothing has physically changed in the last thirty minutes.

But somehow, it all feels less insurmountable now.

More manageable.

She exhales slowly, feeling some of the tension drain from her shoulders. The knot in her chest has loosened. She isn't alone in this anymore.

Rebecca tells herself the warmth spreading through her is simply relief. Gratitude for practical assistance when she desperately needs it. A normal human response to unexpected kindness.

That the small smile playing at her lips as she returns to her work has nothing to do with the prospect of spending the next eight weeks in close collaboration with Ted Lasso. Nothing to do with the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, or how his voice softens when he says please, or the fact that she's noticed exactly how warm his presence makes her office feel.

She's a professional. They're colleagues. Friends. Best friends, even.

The fact that she's perhaps looking forward to Wednesday more than is strictly appropriate – well. That's simply natural. He's helping her with a massive project. Of course she looks forward to productive planning sessions.

It means nothing at all.

If Rebecca had known what the next weeks would actually entail – five near-misses, countless charged moments, and feelings she can't ignore no matter how hard she tries – she might have reconsidered his offer.

Then again, probably not.

_______________

The afternoon planning sessions have become Rebecca's favorite part of the week, though she'll never admit it out loud.

Ted shows up at 4:00 on the dot, with a bag of crisps in his hand that he dumps unceremoniously on her desk. "Brain food," he declares.

She raises an eyebrow. "That's not brain food, that's –"

"Hey now, don't knock the power of chips. And I know salt and vinegar is your favorite.”

“Crisps,” she interjects, but he just nods. 

“Sometimes the brain just wants something crunchy." He's already settled into his usual chair across from her. He looks very relaxed with his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, top button undone. 

He steals one of her fabric swatches, holding it up to the light from her window. 

"This one's nice. Very...shiny."

"That's silk, Ted. It's supposed to be shiny."

"Well then, mission accomplished." He sets it back down carefully.

Rebecca laughs despite herself, reaching to organize them back into their neat piles. "You're having far too much fun with this."

"Are you kiddin’? This is great. I'm learning all kinds of fancy stuff. Did you know there are seventeen different kinds of white?"

"There are more than seventeen."

"See? Educational." He's grinning at her, that easy smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. "Plus, I get to hang out with you a few extra times a week and not talk about work. That's a win in my book."

Something flutters in her chest at that. Hang out with you. Like he's choosing to be here, not just helping out of obligation.

Rebecca is suddenly aware of how comfortable this has all become. Ted is sprawled in the chair across from her, pulling reading glasses from his shirt pocket and sliding them on to look at his phone. Those damn glasses. The first time she'd seen him wearing them during a planning session, she'd felt heat pool low in her belly – wholly inappropriate and impossible to ignore. Something about the juxtaposition of playful Ted Lasso looking suddenly refined, intellectual, absurdly attractive. She'd had to excuse herself for water just to reset. She's better at controlling her reaction now. Mostly.

She kicked her shoes off under the desk twenty minutes ago. Her hair is pulled back with a clip instead of perfectly styled. The easy way they share the bag of crisps between them without asking. How he knows to bring salt and vinegar, her favorite. The casual intimacy of it all. 

She would never let anyone else see her like this in her office. But it's Ted.

"Okay," Ted says, squinting at his phone screen. "Let's see. We've got the string quartet locked in – they're gonna do a mix of classical and what did you call it? Modern interpretations?"

"Contemporary classical. Essentially they'll play recognizable songs but arranged for strings."

"Right, right. That's real nice. Classy but not boring." He scrolls down. "Table arrangements are almost done, just waiting on final confirmations from a few guests. And I talked to the auction coordinator yesterday about the display timeline."

"What did he say?"

"Said we're in good shape on the item list, but we need to finalize the layout. Something about sightlines and flow?" He glances up at her. "You got those floor plans handy? The ones with all the measurements?"

"They're here somewhere." Rebecca stands to look on the credenza behind her desk, searching through the organized chaos of folders. "I had them out this morning when I was calculating spacing for the…oh, here."

She turns back to find Ted has moved. He's no longer in his chair but standing beside her desk, leaning over to look at his phone where he's apparently pulled up some photos.

"Oh, good," he says, not looking up. "Because I took some pictures of what he was talking about, and I think if we–"

Rebecca reaches across the desk at the same time Ted gestures to the phone, and suddenly they're in the same space. Her arm brushes his. She can smell his cologne – something woodsy and warm that she's becoming far too familiar with – mixed with coffee and the laundry detergent he uses.

"Sorry, I just – " She tries to step back but she's already against the credenza.

"No, I was –" Ted starts to move but he's wedged between her desk and where she's standing.

They both laugh, a little breathless, and for a second neither of them moves.

"Here," Rebecca says, holding up the floor plans. "Let me just –"

She means to hand them to him. She does. But Ted reaches for them at the same time, and instead of taking the folder, his hand lands on top of hers.

They both freeze.

His hand is warm. Solid. She can feel the calluses on his palm, probably from coaching, from demonstrating drills. His fingers curl slightly, not quite gripping but not pulling away either.

Rebecca looks up.

Ted is already looking at her. His eyes are darker than usual, pupils wider. She sees the exact moment his gaze drops to her mouth, just for a second, before flicking back up.

"Rebecca." Her name comes out quieter than his usual voice. A little rough.

She is acutely aware of every point of contact. His hand on hers. The folder pressed between their palms. How close he's standing…close enough that she can see the faint freckles across his nose, a small scar near his temple she's never noticed before. The way his chest rises and falls, breathing just slightly faster than normal.

Her own heart is hammering. 

"Ted, I – " But she doesn't know how to finish that sentence. Doesn't know what she was going to say.

His thumb moves. Just barely, just the smallest brush across her knuckles, but it sends electricity straight up her arm.

She knows she should step back. Should laugh this off, make a joke, grab the folder and return to her side of the desk where there's safe distance and professional boundaries.

She doesn't move.

Neither does he.

Ted's gaze drops to her mouth again. Lingers this time. His tongue touches his bottom lip, and Rebecca tracks the movement. Finds herself wondering what he tastes like. If he'd kiss her softly and gentle or with that same enthusiasm he brings to everything else.

Christ. When did she start thinking about kissing Ted Lasso?

"We should – " Ted's voice is even quieter now. Strained. His hand tightens just slightly over hers.

"Yes." But she takes the tiniest step forward. And then she’s leaning in. Just a fraction. Just enough that if he wanted to – if they both wanted to – 

The air between them feels charged. Heavy. Like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks.

Ted leans in. His free hand comes up, hovering near her waist, not quite touching but close enough that she can feel the heat of it through her blouse.

Rebecca's breath catches. Her eyes start to flutter closed.

The door bangs open.

"Rebecca, I've got the – oh!" Higgins stops short in the doorway, eyes widening as he takes in the scene.

Rebecca and Ted spring apart like they've been electrocuted. The folder falls to the floor between them, papers scattering.

"I'm so sorry!" Higgins is already backing toward the door, face flushing. "I should have knocked, I just thought since it was Wednesday and Ted's always here I could just…I'll come back! Later! Much later!"

The door slams shut.

Rebecca stares at it, heart still racing, face burning. She takes a breath, then another, trying to process what just almost –

"Well," Ted says, and she hears the slight shake in his voice before he attempts his usual lightness. "That was – "

"Terrifying?" Rebecca finishes, finally looking at him.

His hair is mussed on one side – did she do that? Was she about to do that? His cheeks are flushed, and there's something almost boyish about the way he's looking at her. Caught out but not quite apologetic.

"I was gonna say 'unfortunate timing' but yeah, terrifying works too." He huffs out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Despite the hammering of her heart, despite the electricity still crackling in the air between them, Rebecca feels her mouth twitch. 

"Poor Leslie. He looked absolutely mortified.”

"I mean, in his defense, that probably looked –" Ted gestures vaguely between them.

"Yes. It probably did." Because it was. Or almost was. Christ.

They stare at each other for a moment. Rebecca expects the awkwardness to be unbearable, anticipating wanting to flee or make an excuse or pretend this never happened.

But instead, she sees the corner of Ted's mouth quirk up, just slightly and she feels an answering pull at her own lips.

"We really gotta stop almost givin’ Higgins heart attacks," Ted says, and there's warmth in his voice, familiarity. Like even in this mortifying moment, they're still them.

"We?" Rebecca raises an eyebrow, grasping onto the banter like a lifeline. "I believe you were the one who moved into my personal space, Coach Lasso.”

"Hey now, you reached for those floor plans at the exact same time I did. That's at least fifty percent your fault, boss."

The teasing helps. The nickname helps. But Rebecca is still very aware that she can see exactly where his pulse is jumping at his throat. That her own hands are shaking slightly.

"Well," she says, bending down to gather the scattered papers, grateful for something to do. "I suppose we should –”

"Yeah." Ted crouches down to help, and for a second their hands almost collide again over the same piece of paper. 

They both freeze, eyes meeting.

Then Ted deliberately picks up a different piece of paper, and Rebecca feels something in her chest squeeze. Even now, even after what almost happened, he's being careful. Giving her space. Letting her set the pace.

It makes it somehow worse. Or better. She's not sure which.

They gather the papers in silence, but it's not the comfortable silence from earlier. This one hums with everything unsaid.

"I should–" Ted gestures vaguely toward his chair, the safe distance it represents.

"Yes. Good. We should get back to –" Rebecca waves at the desk, the timeline, the work that suddenly feels very far away.

Ted returns to his chair. Rebecca returns to hers. They both stare at the desk between them.

The comfortable ease from twenty minutes ago hasn't completely evaporated – there's still something warm underneath all the uncertainty. But it's changed. Shifted into something electric and terrifying and impossible to ignore.

"So," Ted says, clearing his throat but meeting her eyes. "The floor plans.”

"Right. The floor plans." Rebecca tries for her usual composed tone but knows she doesn't quite land it.

Ted's mouth quirks again, just slightly, like he knows.

Neither of them picks up the folder.

Rebecca forces herself to look at the papers scattered across her desk instead of at Ted. Her heart is still racing, palms damp in a way that's entirely unprofessional. She reaches for the timeline document, but the words blur together.

Ted clears his throat again. "So the, uh, the auction layout. We were gonna –”

"Yes. The sightlines." She pulls the floor plans toward her, grateful for something concrete to focus on. "If we position the tables in an L-shape instead of…"

"Right, yeah. That makes sense." 

But his voice is distracted, and when she glances up, he's looking at her instead of the plans.

Their eyes meet.

The air between them shifts again, that same charged feeling from moments ago.

Ted clears his throat and looks away first. "Actually, Rebecca, I think maybe–" 

He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck again. "I think maybe we should call it for today. Let things...settle a bit. I can look over the floorplans, send you my notes?"

It's not a lie. It's honest. And somehow that makes Rebecca's chest ache in a completely different way.

"That's probably...yes. That's probably wise.”

"Yeah." Ted stands, gathering his jacket from the back of the chair. His movements are slower now, more deliberate. Like he's giving her – giving them both – time to adjust. 

"I'll see you tomorrow though? Regular time?"

"Of course." Rebecca tries for a smile. "We still have a party to plan."

"We do." Ted returns the smile, and it's softer than his usual grin. More genuine. "And we're gonna knock it outta the park.”

He's at the door now, hand on the handle. This time he does turn back.

"Rebecca?"

"Yes?"

For a moment he just looks at her, and Rebecca can't quite read his expression. 

"Thanks for letting me help with this. I mean it."

"Ted, I should be thanking you."

"Nah." He shakes his head, still smiling. "I'm right where I wanna be.”

And then he's gone.

Rebecca sits in the sudden silence of her office, those last words echoing in her head. I'm right where I wanna be.

Her hand tingles where he touched it. She can still smell his cologne in the air.

"Fuck," she whispers to the empty room.

___________

By the time Rebecca gets home, she's nearly convinced herself she imagined the whole thing.

Nearly.

She pours herself a glass of wine and sinks onto her sofa, finally kicking off the heels she'd slipped back on before leaving the office. The house is too quiet. Too much space for her thoughts.

She almost kissed Ted.

No. Ted had almost kissed her.

No. That's not right either. They'd almost kissed each other. A mutual almost-kiss. A near-miss that left her skin buzzing and her mind spinning and her entire careful friendship with him feeling suddenly precarious.

Rebecca takes a long sip of wine and pulls out her phone.

She should text Keeley. Keeley would know what to say, would either laugh it off or validate her feelings or –

But what would she even say? "Almost snogged my manager in my office this afternoon, thoughts?"

Her thumb hovers over Keeley's name before deciding to suck it up.

Random question.

The three dots appear almost immediately. Of course Keeley is glued to her phone.

ooh i love random questions

hit me babe

Rebecca stares at the screen, trying to figure out how to phrase this without actually saying it.

What do you think of Ted?

Ted Lasso?

Our Ted?

Yes, our Ted.

I mean I think he's brilliant? you know that

Why what's wrong? did something happen?

Rebecca's heart lurches. She's been too obvious.

Nothing happened. Just curious about your read on him.

After 3 years?!? Rebecca Welton you are the worst liar. 🙄

Something definitely happened

TELL ME

Rebecca closes her eyes, takes another sip of wine, and types.

Hypothetically

oh here we go

If someone were to develop... feelings... for a colleague

BABE

ARE YOU SAYING WHAT I THINK YOU'RE SAYING?!?!?!

I'm not saying anything. It's hypothetical.

you fancy ted!!!

oh my god you fancy ted lasso

this is the best day of my life

I didn’t say that.

you absolutely did

"what do you think of ted"

"hypothetically" "feelings" "colleague"

Rebecca you might as well have sent me a presentation

Despite herself, Rebecca laughs. Trust Keeley to cut through her deflection like a knife through butter.

It’s complicated.

Babe everything with you is complicated

But ted? Ted is like the least complicated person on earth

He's kind and funny and fit

And he clearly adores you

Rebecca's breath catches at that last part.

He doesn't..

Oh, please

I've seen the way he looks at you

Everyone has

Except apparently you

And maybe him but honestly I think he knows

He's just too polite to do anything about it

Rebecca stares at those words. The way he looks at you.

Is that true? Does Ted look at her a certain way? Has she been so busy trying not to notice him that she's missed him noticing her?

Forget I said anything. I don't think this is a good idea.

Since when do you only do things that are good ideas?

You hired Ted in the first place to sabotage the club

Look how that turned out

That's different.

Is it though?

Babe if you like him just tell him

Life's too short for all this pining

I'm not pining.

You literally just texted me "what do you think of ted" out of nowhere on a Wednesday night

That's textbook pining

Rebecca doesn't have a good response to that.

Her phone buzzes before she can formulate one, but it's not Keeley this time.

It's Ted.

Hey! Found that vendor with the centerpiece options. Sending you the link.

Also realized I took your copy of the floor plans, too. 😬 I can drop it by tomorrow or just bring it Friday?

Rebecca stares at the messages. They're perfectly innocuous. Perfectly professional. Work-related.

So why does her heart rate pick up just seeing his name on her screen?

Friday is fine. Thank you for looking into the centerpieces.

She watches the screen. Sees the three dots appear, disappear, appear again.

No problem. It's actually kinda fun.

The planning stuff I mean. Not just the centerpieces. 😁

Though those are pretty great too.

Anyway. See you tomorrow boss.

Rebecca reads the messages three times, looking for subtext that might not be there. Is "it's actually kinda fun" just about event planning? Or is it about spending time with her?

Her phone buzzes again. Keeley.

You're texting him right now aren't you

I can sense these things

Go away, Keeley.

KNEW IT

This is amazing

I'm so happy for you 😍

Also slightly jealous i'm not there to witness this in real time 😫

But mostly happy

Text me tomorrow and tell me everything

And by everything i mean EVERYTHING

Love you, babe 😘

Go get your man

Goodnight, Keeley.

Rebecca sets her phone down and drains the rest of her wine.

She's not going to "get her man." That's ridiculous. They're colleagues. Friends. He works for her, for God's sake. There are professional boundaries and ethical considerations and a thousand reasons why this is a terrible idea.

But her hand still tingles where he touched it.

And she's already looking forward to Friday with an intensity that feels dangerous.

Rebecca closes her eyes and lets herself remember it…just for a moment. The weight of his hand on hers. The way his eyes darkened when he looked at her mouth. How close they'd been. How easy it would have been to just lean in those last few inches and –

Her phone buzzes one more time.

Sleep well, Rebecca. 🌛

It's from Ted.

Rebecca stares at the message, her chest doing something complicated. He never texts her goodnight. Never adds anything personal after their work messages.

But he just did.

She types and deletes three different responses before settling.

You too, Ted.

Safe. Perfectly friendly. Giving nothing away.

Except she's smiling at her phone like a teenager, and she knows – she absolutely knows – that everything just changed.

Chapter Text

Ted absolutely is not thinking about almost kissing his boss in her office.

Except he is.

A lot.

The way she’d looked at him, how she was close enough that he could smell her perfume, close enough that his heart did something downright unprofessional… that wasn’t nothing.

Wasn’t imagined.

He felt it…that quiet little pull between them, soft and dangerous and real enough that it’s been sitting under his skin ever since.

And he wants it again.

God help him, he really does. 

His phone buzzes, and almost as if he’s manifested it, he sees a message from Rebecca across the top of his screen. 

Are you still available to join me for the tasting today?

You bet! I promise to be on my best behavior. 😀

Oh? Were you planning to misbehave?

Guess you’ll just have to keep an eye on me. 😉

He stares at what he just sent and wonders if he should start drafting his resignation letter.

But her reply comes quickly.

I always do.

He feels that – deeply, stupidly, right-in-the-center-of-his-ribcage feels it.

I’ll pick you up in an hour.

He pockets his phone and tries to shake off the warm rush of… something.

It’s just food. They eat together all the time. 

It’s just planning. Which is nothing new for them.

It’s…just them being weirdly good at this together.

But what he can’t let go of…what he is just starting to admit to himself is that what happened in her office didn’t fade. It followed him.

And now he’s walking straight into an afternoon with her hoping, maybe a little too much, that the next moment might get them a whole lot closer.

___________________

Ted is waiting outside his building when Rebecca’s car pulls up. He’d offered again to take a rideshare and meet her at the restaurant, but she’d texted back that it made more sense for her to grab him. They live close enough that two cars would be silly.

He’s trying very hard not to read into that. Because she’s right…but is that all?

"Hey there," he says, climbing into the passenger seat, trying to sound normal. 

"Hi." Rebecca glances at him as he buckles in, and there's something almost nervous about her. Like maybe she's as aware as he is that this feels different. 

She’s not in her usual work armor today.

Instead, she’s in dark, tailored jeans that fit her dangerously well, that he can even tell from the passenger seat. He knows they’re the kind that will make it hard for him to pretend he’s not looking. 

A cream sweater hugs her just enough without looking like it’s trying, the neckline is relaxed, and the sleeves are pushed slightly up her forearms. Her hair is down, falling in soft waves that catch the light every time she turns her head.

She looks different like this. Softer. Somehow more like herself. Beautiful.

Rebecca glances over, catching him mid-admiration. She doesn’t call him on it, just gives him a small, almost shy half-smile before looking back at the road. Like she doesn’t mind being seen like this.

"Thank you again for doing this." 

"Are you kiddin'? Free food? I’m basically livin' my dream right now." 

She laughs, and some of the tension eases from her shoulders as she pulls back onto the road.

"Well, technically it's not free. It's extremely expensive food that the club is paying for." 

"Even better. Nothing tastes as good as food on someone else's dime." 

The drive is easy. They talk about the week, about training, about Higgins accidentally calling the wrong vendor for a sponsor promotion and accepting two hundred pairs of socks instead of 20. Rebecca's more relaxed than he's seen her in days, one hand on the wheel, the other gesturing as she talks. The late September sun slants through the window. It makes her skin glow and catches on the rings she wears. 

Ted tries not to notice how it catches her profile. Tries not to think about how this feels almost like a date.

When they pull into the car park of an understated but clearly expensive restaurant, Rebecca turns off the engine but doesn't immediately move to get out. "I should warn you," she says, fingers still on the keys. 

"Michael – the chef – can be a bit... intense. Very passionate about his food. He'll want detailed feedback." 

"I can do detailed feedback. I'm great at words." 

She gives him a look that's half amusement, half fondness. "Yes, you certainly are." 

There's a beat where neither of them moves. Where Ted thinks maybe she's about to say something else. Instead, she opens her door. 

"Shall we?" Ted follows her, trying to ignore how much he wishes that moment in the car had lasted just a bit longer.

As they walk toward the restaurant, Ted finds his gaze drifting again – seeing how the jeans shape along her hips, the smooth line of her waist under the sweater, the easy confidence in her stride. 

Rebecca must feel him looking this time too, because she gives the smallest glance back over her shoulder, a faint amused curl at the corner of her mouth.

It sends something through him, enough that he gives his head a tiny shake – get it together, Lasso – and hurries a couple steps ahead so he can grab the door for her.

She lets him, that small smile is still lingering, and he has to take a steadying breath before following her inside.

________

They barely make it three steps into the dining room before a familiar voice calls out.

“Rebecca?”

She brightens instantly. “Michael!”

Chef Michael – dark curls, warm grin, linen apron still dusted with flour – crosses to greet them. He bows his head slightly to her, affectionate in a professional sort of way.

“It’s been far too long,” he says, then turns to Ted. “And you must be Mr. Lasso.”

Ted takes his hand. “Ted’s fine. It’s real nice to meet you in person.”

Michael’s smile deepens. “Likewise. Thank you for scheduling the tasting.”

Ted nods, a little self-conscious but pleased. “Happy to help.”

Michael continues, “And thank you, Rebecca, for the update about the fish course. It helped us structure everything properly.”

Ted glances over at her. “You settled on that, then?”

She exhales, a little sheepish. “After… far too much deliberation.” She’d gone back and forth about it for a day and a half – messaging him to ask, un-ask, and then re-ask for his opinion before finally making the call.

“Like I said, I’m followin’ your lead on this.”

Something flickers in her expression – he thinks it's relief that he agrees, gratitude that he trusts her judgment...and something else he can't pinpoint.

Michael gestures to a corner table. “Shall we begin?”

Ted pulls out a chair for Rebecca, and waits until she is seated. 

She looks up at him briefly. “You can sit,” she says, almost casual, but he notices the tiny smirk tugging at her lips.

Rather than across from her, Ted takes the chair beside her. Close enough that their shoulders brush when he reaches for his water glass, close enough that he can smell her perfume, and maybe notice the soft curve of her neck as she finally tilts her head toward Michael.

_____________

Michael passes them the tasting menus with a confident, easy charm. “Alright, we’ll start with a few small bites to wake up the palate then move on to a light starter. ” 

He gestures to the menus. “I’ve prepared two options for each course. I’ll let you taste and decide which you prefer – we can make final tweaks from there. Any questions before we start?”

Rebecca shakes her head, smiling faintly. Ted, meanwhile, is watching her smile and trying very hard not to lose focus.

Michael sets down two tiny, perfect bites. 

"To start, we have a whipped goat cheese crostini with roasted cherry tomatoes, micro basil, and aged balsamic, and a mini beet tartlet with whipped ricotta, candied walnuts, and a hint of orange zest.”

Ted picks up the crostini first, and Rebecca follows suit. Their eyes meet as they taste, and Ted makes an appreciative sound. 

"Okay, that's real good," he says. "The tomatoes are like – they're sweet but not too sweet, you know?" 

Rebecca nods, swallowing. 

"The balsamic helps. Cuts through the richness of the cheese." They both reach for the beet tartlet at the same time, hands nearly colliding over the plate. Rebecca pulls back with a slight smile, gesturing for him to go first. Ted tries it, eyebrows raising. 

"Huh. I don't usually love beets, but—" 

"The orange zest," Rebecca finishes, tasting hers. Her eyes close briefly, savoring. "It brightens everything." 

"Exactly." Ted watches her face as she tastes, the way she's fully present in the moment. 

When she opens her eyes and catches him looking, something passes between them. A recognition of sorts – this ease, being this in sync. 

Michael smiles at their quick, thoughtful feedback, already moving to describe the next course. But Ted's still thinking about how natural that felt. Finishing each other's thoughts. Reading each other's reactions.

Michael returns quickly with two new plates. "For the starter, we have two options. First, a frisée and radicchio salad with shaved fennel, pickled golden raisins, and a citrus vinaigrette." 

He sets the plate in front of Rebecca. "And second, a roasted pumpkin soup with toasted pumpkin seeds and a drizzle of sage-infused cream." 

The salad is artfully arranged, bright greens and deep reds with the golden raisins catching the light. Ted picks up his fork, then pauses, glancing at Rebecca. 

"You hate raisins," he says quietly, almost like he's just remembering. 

Rebecca looks up at him, maybe surprised he remembered.

"I do. But this isn't just about what I like. A hundred and fifty people will be eating this meal." 

"Right. Yeah. Course." Ted takes a bite of the salad, and despite the raisins, he has to admit it's good. The bitter greens balance the sweet pickled fruit, and the citrus vinaigrette cuts through everything. 

"This is actually real nice. The fennel gives it a good crunch." 

Rebecca tries hers, chewing thoughtfully. "It's well-balanced. The raisins aren't overpowering." She sets her fork down and reaches for the soup. "But let's see the alternative." 

They both try the pumpkin soup, and Ted watches Rebecca's face shift and her whole body relaxes like she’s tasting something that lands just right.

"Oh," she says softly. "That's lovely." 

Ted takes a spoonful. The soup is velvety, rich without being heavy. The sage cream adds an herbal note that keeps it from being too sweet. 

"Yeah. This is the one." 

"Do you think so?" Rebecca takes another taste, as if confirming. 

"I mean, the salad's good. Real good. But this?" He gestures with his spoon. "This feels like the right start. It's warm, it's comforting, but it's still fancy enough that folks'll feel special." 

Rebecca smiles at him, and there's something grateful in it. 

"I agree." 

Michael appears at just the right moment. "Have we made a decision on the starter?" 

"The soup," Rebecca says with certainty. "It's perfect." As Michael makes a note and collects their plates, his assistant mentions the next course will be pasta.

Rebecca clears her throat once they have both stepped away.

“I know we sort of mentioned it, but I did decide to skip the fish course,” she says, folding her napkin with unnecessary precision. “I didn’t want to risk any issues with allergens. Shellfish, finned fish, cross-contamination – it’s a minefield with a guest list like ours.”

She glances at Ted, almost apologetic. “I know it’s… limiting. And I hate removing an entire course, especially one that’s usually expected at an event like this, but – ”

Ted shakes his head immediately. “Hey, you don’t have to explain any of that to me.”

Rebecca blinks, surprised.

He continues, wanting her to know he trusts her.

“You know this world better’n I ever will. If you say fish is off the table, then it is. No second thoughts here. And you don’t have to apologize for takin’ care of folks. That’s one of the things you’re best at.”

Something flickers in her expression – gratitude, maybe. Relief. Something a little softer too.

“Still,” she murmurs, smiling almost sheepishly, “I am sad about losing my scallops.”

Ted grins. “Then I’ll make ‘em for you someday.”

Her face softens, and her gaze lingers just enough that Ted feels it in his chest.

The moment holds between them.

Too long.

Not long enough. 

When she looks away first, Ted lets himself admire her for half a second longer than he should. She catches him. Just barely. A flick of her eyes, the faintest curve of her mouth. Not calling him out – just letting him know she saw it…again

And didn’t mind.

He wants to say something more…anything. But the pasta dishes are being brought out and Michael describes the two options as he sets a plate in front of each of them. 

“We have a lemon ricotta ravioli with basil oil, and an herb gnocchi with brown butter & sage. I’ll give you a moment to try both and discuss.”

As Michael heads back to the kitchen, Rebecca takes the first bite of the gnocchi. She closes her eyes for a long moment, before she lets out a low hum.

Ted watches her savor it, as she tilts her head slightly, and he actually feels his expression easing into something almost tender. Something that’s starting to become a problem.

“Good?”

She nods, swallowing.

“Yes. It’s… oh, it’s lovely. Here –”

She turns to face him a bit, offering him a forkful from her plate. Not the dish they set in front of him. 

Hers.

It’s intimate in a way he doesn’t expect. 

“Dang, that is good.” 

They both try the ravioli which is delicious, but if he’s going by her reaction alone, he knows what her choice is.

“I think the gnocchi wins,” she tells him.

Ted watches her tongue catch the last hint of sauce at the corner of her mouth – but she misses a spot. 

Before he even thinks about it. Before he can stop himself, he reaches out. He wipes the corner of her mouth. And then like it has a mind of its own, the pad of his thumb grazes her lower lip.

His hand lingers at her jaw, warm against her skin.

Rebecca inhales sharply, but she doesn’t pull back. In fact, she leans in just barely. But it’s enough to count.

Suddenly their faces are very close to one another at this tiny table, and his hand is still cupping her jaw.

He’s going to kiss her.

He is absolutely about to kiss her.

And then Michael returns. Bright, cheerful, completely oblivious.

“Are we ready for the main course selections?”

Rebecca jerks back slightly and Ted drops his hand from her face. Both of them sit back way too quickly.

He can see the slight pink still in her cheeks and his heart is absolutely sprinting. He waits for Rebecca to respond, since she’s been leading, but her eyes fall shut as she takes a deep breath.

“Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks.”

Michael nods and disappears back to the kitchen. His assistant begins clearing their pasta plates, and in the brief lull, Ted takes a sip of his wine. His hand is still tingling from where he touched her face.

"You know," he says, setting the glass down carefully, "last time I did somethin' like this was for my wedding. But Michelle never really wanted my opinion on the menu. I was just along for the ride. Pretty sure she picked everythin' before I even showed up to taste it."

Rebecca's expression shifts – something between sympathy and understanding. She sets down her own glass, giving him her full attention.

"Well, I want your opinion," she says, and her voice is quiet but firm. "That's why you're here. I trust your taste."

Something in the way she says I trust you lands heavy in his chest. Lands everywhere, really. 

Ted holds her gaze for a moment that stretches just a beat too long. "I appreciate that, Rebecca. Really."

She's still looking at him with those eyes, still close enough that he can see the way the green seems brighter than before, and he's thinking maybe –

"The main course," Michael announces, returning with two new plates.

Ted blinks and pulls himself back to the present. Focus. Food. Right. Michael sets down two gorgeous plates. 

"For the main, we have braised short rib with truffle mashed potatoes and roasted root vegetables." He indicates the first plate – then the second. "And herb-roasted chicken with pan jus, garlic green beans, and pommes Anna."

He leaves them to it. Ted cuts into the short rib first. It yields like butter, and the first bite is... it's ridiculous. Rich, savory, the truffle adding an earthy depth that makes him want to close his eyes. 

"Jesus," he mutters. "That's–" 

"I know," Rebecca says, having tried hers at the same time. Her eyes are wide. 

"That's extraordinary." 

They sit in silence for a moment, both processing what they just tasted. 

Then Ted tries the chicken. It's perfect – crispy skin, juicy meat, the herbs and pan jus adding brightness without overpowering. Technically flawless. Delicious. But it's not the short rib. 

"Okay," Ted says slowly. "So we're agreed the short rib is –" 

"Incredible," Rebecca finishes. 

"But?" 

She hesitates, fork hovering over her chicken. "But is it too much? The soup is rich, the gnocchi is rich, and then this?" 

"Well, okay. Counter-point. It's a fancy gala. Folks are expectin' to be wowed." 

"True." She takes another bite of the chicken, considering. "This is safer. No one would be disappointed." 

"But would anyone be talkin' about it the next day?" Rebecca looks at him, a slow smile spreading across her face. 

"No. No, they wouldn't." 

“Plus you said even though its a full dinner, you wanted the courses to be smaller, yeah?”

“Right,” she nods. 

“So rich isn’t too bad if it’s a few smaller dishes.” He can see her considering his words, weighing the options of the impression she’s trying to make. And then he sees it, the look on her face when she meets his eyes. 

"The short rib," they say at the same time.

The sync of it makes them both laugh, and for a second the weight of all those almost-kisses lifts. This is them. This ease. The way they just work together. 

Michael returns, eyebrow raised hopefully. "Decision?" 

"The braised short rib," Rebecca says with confidence. "It's perfect." 

"Excellent choice." Michael makes a note, clearly pleased. "And now, for dessert, I've prepared a trio so you can offer variety. Dark chocolate tart, raspberry mousse, and pistachio crème choux." 

He sets down a single plate between them, three small, perfect desserts arranged like art. Ted and Rebecca lean in at the same time to look, shoulders brushing. 

"These would all be served together?" Rebecca asks. 

"Ideally, yes. It gives your guests options, and it photographs beautifully. But if you have a true preference, we can serve individually at a more appropriate portion." 

Rebecca picks up a spoon and goes for the chocolate tart first. Her eyes close again – that same savoring expression that Ted is becoming dangerously familiar with. 

"Oh, fuck me. That's...that's dangerous," she says, voice almost reverent. 

"Good dangerous or bad dangerous?" 

"The kind where I'd eat three of them and regret nothing." Ted tries it next. Dark, bittersweet, with a ganache that melts on his tongue. 

"Okay, yeah. That's the winner." But Rebecca is already trying the raspberry mousse, and her expression shifts to something lighter, brighter. 

"Oh, but this –Ted, try this." She holds out her spoon to him, and there's something about the gesture, the easy intimacy of it, the way she doesn't think twice, that makes his chest tight. He leans forward, and lets her feed him the mousse. It's tart and sweet and airy, a perfect contrast to the chocolate. 

"That's real good," he says, aware that his voice has gone a little rough. They're close again. Too close. The kind of close where he can probably count her eyelashes. Rebecca seems to realize it at the same time. She pulls back, just slightly, and reaches for the pistachio crème choux. 

"Last one." It's lighter than the other two, the pistachio cream subtle and not too sweet. They both try it, both nod appreciatively, but they keep coming back to the chocolate and raspberry. 

"All three?" Ted suggests. 

"All three," Rebecca agrees. 

Michael appears one final time. "So? What do we think?" 

"Perfect," Rebecca says, and she's smiling – genuinely smiling in a way that makes Ted's heart do something stupid. "The whole menu is perfect. Thank you, Michael." 

"My pleasure." Michael beams. "I'll have the final proposal and pricing to you by Friday but i’ll leave you with a list of your selections from today." As Michael disappears to prepare their paperwork, Ted and Rebecca are left alone at the small table, dessert plate still between them.

 "We did good," Ted says quietly. Rebecca looks at him, something soft and unguarded in her expression. 

"We did." There's a beat. Neither of them moves to leave. 

"Ted – " 

"Rebecca –" They both stop, laughing a little awkwardly. The moment from earlier is back, hovering between them, impossible to ignore. 

"You first," Ted says. Rebecca opens her mouth, then closes it. Whatever she was going to say seems to get stuck somewhere between her brain and her lips. 

"Never mind," she finally says. "We should probably head out." 

"Yeah. Right. Probably should get goin'." They stand, gather their things. But as they walk back out to her car, Ted can feel it – all the things unsaid, all the almost-moments piling up between them. 

It's only a matter of time before one of them stops pulling away.

____________

The drive back is quieter than the drive there.

Not uncomfortable, but charged in a way that makes Ted aware of every small thing. He notices the way Rebecca's hand rests on the gear shift, and he starts imagining how her hand might feel in his. He notices how she hums softly along to the song on the radio, low and warm, and how the sound goes straight to some place in his chest.

When she pulls up outside his building, neither of them moves right away.

"Thank you again for today," Rebecca says, turning toward him, the curve of her smile softer than it was earlier. "You were…you really helped. With the decisions."

"Happy to." Ted tries to keep his voice steady. "It was fun. Tastin’ fancy food, bein’ useful… gettin’ to spend the day with you."

Her eyes flicker at that – like she caught the extra part that he didn’t mean to let slip.

"You're always useful, Ted."

The warmth in her voice does something to his pulse. He laughs quietly, a little breathless. "Well. Thanks for trustin’ me with it."

Her gaze dips to his mouth, just for a beat, but enough that Ted forgets how to breathe.

"Ted – "

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Loud. Insistent.

They both jump, and Ted almost groans because of course.

He pulls out his phone, sees Beard's name. "Sorry, it's – Beard doesn’t usually call unless he means it."

"No, it's fine," she says, but she’s looking at him like she’s not quite done saying whatever she started. "Go on."

He answers. "Hey, Beard."

"Pub. Now. I need to discuss tactics." Beard's voice is flat, but Ted hears the subtext loud and clear. Something’s goin’ on with you and I’m done waiting. Spill.

When the call ends, he barely has time to sigh before Rebecca asks, "Tactics emergency?"

"Somethin’ like that." He reaches for the door handle, then pauses, hand still resting there. "Rebecca – "

But she leans back, studying him, and her smile turns soft at the edges.

"I’ll see you Monday," she says. And he thinks it’s deliberate. A test. A little push.

He should say “sure.” Should just accept it the way anyone else would.

But he can’t help himself.

"I –" His voice catches. He clears it. "I hope we talk before then."

Her lips curve. Slow. Warm. A little dangerous.

"We probably will," she says, eyes flicking to his for one too-long second. "Goodnight, Ted."

"Goodnight, Rebecca."

He steps out of the car, closes the door, and watches her drive away – feeling that same quiet, electric pull between them even as the taillights disappear.

And this time he knows she felt it too, so he’s definitely not making it up. Right? Not after the way she looked at him just now. Not with the way she said “We probably will.”

He takes a moment to steady himself before heading toward the Crown and Anchor.

He reaches for his phone, sending Beard a quick message. 

Make it 10. Need to walk.

Take 15. You look like you need it.

Ted stops mid-stride, frowns at his phone.

“How the hell – ”

Another buzz.

I can sense these things.

Ted huffs a laugh despite himself. “Right. Of course you can.”

______________

The pub is busy, but Mae gives him a little nod as he walks in.

Beard has already claimed their usual table. He’s reading something with a cover so dense it might actually be homework for a seminar on existential dread.

“Hey, Beardo” Ted says, sliding into the seat across from him.

Beard doesn’t look up. “You have the look.”

Ted frowns. “What look?”

“The one where your entire emotional life is leaking out of your face.”

“I – my face doesn’t leak.”

“It does.” Beard sips his beer. “You’ve been wearing versions of that look all week.”

Ted opens his mouth to argue, but Mae arrives with a beer like she knew he’d need one the second he walked in. Which…he does.

Beard turns a page but finally acknowledges him properly. “Want to talk about it, or should I guess?”

“There’s nothin’ to – ”

“It’s Rebecca.”

Ted closes his eyes. “How do you always–”

“Because you’ve been walking around like a man who’s trying very hard not to think about something, and the only person who makes you that specific flavor of distracted is her.” Beard takes a sip of his own beer. “Also, you smell like her perfume,” he says, matter-of-fact. 

Ted nearly chokes on his sip. “I do not smell like – ”

Beard’s face is incredibly stoic, but then his eyebrows raise just a hair.

“And you have a vibe.”

“What kinda vibe?”

“The ‘I almost kissed someone and now my brain is a live electrical current’ vibe.”

Ted sets his beer down very carefully. “Okay, see, that’s oddly specific.”

“It’s the same one you had after your first date with Michelle.”

Ted blinks, taken aback a bit at Beard comparing Michelle and Rebecca when they couldn't be more different. 

“We didn’t – this wasn’t – Rebecca and I were just taste testin’ –”

Beard looks up. Stares at him. “Ted.”

“…okay fine, but we didn’t actually – ”

“But you wanted to.”

Ted runs a hand over his face. “Is it really that obvious?”

“To me? Yes. Probably not so much to everyone else.”

“Great. That’s just great.” Ted slumps back in his seat. “I’m a disaster.”

“You’re not a disaster.”

Ted looks at his best friend, really looks at him. “Am I makin’ this up? Because sometimes I think – I mean, there are these moments where it feels like maybe she – but then I think I’m probably just seein’ what I wanna see. Projectin’ or whatever.”

“What happened today?”

Ted tells him. Not everything – some things feel too private, too fragile to say out loud – but enough. The tasting and sharing. The way they kept almost touching. The moment with the sauce on her lip. The dessert. 

Beard listens without interrupting, which is somehow more unnerving than if he’d been asking questions.

When Ted finishes, Beard is quiet for a long moment. Then he leans back and exhales.

"You're not making it up," he finally says. 

"How do you know?"

"Because Rebecca Welton doesn't do things halfway. If she's spending this much time with you, letting you into her space like this, trusting you with something that matters to her…" Beard shrugs. "That's not nothing." 

"But what if I'm misreadin' it? What if she just sees me as–" 

"Ted." Beard's voice is firm. "When have you ever seen Rebecca be anything less than crystal clear about her boundaries?" Ted thinks about that. About how precisely Rebecca communicates what she wants and doesn't want. How she never leaves room for misinterpretation when it matters. 

"Never," he admits quietly. 

"So if she's not pulling away when you're close, if she's looking at you the way you say she is–" Beard lets that hang in the air. "She's not confused about what's happening." 

Ted's chest does something complicated. Hope mixed with terror mixed with want. 

"So what do I do?" 

"What do you want to do?" 

"I wanna–" Ted stops. Takes a breath. "I wanna kiss her. For real this time. Not almost. Not interrupted." 

Beard nods slowly. 

"Then you should probably figure out how to make that happen." 

"But what if it ruins everything? The friendship, the workin' relationship, the–" 

"What if it doesn't?" Ted stares at him. 

"You're assuming the worst outcome," Beard continues. "But what if the worst outcome is that you don't do anything? That you keep almost kissing her for the next year and never actually find out what could happen if you did?" 

"That does sound pretty terrible when you put it that way." 

"I'm very wise." 

"You're somethin'." But Ted is smiling now, feeling something loosen in his chest. 

"Thanks, Beardo." 

"Anytime." Beard returns to his book. "For what it's worth, I think she'd be lucky to have you. But I also think you already know that she knows that." 

Ted lets that settle over him as he finishes his beer. He thinks about Rebecca's smile in the car. The way she'd fed him dessert without thinking twice.

Maybe Beard is right. Maybe he's not making it up. Maybe…she's been feeling this too. 

His phone buzzes. A text from Rebecca. 

Thank you again for today. I know I keep saying it, but I mean it. 

You made it easier. Better. Enjoyable even.

He stares at the message, heart doing that stupid thing again. 

Beard doesn't even look up from his book. "You're smiling at your phone like a teenager." 

"Shut up." 

"Gonna text her back?" 

Ted is already typing. 

Today was real nice. Glad I could help. 

Her reply comes almost immediately. 

It was. 💜

Sleep well, Ted.

You too, boss. Sweet dreams. 

"Alright," Ted says quietly, more to himself than to Beard. "Maybe not makin' this up." 

Beard finally looks up, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Told you." 

"Yeah, yeah. You're very wise. I got it." 

But Ted can't stop smiling. Can't stop replaying every moment of the day. Can't stop thinking about the next time they'll be that close. And maybe the next time, he won't pull away.

Chapter Text

The past three weeks have been a whirlwind of final decisions, last-minute tweaks, and late afternoons spent going over every detail of the gala. Rebecca has never been more meticulous – and she’s been surprised to realize just how much she’s come to rely on Ted’s input. He’s been there for every tasting, every table arrangement discussion, his presence quiet but steady, oddly comforting, and irritatingly charming.

It’s in the small moments that she notices it most. In the way he tilts his head when he’s thinking, the soft chuckle that escapes when something strikes him as absurdly obvious, the warmth of his hand brushing hers when they reach for the same item, the way his eyes linger just a fraction too long.

The lingering is starting to feel like her skin is on fire when he looks at her. 

On one of her quieter afternoons, she had pulled a small selection of dresses into her office, in an attempt to narrow down her gala options. All dark – deep navy, charcoal, black - but each with its own subtle flourish: delicate lace along the neckline, intricate beadwork catching the light, or silk appliqués tracing the seams. 

He stepped in and paused in the doorway. “Wardrobe dilemma?”

She held up the last dress she was considering, a dark navy dress with delicate beading along the neckline.

“Naturally. Apparently I forget how to dress myself when I have an event to run. Could I get your opinion? You always find a way to sort out my thoughts.”

Ted leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a small, easy grin on his face. “Oh, you bet. It’s one of my favorite problems to help sort out,” he said lightly, stepping closer. “Very serious business, deciding what people are allowed to see you in.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re ridiculous. But… help me anyway?”

“Always,” he said, moving beside her as she stepped aside to let him see her choices.

Rebecca held each one in front of her, showing him without trying them on. Ted’s gaze swept over each dress, and then, very slowly, over her. She could almost feel the heat of his gaze caressing her skin. 

“This one’s nice,” he said, nodding toward the navy. “Pretty classic. Very you. Kinda like…steady and sure-footed, but maybe too safe, if that makes sense.”

Rebecca smiled faintly. “Sure. That makes sense.”

“And this one,” he went on, squinting at the charcoal, “got a bit of sass in it. Not too much. Just enough that folks might, uh… notice you in a room. Not that anyone wouldn’t, of course.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re not helping me narrow it down.”

Ted pointed to the black dress, his grin widening. “But this one…this one’s fancy. Sneaky fancy. Like, people’ll think, ‘Dang, who’s that over there?’ Yeah. I don’t know, it’s – ” He trailed off, glanced at her quickly before his gaze actually trailed over her body, and then he cleared his throat. “It’s uh - it’s good. Very good.”

Interesting, she thought to herself. And even if she didn’t know it at that moment, Ted just chose her gala dress. 

Rebecca set the dresses back on the rack but didn’t move immediately. She could still feel the way he’d looked at her, the small, subtle reactions in his voice, the way he seemed…just a little affected, even if he didn’t know how to put it into words.

Then Ted’s grin returned, steadier this time. “Hey…would it be alright if I picked you up for the gala?”

Rebecca blinked, caught off guard. “Picked me up?”

“Yeah,” he said, stepping a little closer, hands in his pockets, voice easy but sure. “I know you’ll wanna use your driver to get there, of course, but – thought I could, you know, walk to your place, make sure you’re all set, maybe keep you company a bit before we have to head out. If that’s okay with you.”

Her heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t asking for a date – not exactly – but it was just enough to make her feel like she hasn’t been imagining all of the moments between them. 

“Okay,” she said softly, letting the words out more than she expected. “I’d…like that.”

He gave her a small, satisfied smile, the kind that didn’t need words. “Perfect. I’ll be there.”

And just like that, in the soft light of her office, she felt the little spark of anticipation for the evening ahead – both for the gala and for him.

The evening arrives faster than expected.

Rebecca stands in front of the mirror, the final dress laid out on the bed beside her. It’s a sleek, fitted, off-the-shoulder gown in deep black velvet, that skims over her hips and waist, with a subtle side slit that hints at movement without being overt. The fabric hugs her waist and hips before falling straight, the rich nap catching the light with every shift. Tiny jet beads trace the seams along the neckline and shoulders, glinting softly whenever she moves, just enough to catch an observer’s eye.

She takes a slow breath, smoothing the dress against the bed one more time, imagining how it will feel on her skin, how it will move when she walks, and how it might look under the warm glow of the gala lighting. 

Rebecca slips into the dress, feeling the velvet mold to her waist and hips, heavier than silk yet fluid enough to move freely. The neckline sits perfectly across her shoulders, the slit giving just a whisper of motion when she shifts. She adjusts it all, smoothing the fabric over her body, and steps back to the mirror.

The dress is elegant, commanding – but also intimate in a way that makes her pulse quicken, especially when she thinks of Ted seeing her in it tonight.

Her shoes, black strappy heels, are waiting at the foot of the bed. She’s keeping the accessories minimal, some gold drop earrings and matching bracelet for one wrist, and two gold rings for the other. 

She runs a hand along the velvet over her waist and hips. She imagines Ted stepping into the room, the slight grin he always wears when something catches his attention. She wonders if he’ll notice the slit, the way the neckline frames her shoulders, or the subtle gleam of the beads.

Her pulse picks up. Not from nerves about the gala, but from anticipation of the night, of seeing everything come together, of seeing him. Even though she knows her driver will handle the transportation, she can’t shake the excitement of Ted walking her to the car, of that small private moment before the event officially begins.

She smooths the dress one last time, takes a deep breath, and allows herself a tiny smile. Tonight is the culmination of weeks of planning – and maybe, just maybe, the beginning of something unspoken between them.

The doorbell rings, and her stomach jumps a little. Ted is here.

Rebecca makes her way downstairs, shoes in hand so she doesn’t make a fool of herself by falling down the steps. 

She takes a breath, steadies herself, and opens the door. Ted is standing there in a perfectly tailored black tux, and Rebecca forgets how to breathe. 

He looks... Christ, he looks incredible. The jacket fits him perfectly across his shoulders, the crisp white shirt underneath making his tan stand out. His black tie is slightly crooked – so perfectly Ted – but somehow that makes him even more devastating. His hair is styled but still soft, and when his eyes meet hers, they're warm and dark and full of something that makes her knees weak. 

But then Ted sees her, and everything stops. His lips part slightly. His eyes go wide, then dark, pupils dilating as his gaze travels slowly – so slowly – down her body and back up. She watches his throat work as he swallows hard.

"Rebecca." Her name comes out rough, almost strangled. He seems to catch himself, clears his throat, but his eyes are still locked on her with an intensity that makes her skin flush. "You look...stunning." 

It's not teasing. Not performative. It's said low and deliberate, like he's barely holding himself together. Like the sight of her has actually affected him physically. Her skin tingles when his eyes meet hers. 

"Thank you," she manages softly, quietly stunned by the weight of his attention, by the heat in his gaze. She has to shake herself out of the stupor enough to step back and gesture him inside. 

"You…you look very handsome. The tux is..." She trails off because he's stepping into the foyer now, close enough that she can smell his cologne, and her brain has stopped forming coherent sentences. 

"The tux is what?" he asks, and there's something playful in his voice now, like he knows exactly what he's doing to her. 

"Unfair," she breathes out before she can stop herself. His grin widens, pleased and a little cocky in a way she's never seen from him before. 

"Unfair, huh?" 

"Extremely." She tries to recover some composure as she gestures him inside. “I’m almost ready. Just didn’t want to risk falling down the stairs in these.” She holds up her shoes for him to see, and if she isn’t mistaken, his pupils actually widen at the sight of them. 

His gaze drops to her legs, tracks the line of them visible through the slit in her dress, then snaps back up to her face like he's been caught. 

"Good thinkin'," he says, voice noticeably rougher. "Would be a shame to injure yourself before we even get there."

For a heartbeat, she recalls past moments – dates where heels had felt like a trap, where a man’s impatience or subtle judgment made her second-guess herself, shrink, or stumble under someone else’s expectations. It’s a memory that makes her grip the shoes a little tighter. But looking at Ted, at the way he’s here entirely for her, all those old hesitations feel distant, almost irrelevant.

They move into the kitchen where she sets the shoes down on the floor, bending slightly to adjust the hem of her gown.

“May I?” Ted’s voice is quiet, rough in a way that catches her off guard. She freezes for a second, and looks up from her still slightly bent position to find him starting to kneel slightly before her. His eyes meet hers again.

“Yes,” she murmurs, barely above a whisper before she stands up to balance herself.

He slides the first heel onto her foot, fingers brushing her ankle with a light, deliberate touch. She inhales sharply, aware of the warmth of his skin, the careful pressure of his hands, the intimacy of the motion. 

Ted's jaw tightens as his fingers linger just a fraction longer than necessary. She watches his throat work as he swallows, sees the way his eyes track the line of her leg before he catches himself. When he looks back up at her, his pupils are blown wide, dark with something that makes her stomach flip. 

The slit in her dress shifts slightly with her movement, and she knows it wouldn't take much to make the moment indecent. With anyone else, she might be self-conscious, worried about the attention or the way she appeared. But not with him. Not with Ted. 

His hand steadies her calf as he reaches for the second shoe, and Rebecca feels her breath catch again. She can see the tension in his shoulders, the careful control he's exercising. Like he's holding himself back. Like he's trying very hard to be a gentleman when what he wants is to – 

When he slides on the other shoe, the faint trail of his fingers across her ankle bone makes her pulse hitch. His touch is reverent, almost worshipful, and something about that – about Ted Lasso on his knees in front of her, touching her like she's precious – makes heat pool low in her belly.

“There,” he says finally, standing back up, letting her balance settle naturally. “Perfect.” His grin is small but loaded with meaning she can't mistake. The air between them is thick, charged. Rebecca's breathing has gone shallow. She can see the rise and fall of his chest, matching hers. Can see the way his hands flex at his sides like he's stopping himself from reaching for her. 

"Ted," she breathes, not entirely sure what she's asking for. His eyes darken further. 

"Yeah?" She opens her mouth, but whatever she was going to say gets lost when she sees the way he's looking at her. Like he wants to devour her. Like he's been holding back for an eternity and is barely managing it now. Rebecca takes a small step back, trying to regain some equilibrium, adjusting her balance. 

"Thank you," she says softly, meeting his eyes. Her voice is quiet, a little breathless, and she realizes just how aware she is of him, of the space between them – of how little space there actually is.

He shrugs, that easy, self-assured grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Happy to. Don’t want you wobblin’ before the gala, after all.”

Rebecca chuckles, the sound light, and gestures toward the bar area. “Would you like a drink? Just a small one.”

Ted glances at her, and she can see him trying to pull himself together. “Sure, just a small one. Gotta stay clear-headed. Can’t have me trippin’ over you before we even get there.”

She laughs softly again, shaking her head at his humor and sincerity, before pouring them each a modest glass. The clink of glass on glass feels intimate in the quiet of her kitchen, a small, private pause before the night officially begins.

But she can still feel the ghost of his hands on her ankles. Can still see the heat in his eyes when he looked at her in this dress. And based on the way he's watching her now, barely concealed want behind that easy smile, she knows he's feeling it too. 

This is going to be a very long night.

________

Rebecca sets her glass down first, her fingers brushing lightly against the rim. Ted mirrors her a beat later, his gaze drifting over her once more – not lingering inappropriately, just taking her in.

“Well…ready?” she asks, smoothing her hands once more over her hips, as if that will steady the flutter low in her stomach.

“Yeah,” he says. “After you.”

They move toward the front door, Ted’s hand finds the small of her back, just a warm, guiding presence. The placement sends a current through her spine. 

Ted opens the front door for her, stepping slightly aside so she can pass. She catches the gentle intake of his breath when she does, the way his hand lingers for a moment on her waist. 

Outside, the evening air is crisp against her warmed skin. Early autumn coolness wraps around them.

His hand stays low on her back all the way to the car, until he opens the door for her, moving his hand to steady the door rather than her, giving her space… but staying close enough that she feels his presence.

“Thank you,” she says softly as she settles into the seat.

“Anytime,” he replies, sliding in after her before closing the door gently. 

______________

The ride to the venue is comfortable in the quiet privacy of the back seat. The partition is up and Rebecca has no problem imagining this night unfolding very differently. Ted sits beside her, his posture relaxed, and he’s close enough that she can feel the heat of his arms through his jacket. 

Rebecca’s gown settles elegantly around her, the velvet pooling at her side, the slit lying just so along her leg. She can feel his attention flicker toward it now and then, brief and unspoken.

She doesn’t mind. Not tonight, not with him.

They talk in low tones…light, easy things at first. The guest list, who might end up not showing, the decorations she insisted on, his good-natured joke about hoping he hadn’t missed anything during planning.

But underneath the conversation, she senses it – the careful way his voice softens when he looks at her, the way he adjusts his angle so he can see her better in the dim glow of the passing streetlamps.

And every now and then, when the car turns and her dress shifts with the motion, she feels his breath catch almost imperceptibly.

When she glances over, he’s looking out the window…too quickly. It makes her smile.

He catches the smile, of course. He always does. “Somethin’ funny?” he murmurs.

“Not at all,” she replies, smoothing her dress over her thigh, the velvet soft beneath her hand. “Just…enjoying the evening.”

Ted’s answering smile is small, but warm. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Me too.”

When the venue lights finally appear ahead – gold and bright against the early autumn dusk — she feels the familiar flutter of nerves she always gets before stepping into a spotlight.

This time, though…she feels steadier with Ted next to her.

____________________

The gala glows before her like a scene pulled from a dream – rich and dark, and inviting.

It’s all shadow and light, contrast and quiet drama, built exactly for its name: An Evening in Silhouette. 

Warmth spills through the room in carefully layered ways – golden uplighting washing the walls, soft amber candles flickering from low glass holders, and narrow beams of light creating halos around the centerpieces. Everything glows against the black-and-ivory palette, shadows softened into something intimate rather than stark.

Guests drift inside, outlined by the interplay of light and darkness. Black tuxedos and deep gowns blend into the low-lit room, while pale silks and crisp whites catch the glow, creating a moving picture of silhouettes shifting against warm gold.

The string quartet plays a low, sultry arrangement – strings that hum rather than shout. Elegant. Understated. Sensual in a subtle way.

Rebecca takes a breath as she stands at the entrance, watching it all unfold. Weeks of planning and she still wasn’t prepared for how beautifully the theme would come alive—the way the light curves around each table, the gentle shadows framing chairs and floral arrangements, the texture of velvet table runners catching hints of gold.

Ted steps beside her, his tux fitting in with the aesthetic as if she’d planned it around him. Maybe, subconsciously, she had.

He looks around and lets out a low, appreciative whistle. “Rebecca… this is somethin’ else.”

Rebecca’s gaze trails over the tables dressed in black linen with shimmering ivory runners; over centerpieces of white calla lilies and black dahlias surrounded by soft candlelight; over the strings of tiny amber bulbs draped above the dance floor like captured constellations.

The décor might be dark, but the light is warm, and the contrast between the two creates something almost magnetic.

They step further in, and Ted’s hand rests lightly at her back. He leans in slightly, his voice low and warm enough to melt into the lights around them.

“You really pulled off the ‘silhouette’ thing,” he murmurs. “But it doesn’t feel dark at all. Just…kind of glowy.”

She smiles. “That was the goal.”

“Well. Mission accomplished.”

_________

Dinner unfolds in a warm hum of low conversation and soft candlelight. The contrast lighting is doing exactly what she hoped, and the room feels intimate despite the crowd.

Rebecca and Ted are seated at the head table, close enough that every time she turns to speak to someone at their table, her shoulder brushes his. They trade quiet comments throughout the meal.

Every time she looks at him, he’s already looking at her. It makes getting up from the table almost unbearable. But she does have responsibilities as the host, and she won’t let this night fail because of her lack of ability to contain her attraction to Ted Lasso. 

So when a major donor taps her shoulder and asks for a moment, she reluctantly gets up, an apology ready to leave her mouth, but Ted heads her off. 

“Boss gotta boss. Don’t worry about it.”

She gives Ted a small, conspiratorial look. “If I haven’t come up for air in five minutes, please come find me.”

He grins, soft and warm. “Rescue mission. Got it.”

She smiles, but she has no idea what’s waiting for her.

_________

Harrison Sterling is not talking about business.
Not the club’s agenda.
Not metrics.
Not future partnerships.
Not money.

He’s…flirting. Persistently. He’s standing annoyingly close, complimenting the “striking elegance” of her dress, asking if she’d consider dinner “just the two of us – purely to celebrate your success.” She politely pivots every question, but he keeps edging into her space, and she hates that she feels off-balance.

She glances around the room wondering if it’s been five minutes yet. And suddenly, Ted is there. 

"There you are," he says smoothly, and Rebecca has never been more grateful to hear his voice.

"Ted," she says, relief evident in her voice.

Ted slides into the conversation easily, positioning himself next to her. Close. Familiar. "Sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to check in about that change we talked about."

Harrison barely acknowledges him. "We were just talking about dinner plans. I was telling Rebecca about this wonderful restaurant in Mayfair –"

"Oh, that sounds nice," Ted says pleasantly, but he doesn't move. His shoulder is almost touching Rebecca's now. "We've been talkin' about tryin' some new places, haven't we?"

The we hangs in the air, deliberate.

Rebecca catches on immediately. "Yes. We have."

"All this event planning," Ted continues, turning slightly toward Rebecca, creating a subtle shift in the dynamic. "Lot of late nights, lot of meals together. You really get to know someone's taste in food after a while."

Harrison's smile tightens slightly, but he persists. "Well, I'm sure Rebecca could make time for–"

"You know," Rebecca says, turning more fully toward Ted, angling away from Harrison, "planning this whole thing has been a real nightmare."

She reaches for his hand discreetly and she finds he's already adjusting to accommodate her and lifts his arm to pull her a bit closer. It's intimate, deliberate — a clear signal to Harrison without her having to say the words. Ted moves without hesitation, his presence is solid and warm at her side, his hand naturally finding her waist.

His eyes meet hers, and she sees the exact moment he understands what she's doing – what they're doing together.

"I don't know how I would have gotten through it without you," she continues, and now she's angled almost completely toward Ted, her body language screaming that Harrison is no longer part of this conversation. Ted’s arm is slung low around her waist, his thumb grazing the zipper of her dress that sits low on her back.

She's looking at Ted like he's the only person in the room, and in this moment, he is.

"Have I said thank you to you recently?"

Ted's caught off guard by the intensity in her eyes, by her hand on his chest. "Uh...no."

Rebecca smiles, soft and genuine as she tilts her face towards his ever so slightly. "Oh. Well, thank you."

"You're welcome."

The moment stretches between them. 

Harrison clears his throat awkwardly. But he doesn't leave. Instead, he takes another step closer to Rebecca, still not taking the hint. Or refusing to believe it.

"Well, Rebecca, I do still hope we can arrange that dinner–"

Ted moves before Rebecca can respond.

Smoothly, carefully, he spins Rebecca back to face Harrison…but then he steps behind her. His chest is suddenly warm and solid against her back. His presence is immediate, protective, impossible to ignore. The weight of his hand on her stomach makes heat pool low in her belly.

"Actually," Ted says, his voice easy but firm, and Rebecca feels the rumble of it against her shoulder blades, "we really do need to check on somethin' with the caterin' staff. Real sorry to cut this short."

Rebecca's breath catches.

His chest brushes against her back as he speaks over her shoulder to Harrison. She can feel the heat of him through the velvet of her dress, the solid weight of his hand as it settles more firmly on her stomach, fingers splayed possessively. His other hand comes up to her opposite side, gently guiding her to turn with him, creating distance from Harrison while keeping her tucked against him.

The breadth of his chest spans her entire back. She's surrounded by him – his warmth, his scent, the protective cage of his arms as he maneuvers them both away from Harrison.

His breath is warm against her ear when he murmurs, "Come on, boss. Michael's waitin'."

Her heart is racing. She can feel his heartbeat against her back, just as fast as hers.

"Right," she manages, her voice steadier than she feels. "Yes. Thank you for the conversation, Harrison."

Harrison finally seems to register that he's been dismissed, that the wall of Ted Lasso is now literally between him and Rebecca. "Of course. Perhaps another time."

"Perhaps," Rebecca says, noncommittal.

Ted doesn't move away as Harrison retreats. If anything, his hands tighten slightly on her waist, keeping her close as they watch him disappear into the crowd.

“Alright?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Not too much? I don’t think he was pickin’ up what we were dishin’ out.”

Rebecca nods, not trusting her voice. Because she's burning up. The possessiveness in his touch, the protective way he'd positioned himself, the fact that he's still holding her even though Harrison is long gone.

She should step away. Should put some professional distance between them.

She doesn't.

Instead, she turns slowly in his arms. One hand stays on her waist, the other slides to her lower back as she rotates to face him. They're chest to chest now, standing so close she can see the flecks of gold in his eyes.

The ballroom full of people suddenly feels very far away.

"That was not the rescue I was expecting to need," she says, trying for lightness but her voice comes out breathy.

Ted's eyes are dark, intense, searching her face. "What were you expectin'?"

"Boring sponsorship talk. Not..." She trails off, very aware of his hand on her lower back, of the way his thumb is tracing small circles against the velvet. Of how close they're standing.

They're in a room full of people and she doesn't care. Doesn't care about propriety or professionalism or what anyone might think.

She just wants –

"Ted," she breathes.

His gaze drops to her mouth. Lingers. "Rebecca."

They're leaning in, both of them, drawn together like magnets. Her eyes start to flutter closed, his head tilts just slightly, the hand on her back pulling her incrementally closer.

“Rebecca!” Keeley’s voice cuts through the moment like a splash of cold water. “Babe, I’m sorry – but the event photographer is looking for you. One of the trustees wants a quick photo with the host.”

They spring apart, far enough that Ted’s hand falls from her waist and Rebecca has to remember how to breathe.

Keeley appears at her elbow, bright, oblivious, and clearly trying to be helpful. “He’s waiting by the main floral display. Won’t take a minute, promise.”

“Right. Yes. Of course.” Rebecca smooths her dress, attempting to gather herself. Attempting to ignore the way her skin still tingles everywhere Ted touched her. “I’ll be right there.”

Keeley bounces off, already waving at the photographer across the room.

Rebecca chances a look at Ted.

He's running a hand through his hair, his tie slightly askew again, likely from her being pressed against it. And he looks every bit as wrecked as she feels.

“You should - ” he gestures faintly in the direction of the waiting trustee.

“Yes. I should.”

But neither of them moves right away.

They’re still standing too close. Still caught in the gravity of what almost happened.

“Thank you,” she says again, quieter this time. “For…everything.”

“Anytime.” His voice is low, still warm, still full of everything he hasn’t said. “Rebecca, I –”

“I know.” And she does. She knows exactly what he was about to say, what he was about to do. What they were about to do.

She touches his arm softly and then forces herself to walk away.

But she can still feel the ghost of his hands on her waist. The heat of his chest against her back.

The possessive warmth in his voice when he murmured her name.

____________________________________

DRESS INSPO

Chapter Text

Ted has been replaying the moment for days.

Not the gala itself – not the speeches or the champagne or the small talk he stumbled through – but the moment with Rebecca. One he couldn’t have imagined in a million years. He had her in his arms and she was leaning back into him like she’d been waiting to do it for years. The one where she looked at him like he was the only man in the room. Like she might actually kiss him. 

Like she wanted to.

He can still feel the imprint of her against him.
Can still hear the little breath she took right before she said his name.
Can still see her eyes fluttering half-closed as she tipped her chin up toward him.

If Keeley hadn’t come running over – 

He stops himself. There’s no use going down that road. Keeley hadn’t known. Of course she hadn’t. And Rebecca had handled the interruption with her usual grace, drifting off to do her hosting duties while Ted stood there trying to remember how to breathe.

But the truth is, he hasn’t stopped thinking about it since.

Or about her.

He’s spent the whole day trying to figure out if he imagined it – if maybe he read too much into the way she leaned into him, the way she looked at him afterward. But every time he doubts himself, he remembers the heat of her back under his palm, the sound she made when he spoke low into her ear, the way her whole body softened like she trusted him without even thinking about it.

And he remembers how close they were.
Inches.
A breath.
If Keeley had been three seconds later – 

He shakes himself again because it doesn’t matter. What matters is that something shifted last night. Something real. And he doesn’t know what to do with it yet, but he knows it’s there. 

And he knows it’s not just him.

Not anymore.

He hasn’t really seen Rebecca since the gala outside of a few short Biscuit with the Boss chats. They have both been insanely busy this week prepping for West Ham. They’ve managed to exchange a few texts, but nothing that touches the charged little fault line running under everything now. He doesn’t know where they stand. He doesn’t know what she’s thinking. He doesn’t know what he’s allowed to hope for.

But he knows he wants to see her.

__________

The Crown & Anchor is absolutely packed.

They beat West Ham 3-1 this afternoon, and the energy in the pub is electric. The whole team is here – Isaac is holding court at one end of the bar, Jamie and Sam are recreating goals with exaggerated hand gestures, Beard is deep in conversation with Keeley about something that's making her cackle. And Mae is pulling pints as fast as she can, grinning at the chaos.

And Rebecca.

Rebecca is radiant.

She laughs at something Mae says, tips her head back, and the whole damn pub seems to tilt toward her. The players, the locals, even Mae herself — they all brighten when Rebecca is in their orbit. It knocks something loose in his chest. He can only imagine what he looks like when she gives him that same attention. 

She turns then - like she felt him looking - and their eyes catch across the noise. Her smile softens, warms, changes just for him. Just for him. She holds his gaze a beat too long, and he feels the air go thin.

And then she’s walking toward him again, like she can’t help it.

Ted has been trying not to stare for the past hour and failing spectacularly. She's in jeans and a thin sweater again, and her cheeks are flushed from the warmth of the pub and the gin and tonic she's been nursing. Her third one, he thinks. She's relaxed in a way he rarely sees – laughing freely, touching people's arms when she talks, leaning into conversations.

She keeps ending up next to him.

Not that he's complaining. Every time she laughs at something he says, every time her hand lands on his arm or his shoulder, every time she looks at him with those bright, happy eyes – he feels it like electricity straight to his chest.

"It was brilliant today," she says, appearing at his elbow again. She has a fresh drink in her hand, and when she sways slightly, Ted steadies her with a hand on her waist.

"Team played real well," he agrees.

"I'm not talking about the team." She pokes his chest, grinning. "I'm talking about you. The substitution in the second half? So well timed."

"Shoot, you’re gonna inflate my ego."

"I'm serious!" She's standing close now, looking up at him. "You're very good at your job, Ted Lasso. Has anyone told you that recently?"

"You might've mentioned it once or twice."

"Well, I'm mentioning it again." She takes a sip of her drink, eyes never leaving his. "You're brilliant. And I'm very glad you're here."

There's something in the way she says it…something warm and loaded that makes his heart kick up.

"I'm glad I'm here too," he says quietly.

The noise of the pub fades slightly. Or maybe he's just hyper-focused on her. On the way she's looking at him. On how close she's standing.

"Ted – "

"Oi, Coach!" Isaac hollers across the room. "Jamie’s runnin’ his mouth again — says his goal was miles better than Sam’s. I’m two seconds from endin’ the debate permanently."

Colin skids in beside him, breathless and already laughing. “Ms. Welton, Coach — please intervene. Jamie told Sam he only scored because his hair created ‘optimal aerodynamic flow.’” He even throws in dramatic air quotes, as if the phrase personally offended him.

Ted groans, Rebecca laughs, and somehow they’re both pulled into the circle as Colin reenacts the entire argument with wild hand gestures. 

“Alright, gimme both arguments. But I’m tellin’ you right now, I hate choosin’ sides.”

Ted ends up standing close enough to her that their shoulders brush every time Colin swings an arm too wide.

Rebecca leans in to whisper, “This is absolutely ridiculous.” 

Her shoulder presses into his with each soft laugh, warm and solid at his side.

Ted doesn’t move away. Not even an inch. If anything, he finds himself leaning right back.

__________________

An hour later, the pub is still crowded but the energy has mellowed slightly. Some of the team has filtered out. Roy and Keeley are pressed side by side in a booth. Beard is reading a book in the corner like this is a library and not a celebration.

Ted has been keeping half an eye on Rebecca all night. She's been making the rounds, talking to everyone, but she keeps gravitating back to him. And every time she does, she stands a little closer. Touching him a little more.

She's drunk. Not wasted, not sloppy – but definitely past tipsy. Her words are still clear, her movements still coordinated, but there's a looseness to her that wouldn't be there if she were sober.

"There you are," she says, finding him again near the back hallway where he'd retreated for a breather. "I was looking for you."

"Were you now?"

"Mmhm." She leans against the wall next to him, close enough that he can smell her perfume. And then she drops her hand on his forearm. "Wanted to properly thank you."

"For what?"

"For helping with the gala. For today's match. For being you." She's looking up at him with those eyes, and Ted's heart is doing dangerous things. "You're very easy to be around, you know that?"

"You might've had a bit to drink, boss."

"Maybe." She grins, unrepentant. "But that doesn't make it less true."

They're in a relatively quiet corner, the noise of the pub muffled. She's still looking at him like that. Standing so close he could count her eyelashes.

"Ted," she says softly.

"Yeah?"

"I really want to kiss you right now."

His brain short-circuits.

Before he can form a coherent response, she's moving – stepping even closer. Her hand drifts up to his chest, rising on her toes. Bold, a little tipsy, a little handsy — and Ted’s chest tightens in a mix of desire and worry.

He catches her gently, hands on her shoulders, holding her there. "Hey…not like this," he says quietly, voice low but steady.

She blinks up at him, a little confused, a little amused. "Not like this?"

"You've been drinkin'."

She blinks up at him, confused. "So have you."

"Not as much as you." His hands are still on her shoulders, and it's taking every ounce of willpower he has not to just say fuck it and kiss her anyway. 

"Rebecca." He makes himself say it, even though it physically hurts. "I don’t want the first time I kiss you to be in this pub after we’ve both been drinkin’."

She's looking at him with those big eyes, and he can see the exact moment she processes what he's saying. Her face falls slightly – not upset, but disappointed. A little pouty, which makes pulling away from her even harder.

"Alright.” Rebecca exhales, and some of the disappointment fades into something that looks almost like affection. "You're very noble."

"I'm tryin' real hard here, if that counts for anything."

She laughs softly, and the sound does something to his chest. "It counts."

The moment stretches between them. Ted's hands are still on her shoulders for a second before he bravely slides them down her arms to find her hands. She's still standing close. The pub is still loud around them, but it feels like they're in their own little bubble.

"Let me walk you home," he says finally.

"I can get home fine on my own."

"I know you can. But I'd feel better if I walked with you. Humor me?"

She considers this, then nods. "Okay."

"Okay."

___________

They gather their things and say their goodbyes. Keeley gives Rebecca a very knowing look that Rebecca either ignores or doesn’t see. But he sees. Beard doesn't even glance up from his book but says "Make good choices" as they pass.

They step outside into the cooler night air, the buzz of the pub fading just enough to make everything feel clearer, sharper. They’re talking, laughing – neither of them paying nearly enough attention to traffic as they reach the curb.

Ted sees the car before she does.

His hand finds her waist automatically, fingers curling there as he draws her back onto the pavement with a gentle tug.

“Whoa, easy,” he murmurs, voice low. “Car comin’.”

She stills under his touch, turning her head toward him. There’s a soft, tipsy apology in her eyes… but also something else. Something warm. Trusting. She leans into his hand like her body recognizes him before her brain does.

Her breath catches. “Sorry. Guess I’m not as steady as I thought.”

“That’s alright. I gotcha,” he says quietly – and he doesn’t move his hand until the road is fully clear.

Her body fits against his hand like it belongs there. And he really tries not to think about that. But it’s impossible.

“I knew you’d look,” she says softly.

Ted squeezes her waist once before letting go. “Course. Gotta get you home safely.”

They walk close together, and Rebecca's shoulder occasionally bumps his.

"You're a good man, Ted Lasso," she says after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

"I'm just doin' what's right."

"Most men wouldn't."

There's weight in those words – history he can guess at but doesn't know the full details of. Rupert. Others, maybe.

"Well, guess I’m not most men."

"No," she agrees quietly. "You're really not."

They walk in silence for another block. Ted is very aware of her beside him. How she's staying close, how she's not drunk enough to stumble but just loose enough to be touching him more than she normally would. Her hand brushes his arm again before she finally loops her arm through his. It's driving him slowly insane.

"Can I ask you something?" she says suddenly.

"Course."

"Why did you really stop me? At the pub?"

Ted glances at her. She's looking straight ahead, but there's vulnerability in the question.

"Because it matters," he says simply. "You matter. And when we kiss – because we are gonna kiss, Rebecca, I can promise you that – I want you to remember it. I want you to be sure it's what you want. I don't ever want you to wonder if you only did it 'cause you'd been drinkin', or if maybe you'd regret it the next day."

She's quiet for a moment. 

"I wouldn't regret it."

"Good. Then you won't regret waitin' until you're sober either."

She makes a small, frustrated sound that's almost a laugh. "You're infuriating."

"I've been told."

Somewhere between one lamppost and the next, she turns toward him — smile soft, eyes warmer than the night air. Her hand lifts before he can think to ask what she’s doing, fingertips brushing along the side of his jaw. Slow. Carefully. Like she’s checking whether he’s still real. 

It’s light, and new. But somehow still familiar.

Ted’s breath stutters. Her thumb pauses, then sweeps once more across his cheekbone — a perfect echo of how he touched her at their menu tasting. A moment he keeps replaying, one he thought he imagined.

Her touch lingers, warm and sure, before she pulls her hand back with a small, embarrassed laugh.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. “Just…wanted to.”

He swallows hard. “You don’t have to apologize for that.”

The warmth of her hand stays even after she lets go.

"You know,” she says as she shakes her head. “You’re right. You made the right choice tonight. Which makes it worse."

Ted grins despite himself. "I really am very wise. Been takin’ lessons from Beard."

"Don't push it."

They turn onto her street. Her house appears ahead, all warm lights in the windows. Ted's stomach does a complicated flip because they're almost there, and he's going to have to say goodbye, and he really doesn't want to.

Rebecca slows as they approach her door. When they stop, she turns to face him, and the light from her porch catches in her hair.

"Thank you," she says softly. "For walking me home. For... being a gentleman."

"Anytime."

She's looking at him in a way that makes his breath catch. She's sobered up slightly during the walk. Not completely, but enough that her eyes are clearer, her words more measured.

"I meant it," she says quietly. "At the pub. I mean it now."

Ted's heart stutters. "Rebecca –"

"I know. I know you want me to be sober. And I respect that. But I need you to know..." She steps closer, and Ted is rooted to the spot. "This isn't just the gin talking. This is me. I want to kiss you, Ted. I've wanted to kiss you for weeks."

She's so close now. Close enough that he could lean down just slightly and – 

No. He can't. He won't.
But God, he wants to.

"Say something," she whispers, and there's vulnerability in it that nearly breaks him.

"You're makin' this real hard," he manages, voice rough.

"Good." She lifts her hand, traces his jaw with her fingertips. "Don't...don’t you want to kiss me?"

The question is softer this time. Less pouty, more honest. Vulnerable in a way that makes his chest ache.

"You have no idea how much," he says, and his voice comes out raw. Honest. "But not like this. Not when you’re a little drunk. When we do this — and we are gonna do this — I want you to be sure. I want it to mean somethin’."

She stares at him for a long moment. "It would mean something."

Ted lets his hands move, pressing her gently against the door, feeling the cool wood behind her. He leans just slightly, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, and lets his thumb linger at her jawline for a heartbeat. She’s gorgeous, pressed up against the door. And he has no trouble picturing this taking a completely different turn, continuing inside where he presses her up against the door from the other side. But he takes a deep breath to settle.

"This matters, Rebecca," he says softly, his thumb following the line of her lower lip. "You matter. And when we finally do this, I want there to be no doubt. No questions. No mornin’ after where you wonder if it was a mistake."

Her eyes search his face.

"It wouldn’t be a mistake," she says.

"Then it won’t be a mistake tomorrow either. Or the day after."

Ted leans just enough to press a gentle, lingering kiss to her cheek, and lets the warmth of his lips hopefully convey what he can’t yet say with his mouth. She shivers slightly, a small, breathy laugh escaping.

Rebecca takes a shaky breath. "You promise you’ll still want this tomorrow? When I'm sober and probably mortified that I asked you twice in one night?"

"Darlin’. I want it now. I'll want it tomorrow," Ted says, absolutely certain. "And I’ll want it the day after that. And the day after that. This isn't goin' away just 'cause we wait a little longer."

She stares at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, she nods. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay." She nods, so he steps back and immediately misses her warmth. "You should probably go. Before I try to convince you again."

He huffs a laugh despite himself. "Yeah. Probably."

But neither of them moves.

"Ted?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For being you."

Something in his chest cracks open. "Anytime, boss."

She fumbles with her keys – still slightly uncoordinated – and Ted steps forward to help. Their hands brush as he helps her unlock the door. 

"Goodnight, Rebecca."

"Goodnight, Ted."

She slips inside, but pauses in the doorway. "I will still mean it tomorrow. Just so you know."

Then she's gone, the door closing softly behind her.

Ted stands there for a long moment, staring at her closed door, his heart still racing.

She tried to kiss him. Twice. And he stopped her. Twice.

He must be out of his mind.

But as he starts the walk back to his flat, he knows he did the right thing. Because when they finally do kiss - and they will, he's absolutely certain of that now - it's going to be perfect. No questions. No doubts.

Just them.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. A text from Rebecca.

I'm all tucked in. Safe and sober enough to text coherently.
I still mean it.
Goodnight, Ted. 💜

Ted stares at that purple heart, at those words – I still mean it – and feels something settle in his chest. Soon.

Good. Because I meant it too.
Sweet dreams, Rebecca.

Her reply comes almost immediately.

They'll probably be about you.
Is that weird to say?
The gin is still talking a little.

Ted laughs out loud in the middle of the empty street.

Not weird. I already know mine will be about you. 😊
Now get some sleep. Drink some water.
We can talk tomorrow. 💜

He pockets his phone and keeps walking, a ridiculous smile on his face.

Tomorrow. They'll talk tomorrow.

And maybe – just maybe – tomorrow he'll finally get to kiss Rebecca Welton.

Chapter Text

Rebecca wakes with a sharp inhale — the kind that comes from a dream you feel in your whole body.

Her phone is still on her nightstand where she left it, screen dark. She reaches for it before she's fully conscious of the decision, unlocking it with shaking fingers.

The messages are still there. Of course they are. She's read them approximately two dozen times since Saturday night.

I'm all tucked in. Safe and sober enough to text coherently.
I still mean it.
Goodnight, Ted. 💜

Good. Because I meant it too.
Sweet dreams, Rebecca.

They'll probably be about you.
Is that weird to say?
The gin is still talking a little.

Not weird. I already know mine will be about you. 😊
Now get some sleep. Drink some water.
We can talk tomorrow. 💜

She stares at that purple heart. At his words…he meant it too. And he dreams about her. Her chest tightens with something that feels dangerously close to hope.

Rebecca sets the phone down carefully, like it might shatter if she's not gentle. Saturday night is still there behind her eyelids. She lies still, listening to the quiet of her bedroom, trying to will her heartbeat to slow.

It doesn't.

Because the second she lets herself remember the way Ted had pressed her back against her own front door — steady, gentle, trying so fucking hard to behave — something hot and traitorous curls low in her stomach.

She shouldn't. She knows she shouldn’t. But it’s too late to stop it now. 

Her body is already humming, already remembering the weight of his hand sliding up her arm, the tremble in his breath when she touched his jaw, the way he’d leaned in like he was seconds from losing every ounce of restraint he had.

And God… if he had.

Rebecca exhales, slow and shaky. Her thighs press together automatically. That doesn’t help. It makes it worse.

Much worse.

Fuck it, she thinks. 

She pushes the duvet down to her waist, heat flushing over her chest. Her sleep shirt has ridden up around her ribs sometime in the night. She pushes it higher, exposing her chest to the cool air, nipples tightening instantly. The sensation makes her shiver — and then makes her blush, because her body is reacting to nothing but the memory of Ted Lasso trying so fucking hard not to kiss her.

Her sleep shorts feel too tight, so she hooks her thumbs into the waistband and pushes them off entirely, kicking them somewhere near the foot of the bed. Now she’s in nothing but her thin black panties and an oversized shirt pushed up out of the way.

Rebecca lets her fingers brush the underside of her breast first, teasing but so effective. She does it again, slower this time, letting her fingertips circle one nipple until it’s truly peaked and aching. Her head tips back against the pillow, a quiet, involuntary sound slipping out of her throat.

She drags a hand down her stomach, letting her fingertips brush the edge of her panties, and she almost laughs — a quiet, helpless sound — because she hasn’t woken up like this over someone in years.

Of course Ted Lasso has her wet and wanting and he hasn't even touched her yet. 

Her breath catches as she slips her hand beneath the waistband. 

She slips her hand beneath the fabric.

The first touch makes her gasp — quiet and desperate. She’s already so wet she can feel it on her fingertips immediately.

Saturday night flickers behind her eyes again, vivid enough to make her hips lift into her own hand. Her fingers move slowly, lazily at first, circling her clit until her thighs tremble. She imagines his hand instead of hers — larger, warmer, more certain.

She shouldn’t think about him like this.

She absolutely, without question, is going to think about him like this.

Rebecca closes her eyes and can feel everything. 

The way his body pressed close but never crossed the line.

The way he’d braced one hand beside her head on the doorframe, when he’d whispered, “Not like this, Rebecca.”

The way he’d looked at her mouth when she asked if he wanted to kiss her.

And the worst part, the part that lights her up from the inside...

He did. He really, really did. So much so that he told her, and stopped himself anyway. His restraint is sexier than it has any right to be. 

Her fingers slip lower, finding herself embarrassingly wet, and she bites back a gasp. 

She cups herself fully, pressing her palm against her cunt, and her hips lift into the pressure. She slides two fingers around gently gathering everything there, and she groans softly. When she circles her clit again — slower this time, firmer — her whole body flinches with how good it feels.

She shouldn’t be doing this. She should get up, shower, and start her Monday like an adult.

But then she remembers the exact moment she nearly kissed him and her hips lift into her hand again.

Her hips roll again, more insistent this time. She squeezes her breast with her free hand, thumb brushing over her nipple until she feels a bolt of heat shoot through her stomach

If he hadn’t stopped her…
If he’d closed the distance…
If he’d let her taste him…

Rebecca imagines it — his mouth on hers, soft at first, then deeper when he loses control His hands on her waist. His body pressing her back into the door, holding her there like he’s wanted to for months.

She imagines the kiss starting fast — his tongue sliding against hers, his hands gripping her hips and pulling her impossibly closer. She imagines the sound he’d make when she kissed him back, needy and eager, the way his thigh would slot between hers if she dragged him inside, how easily he could guide her down onto it. 

The fantasy is so vivid her fingers move faster without conscious thought, circling her clit just the way she knows will undo her. She’s panting now, open-mouthed and restless, chasing the pressure she wishes was his hand instead of hers.

She imagines him kissing her until she whimpers.
Until she melts.
Until she’d have dragged him inside and –

She moans, quiet and breathless, fingers circling harder now.

God, she wants him.

She wants the way he looks at her.
She wants the way his breath stuttered when she touched his jaw.
She wants the way he said “you matter” like it was the simplest truth in the world.
She wants the way he’d trembled — actually trembled — trying not to kiss her.

She wants that kiss.

Her hips roll again, faster this time, breath catching as a coil of heat tightens low and sharp. XX

Rebecca slips a finger inside herself — just one at first — and the sensation drags a desperate sound from her chest. She adds a second, curling them shallowly while her thumb presses tight circles over her clit. The heat courses over her body and her thighs shake as she rides her own hand, chasing an edge she can already feel cresting.

She imagines his voice, wrecked and gentle, whispering her name against her mouth.

“Rebecca.”

She imagines him finally giving in. She can hear him. 

"Darlin’. I want it now. I'll want it tomorrow,"

And that’s it.

It hits hard and fast, a deep, rolling wave that nearly steals her breath. Her back arches off the mattress, hand stuttering as she rides it out, a soft broken sound escaping before she can stop it. Pleasure pulses through her in slow, lingering aftershocks until she finally collapses back into the pillows, chest rising and falling in shaky breaths.

For a moment she just lies there, shivering through the aftershocks, staring at the ceiling like it personally offended her.

Jesus, she’s in trouble.

Because if she can fall apart like that from a kiss that didn’t even happen, what will happen when it finally does?

Her alarm goes off. She dismisses the sound, still breathing unevenly.

There’s no universe — none — where she walks into the office today and pretends nothing happened Saturday night.

They’re going to talk. They have to.

But if he looks at her mouth even once. If he says her name like he did at her door. If he gets close enough that she can feel his breath – 

She’s not sure she’s strong enough to stop them. And she definitely doesn’t want to. 

___________________

Rebecca has barely set her handbag down when she hears the unmistakable thud of someone hopping onto her desk.

“Keeley,” she says without looking up, “if you dent that, you’re paying for it.”

“Worth it,” Keeley replies, cheerfully unrepentant. “Because we need. To. Talk.”

Rebecca freezes. Just for a moment. Then she smooths her blouse, reaches for her coffee, and aims for dignified. “Good morning to you too.”

Keeley leans forward, legs swinging. “Babe. I saw you leave the pub with Ted on Saturday.”

Rebecca tries to keep her expression neutral. “He walked me home because I’d had a bit to drink.”

“Uh-huh.” Keeley’s eyes narrow with exaggerated suspicion. “Is that what we’re calling it these days? Walking?”

Rebecca sips her coffee avoiding Keeley's swinging legs as she's still perched on Rebecca's desk.

“Yes.”

Keeley grins like a cat who’s found the cream. “Because from where I was sitting, Ted looked at you like you’d just hung the bloody moon. And you looked at him like you were two seconds from climbing him like a tree. Tipsy or not.”

“Keeley,” Rebecca cuts in sharply. Too sharply, so she clears her throat. 

“Nothing happened.”

“Oh,” Keeley says, biting into the word like it’s a snack.

Rebecca instantly regrets having a face. Or a pulse. Or a best friend who is both terrifyingly perceptive and five feet tall.

“Nothing like the something at the gala?”

Rebecca goes very still. “Wait…you know about that?”

Keeley grins, pointing two fingers at her eyes and then at Rebecca. “Oh, I saw it. You two were very cozy. And I’m really fucking sorry, because I realized it a second too late to, uh…un-interrupt anything.”

Rebecca groans softly. “You…saw?”

Keeley hops off the desk waving a hand like it’s nothing before sliding into a chair. “Yea babe. You looked very caught up in him. But I don’t think anyone else saw if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Rebecca groans softly into her hand. “We have had several ‘almosts.’”

“I knew it!” Keeley crows, triumphant. “And Saturday was another one.”

Rebecca doesn’t confirm. She doesn’t need to.

Keeley studies her face — the too-bright eyes, the faint flush, the way she keeps glancing at the door like Ted might appear out of thin air.

“Are you okay? Did something happen?”

It’s the softness that gets her. Rebecca exhales. Very carefully. “I’m…yes. I’m fine.”

Keeley tilts her head. “Liar.”

Rebecca groans softly into her hand. "We keep...almost kissing."

"I knew it!" Keeley crows, triumphant. "And Saturday was another one."

Rebecca doesn't confirm. She doesn't need to. But she gives a helpless little shrug. "It's…complicated." 

"Rebecca." Keeley's voice goes gentle in that way that means she's not letting this go. "What happened?"

Rebecca closes her eyes. Opens them. Looks anywhere but at Keeley. "I tried to kiss him."

"Oh my god, finally! And?"

"And he stopped me." The words come out flat. Mortifying.

Keeley blinks. "He...what?"

"He stopped me." Rebecca's face is burning now. "You were there. We were at the pub. And I'd had a few drinks, and I just – I told him I wanted to kiss him. And he said no."

"He said no?"

"Well. Not exactly 'no.' More like...'not like this.'" Rebecca can hear Ted's voice in her head, quiet and certain. 

I don't want the first time I kiss you to be in this pub after we've both been drinkin'.

Keeley's eyes go wide. "Because you were drinking."

"Yes."

"So he turned you down because he's a gentleman."

Rebecca makes a strangled sound. "And then I tried again. At my door. After he walked me home like some...some perfect, infuriating – " She cuts herself off with a groan. "Twice, Keeley. I asked him twice in one night, and he turned me down twice."

For a moment, Keeley just stares at her. Then her face does something complicated – surprise giving way to understanding giving way to that insufferable knowing smile.

"Oh, babes."

"Don't. Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you think it's romantic that he rejected me. Twice."

"It is romantic!" Keeley bounces slightly in her chair. "Rebecca, he didn't reject you. He just...he wanted you to be sober. He wanted it to be right."

"He wanted me to be sure." The words are bittersweet. But she knows Keeley is right. She just wants to vent.

"And are you? Sure?"

Rebecca looks at her. Remembers Ted's hands on her shoulders, steady and warm. His voice, rough and honest. 

You have no idea how much. 

The way he'd pressed her gently against her door, thumb tracing her lip, eyes dark with want and restraint.

"Yes," she says quietly. "I'm sure."

Keeley's smile goes soft. "Then tell him that. Today. When you're both sober and there's no gin to blame it on."

"What if—" Rebecca stops. Swallows. "What if he's changed his mind? What if in the light of day he's decided it's too complicated, or inappropriate, or -"

"No," Keeley says. "You said it’s complicated but it isn’t. You two just make it complicated. But that's okay, because complicated can be sexy. And honestly? You look…well." She gestures vaguely at Rebecca's hair, her cheeks, her whole existence. "Glowy."

Rebecca’s face heats. “Oh my god.”

“Babes, you’re smitten.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Rebecca covers her face with both hands. “Keeley.”

Keeley bounces off the desk, wraps her arms around her in a quick hug, then pulls back with that impossibly earnest smile. “Just…talk to him today. Properly. No interruptions. No dodging.”

Rebecca opens her mouth to protest.

Keeley cuts in, gentle but firm: “And don’t let him wiggle out of telling you what he really wants.”

Rebecca swallows. “You think he…?”

“Oh my god, yes.” Keeley looks offended at the very question. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s like watching a golden retriever fall in love with a goddess.”

Rebecca blinks. “That’s a horrible metaphor.”

“You’re welcome.”

A soft knock makes both women turn. The door cracks open. Ted steps in just far enough to meet Rebecca’s eyes.

“Can I – uh…is now a good time?”

Her pulse jumps.

Keeley beams. “Perfect time!” She squeezes Rebecca’s arm, whispers, “Be brave,” and then flounces right past Ted on her way out.

Rebecca watches the door fall shut behind Ted — not closed, or locked, but just enough to give them a sliver of privacy. Enough for her pulse to start doing unhelpful things.

“You got some time? I know this is outta schedule.”

“I always have time for you, Ted."

She stands unexpectedly. Like her body couldn’t help itself. They meet somewhere between her desk and the door. 

He looks nervous. And determined. And far too handsome for a Monday morning.

“About this weekend…” he starts.

Her stomach drops and lifts at the same time.

“Yes,” she says, arms folding like armor she isn’t actually using. “We should probably talk about that.”

“Yeah.”

He steps closer. Just a little. Just enough for the air between them to tighten. “Wanted to check in. Make sure you were okay with how things went. On Saturday.”

“I am,” she answers quickly. Too quickly. She hates how it sounds, so she softens it. “I remember all of it, Ted.”

He freezes for half a second — surprised, relieved, undone.

“Okay,” he murmurs, voice dipping lower. “Good. Me too.”

And then he moves closer.

It’s subtle, but she feels it everywhere — a pull, a gravity, something inevitable and warm. The same thing that’s been happening for weeks now, and she’s so tired of pretending she doesn’t feel it.

His eyes flick down to her mouth.

She feels it. The shift. She’s leaning in before she realizes it — centimeter, breath, intention. Too close for the office. Too close for common sense.

“Rebecca…” he breathes.

Her pulse jumps. “Yes?”

He hesitates, but takes another step closer. A small smile is blooming on his face.

“There’s somethin’ you should know.”

Oh God. Her heart stumbles, anticipation curling low and hot.

“What’s that?” she asks, too softly.

He swallows, and the moment thickens, impossibly intimate.

“I don’t want to just kiss you, Rebecca.”

It hits her like a warm hand on bare skin.

“No?” she whispers.

“No.”

His voice goes rougher and he leans in just enough that she feels the warmth of him without contact.

“Kissin’ you is just the part I’m barely holdin’ myself back from. But it's not the whole picture. Not by a long shot.”

Her breath leaves her in a shaky exhale.

“Ted…”

He continues, quiet and sincere.

“I didn’t stop you on Saturday ’cause I didn’t want you. I stopped you ’cause I want you sober when you kiss me the first time. I want you to remember everything. I don’t want it muddied up with alcohol or peer pressure, and I don’t want there to be an audience.”

It lands deep in her chest — warm, aching, tender. 

She steps closer. She doesn’t even think about it, she just does.

And that’s when she feels it…the edge. The line they’re about to toe again.

But then she remembers where they are. So she stops them.

Her hand touches his chest — gently, not pushing him away, not rejecting him. Just asking him to pause. Asking both of them to breathe.

She lets her eyes fall shut and feels one of his hands land on her waist.

“Not here,” she says softly.

Ted’s breath hitches, but he nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

She smiles up at him. “Our first kiss deserves somewhere better than fluorescent lights and an open-door policy. And where fucking Leslie won't barge in.”

He huffs a breath of laughter. “Yeah, that…that sounds right.”

And before she can second-guess it, she rises onto her toes and presses a soft kiss to his cheek — warm, lingering, saying everything she can’t yet say aloud.

“Later,” she murmurs, letting her fingers slide away from his chest. “I promise.”

She steps back, but he doesn’t. Not right away.

But eventually he opens the door and slips out, and Rebecca is left in her office with her pulse thundering and one devastatingly clear realization.

“Later” can’t come soon enough.

______________

Rebecca pretends to work – she really does – but her brain refuses to focus. Every meeting, every email, every passing conversation goes straight through her without meaning a thing. Her whole body feels tuned to the memory of her morning and the promise of what’s to come.

Frustration prickles at her for stopping them, but she knows it was the right call. Someone had come in not long after Ted left, and if they’d kissed, she likely wouldn’t have wanted to stop. Not with how honest he had been.

Every time her phone buzzes, her heart lurches. It’s never him. Of course it isn’t. Ted Lasso wouldn’t text her from down the hall when he could come to her in person.
Which means at any moment he might appear in her doorway.
Which means she’s useless.

But he does text her. Just once. 

Is it later, yet? 

She catches herself glancing toward the door of her office more times than she can count – looking for the shape of him, the way he walks, the sound of his footsteps even though they don’t have anything else scheduled that day. 

Rebecca sneaks a peek during training and can feel her heart racing. Because he’s just Ted. but he’s also the man she thought about in her bed this morning. And because he looks up, and finds her in the window, like he was looking for her too.

By mid-afternoon, she’s a taut wire. Warm. Restless. Primed.

She isn’t sure which one of them will break first.
She only knows it’s coming.

___________

Her house is quiet. Calm. Rebecca finally made herself go home after spacing out for the last two hours of the day. She glances at her phone more times than she can count. No texts. No calls. But she can’t stop hoping, imagining what it would feel like if it buzzed with Ted’s name. 

Her thoughts circle back to this morning, to the look in his eyes, the weight of everything unsaid, and the memory of how close they’d been. A flutter of frustration prickles under her ribs — for stopping, for having to wait. She wonders when she’ll see him again, and tries to figure out how to make it happen. 

Rebecca doesn’t hear the knock so much as she feels it — a thud that lands low in her stomach, because she knows. She knows exactly who that is without asking.

She opens the door, and there he is.

Ted Lasso, standing on her front step, hands shoved into the pockets of his khakis, hair a little windswept, eyes warm and nervous and determined all at once. Like he couldn’t wait one more minute. 

Something loosens under her ribs.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft but steady.

“Hi,” she echoes — and it comes out too breathless, too relieved.

Thank fuck, she thinks.

Ted looks at her for a long, loaded second. 

“Can I come in?”

She steps back without a word.

He passes her, and the moment the door clicks shut behind them, everything changes. The air tightens. Her pulse stutters. Ted turns toward her slowly — and the look on his face steals the breath from her lungs.

There’s nothing uncertain in it.

He steps closer. One step. Two. His hand lifts, fingers grazing her jaw with a confidence that feels…new. Like he’s claiming her. 

“Rebecca,” he murmurs.

Her name sounds different in his mouth tonight….lower, sultry. Like it’s not just her name, but something more. 

Her breath shakes. “Yes?”

His thumb brushes the edge of her lip.

“Last chance to stop this.”

She laughs — soft, disbelieving, already undone. “Ted…there’s no stopping this.”

Something in him breaks at that.

Because he doesn’t hesitate. He closes the distance in one sure movement, crowding into her space, and his other hand slides to the back of her neck as he lowers his forehead to hers.

“Thank god,” he whispers.

And then he kisses her.

It hits her like a match striking. It’s instant, all consuming, weeks of restraint snapping and curling and catching fire in the same breath. His mouth is soft, then firm, then hungry, like he’s been imagining this as vividly as she has. She fists a hand in his shirt, dragging him closer, swallowing the soft groan he makes when she opens for him.

He kisses like he’s learning her. Like he’s savoring. Like he’s starving.

Her back hits the wall before she fully realizes he’s guiding her there. She feels a rush of heat as she realizes that he’s finally letting himself take up space with her. His hand slides from her jaw down her neck, over her collarbone, thumb tracing the neckline of her shirt.

“Tell me you’re sure,” he breathes against her mouth, voice warm and frayed.

“I’m sure,” she whispers back, tugging him closer. “I’ve been sure.”

His lips press to her jaw, her throat, the place beneath her ear that makes her gasp.

“Okay,” he murmurs, sinking into the sound she makes. 

Her heart is racing. God, she wants him. 

Rebecca tangles her fingers in his hair, pulling him back up to kiss her again — messier this time, her teeth catching his lower lip, and the noise he makes goes straight through her. His hands skate down her sides, settling at her hips, thumbs hooking into the waistband of her leggings.

She thrusts her hips at him, not willing to wait any longer.

He groans into her mouth, pressing her more firmly against the wall. His hands tighten on her hips, holding her steady as he rocks against her once, deliberately, and the friction makes her gasp.

"Ted –"

"I know," he breathes, kissing her jaw, her neck. "I know, sweetheart."

She realizes dimly that they're still in her foyer. She’s still pressed against the wall just inside her front door. She should care about that. Should suggest they move upstairs, to her bedroom, somewhere with an actual bed.

But god, she doesn't want to stop. Doesn't want to break this moment for even the thirty seconds it would take to climb the stairs.

Ted pulls back slightly, eyes dark and searching. "We should –" He glances toward the staircase. "Upstairs. You deserve –"

"Later," she cuts him off, pulling him back down for another kiss. "Right now I need you right here."

He makes a sound that's half laugh, half groan. "You sure?"

"Ted." She reaches between them, palming him through his khakis, and his hips jerk forward involuntarily. "I'm very sure."

"Christ, Rebecca." 

His head drops to her shoulder, breathing hard. Then he lifts his head, meeting her eyes with an intensity that makes her knees weak. "Okay. We should…not against the wall…"

But even as he says it, his hips rock against her again, and whatever intention he had dissolves. His hands tighten on her hips, holding her steady as he grinds into her once more, and the friction makes them both groan.

"Ted." She tugs at his hair, kissing him desperately.

"I know, I know." He's panting now, forehead pressed to hers

But he doesn't move. Instead his hands slide down to grip her thighs, hiking one leg higher around his waist, and the new angle makes her gasp into his mouth.

"Fuck," she breathes.

"Yeah," he agrees roughly, rolling his hips again in a way that has her seeing stars even through their clothes.

They stay like that for another heated moment – grinding against each other, letting the moment carry them – before Ted finally summons enough willpower to pull back slightly.

He pauses. Just for a breath, while his hands play with the hem of her shirt.

“Can I?” The question is quiet but certain, already knowing the answer, needing to hear it anyway.

“Yes,” she says instantly. “Ted, please.”

The please changes him.

He exhales sharply, and stares into her eyes for half a second like he needs the grounding. Then he’s moving again, pulling up her shirt with careful, shaking fingers, kissing each new inch of skin like he’s been imagining it for months.

“Arms up, baby.”

She lets him pull the shirt from her body, and he looks at her — really looks — and something desperate flashes through his eyes.

“God almighty, Rebecca,” he breathes, hands sliding up to cup her breasts through her bra. His thumbs brush her nipples, and her back arches helplessly. He watches her reaction like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

The sound she makes is soft and wrecked, and Ted swallows hard, visibly losing focus.

Then his gaze flicks downward.

“Can I…?” His fingers find the center clasp, barely touching it, voice low and rough. “Wanna see you.”

She nods instantly. “God, yes.”

and the bra falls away. His breath actually catches, like the sight of her knocks the wind out of him.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, hands coming up to cup her fully now, skin to skin, reverent and hungry all at once. “Rebecca…you’re –”

Whatever word he had disappears. He lowers his head, kissing the top swell of her breast, then the side, then lower, like he can’t decide where to start, like he wants all of her at once.

Her fingers slide into his hair, tugging gently. “Ted.”

He looks up at her from where he’s mouthing along the curve of her breast, eyes blown wide, lips already kiss-bitten.

“I’m tryin’ real hard not to lose my mind,” he murmurs against her skin. “You’re just…so incredibly gorgeous.”

Rebecca pulls him up into another kiss, deeper, needier. She tries to say everything she can’t find the words for yet. His hands run down her hips to her leggings. She helps, pushing them down her legs quickly, stepping out until she’s in nothing but her bra and panties. She’s never felt more powerful. Never felt more wanted.

Ted stares like he’s memorizing her.

Then he’s on her again — kissing her hard enough that her knees buckle, his hands lifting her thighs, guiding her up until her legs wrap around his waist. She gasps into his mouth at the pressure where his body presses perfectly between her thighs.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, hips rolling instinctively.

“Yeah,” he groans, voice hitting a pitch she’s never heard from him. “That’s it. Do that again.”

She does, grinding into him, feeling how hard he is even through both their clothes, and his head drops to her shoulder with a choked sound that does things to her she’s not prepared for.

He carries her — actually carries her — to the couch, lowering her down carefully but with a barely restrained urgency. He climbs over her, kissing her again and again, hands everywhere now. Her waist, her ribs, the curve of her breast, her thighs.

“Rebecca,” he murmurs against her skin, kissing down her stomach. “You tell me to stop anytime.”

“I won’t,” she breathes, pushing her hips up when he reaches the waistband of her underwear. “I don’t want you to.”

He meets her eyes, waiting for her nod and slides her panties down her legs.

Rebecca’s breath leaves her in a rush.

Ted looks at her like she’s something holy.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, voice thick. “Just…beautiful.”

His hands run up the inside of her thighs, gentle, until his fingers reach her core. And when he touches her, just barely, her whole body jolts.

“Oh–” she gasps, hips lifting again.

“Let me hear you,” he whispers, leaning over her. “Been thinkin’ about how you’d sound.”

She makes the exact sound he’d been hoping for when his fingers stroke her again — soft, slow circles that make her thighs shake. Then he slides one finger through the slick wetness and his breath catches hard.

“Jesus, Rebecca,” he groans, pressing his forehead to her sternum. “So wet already.”

Her hips lift just a fraction, breath hitching as she lets out a soft, mischievous laugh. “Ted. I’ve been thinking about this for weeks. Even more so the past few days. I’m lucky I made it out of bed this morning. I had to take care of things myself…” Her fingers trail lightly over his chest, teasing, challenging, letting him feel just how much she’s been anticipating him.

Ted groans low in his throat, eyes darkening. “You…what?” 

His voice is rough, incredulous. He presses a hand to her hip, keeping her flush against him. 

“Tell me you weren’t…thinkin’ about me the whole time.”

“Only you.” 

Ted kisses her again. And it's hot and messy and everything she's been waiting for.

He pulls back just enough to guide one finger inside her and she moans, arching into him.

"That okay?" he asks softly, watching her face.

"Yes," she breathes. "More – please – "

He adds a second finger, moving them gently at first, then deeper, curling them in a way that makes her see stars.

"Feel good?" he whispers, lips brushing hers.

"Yes," she gasps. "God – Ted – yes."

"Don't be afraid to give me directions," he murmurs against her throat, kissing the hollow there. "I'm real good at following instructions."

She lets out a rough chuckle that turns into a moan when his thumb finds her clit. "Fuck – don't stop -"

"I won't," he promises, kissing her hard as he works his fingers inside her, slow and deliberate, his thumb circling her clit just enough to keep her teetering on the edge.

“Ted,” she pants, nails scraping his shoulders. “I’m close – I – oh god – ”

“That’s it,” he murmurs, voice a rough plea against her mouth. “C’mon sweetheart, let me have it. Let me feel you.”

The words push her straight over the edge.

She comes with a broken, gasping sound, clenching around his fingers, body shaking as he holds her through it — whispering soft, filthy encouragement against her skin.

“That’s it…that’s it, darlin’…god, you’re perfect…”

He works her through it gently, fingers still moving until the aftershocks fade and she's gasping against his shoulder. Then he slowly withdraws his hand, and she whimpers at the loss.

But before she can pull him up for a kiss, Ted slides down her body – kissing her sternum, the swell of her breasts, her ribs, her stomach – until he's kneeling between her legs on the floor.

Rebecca's breath catches. "Ted –"

He looks up at her from between her thighs, eyes dark and hungry, and the sight alone nearly undoes her.

"I need to taste you," he says quietly. Not asking. Stating. "Been thinkin' about it since the gala. Since I helped you into those shoes. Took all’a my strength not to just push your dress to the side."

"Oh my god." Her head falls back against the couch cushions.

"That a yes?" There's a smile in his voice.

"Yes," she breathes. "God, yes."

He spreads her thighs wider, settling her legs over his shoulders, and the first touch of his tongue makes her cry out.

"Fuck – Ted – "

He hums against her a pleased little sound, and does it again. Long, slow strokes that have her hips lifting off the couch. He's careful at first, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her thighs shake. Then he finds a rhythm that has her fisting her hands in his hair.

"Just like that," she gasps. "Don't – oh god – don't stop."

He doesn't. His tongue circles her clit, then flattens against it, then circles again. When he seals his lips around it and sucks gently, her whole body jolts.

"Ted – "

He groans against her, and the vibration nearly sends her over the edge again. His hands grip her thighs, holding her steady as she writhes against his mouth.

"So good," he mumbles against her. "You taste so good, Rebecca."

The words, the pressure, the heat of his mouth – it's all too much. She's already sensitive from the first orgasm, and this is building faster, harder.

"I'm –" She can barely form words. "Fuck. I'm –"

"You can do it, baby," he murmurs, doubling his efforts. "Come for me again."

And she does – crying out his name as she comes apart against his mouth. He doesn't stop, working her through it with his tongue until she's shaking and oversensitive and tugging at his hair.

He presses one last soft kiss to her inner thigh before rising up, and the sight of him – hair a mess from her hands, lips wet, pupils blown wide – makes her want him all over again.

She pulls him up desperately, kissing him and tasting herself on his tongue. Her hands are already tugging at his belt.

"Ted," she breathes against his mouth, "I want you. Now."

He groans — low, helpless — and kisses her like he's losing himself.

"Rebecca…are you sure?"

She grabs his face, eyes blazing.

“There’s no stopping this,” she whispers again. “We’ve waited long enough. You’ve stopped us, I’ve stopped us. I think I’m done letting the universe interrupt us.”

Ted’s restraint shatters.

He pulls his shirt off in one frantic motion, and Rebecca's breath catches at the sight of him. She runs her hands over his chest, his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin, the way his muscles jump under her touch.

He undoes his belt with shaking hands, kicks his khakis and boxers away — and when he settles between her thighs, skin on skin, both of them shaking, she feels the exact moment everything in her life tips forward.

She reaches between them, wrapping her hand around him, and the sound he makes is desperate and gorgeous.

"Rebecca." It comes out strangled.

"I want to touch you," she whispers, stroking him slowly. "I want to feel you."

"You're gonna –" He groans, hips jerking into her hand after she strokes the tip of him with her thumb. "If you keep doin' that I'm not gonna last."

She smiles against his mouth. "Good."

But he catches her wrist gently, stopping her. "Not yet. Not." He kisses her deeply. "I want to be inside you when I –"

Her whole body clenches at the words.

"Yes," she breathes. "Yes, Ted, please."

He lines himself up, breath trembling, and pauses. His hand comes up to cup her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone.

"Rebecca," he murmurs. "Look at me."

She does.

Their eyes lock — and there's something in his gaze that makes her chest crack open. Want and tenderness and something deeper, something that feels like it's been building since the day they met.

"This is real for me."

"Me too," she whispers back and that’s the moment she actually realizes how real. And the impact of that is almost too much for her to bear. 

And then he pushes inside, slowly, giving her time to adjust, and the sensation steals the air from her lungs.

"Oh – " Her head tips back, eyes fluttering closed.

"Okay?" he asks, voice strained, holding perfectly still.

"Yes," she gasps. "Yes. M-move, please -"

He does. Slow at first, achingly gentle, and it's so good she could cry. He fills her perfectly, hits something deep inside that makes her whole body light up.

"Christ," he groans, forehead pressed to hers. "You feel – Rebecca, you feel incredible."

She wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and they both moan at the same time.

"Faster," she breathes. "Ted, I need–"

He gets it. Picks up the pace, still controlled but with more urgency now, and the sound of their bodies moving together fills her foyer.

"Like this?" he asks, angling his hips slightly, and…

"Yes -" It comes out as almost a sob. "Right there. Don't stop."

"Not stoppin'," he promises, and then his hand slides down to grip her thigh, hitching her leg higher around his waist. The angle shifts and he drives in deeper, and they both groan at the sensation.

Every thrust hits exactly where she needs it, building pressure low in her belly that's already coiling tight again.

"Ted." Her nails dig into his shoulders. "I'm – oh god, I'm –"

"I know, sweetheart," he groans, and she can feel him starting to lose his rhythm. "I can feel you. You're squeezin' me so tight.”

"Don't stop," she gasps. "Please don't."

"Never," he breathes, and then his thumb finds her clit again, circling firmly, and that's it.

She comes apart with a cry, clenching around him so hard he gasps at the sensation. The orgasm hits in waves, each one stronger than the last, and through it all Ted keeps moving, keeps whispering her name.

"That's it," he groans. "God, Rebecca, you're so –"

His rhythm stutters. She feels him getting close and tightens her legs around him, pulling him deeper.

"Ted. Come for me," she whispers against his ear. 

“W-where? Rebecca.” Her name is a growl. She can feel him pulsing inside of her. Can feel the restraint in his arms as he holds himself above her.

"Inside. I want to feel you."

He makes a broken sound and thrusts deep one more time, shuddering as he comes with her name on his lips.

They collapse together, breathing hard, still tangled on her couch.

For a long moment, neither of them moves. Ted's face is buried in her neck, his breath warm against her skin. Rebecca runs her fingers through his hair, feeling the aftershocks still pulsing through both of them.

"Jesus," Ted finally mumbles against her throat.

Rebecca laughs — soft and breathless. "Yeah."

Ted lifts his head to look at her, and his expression is so tender it makes her chest ache. He brushes her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear.

"Hi," he says softly.

"Hi," she whispers back.

"That was…" He pauses, searching for words. "I don't even have words."

"Me neither."

He kisses her gently. Once, twice, three times. Soft and sweet and nothing like the desperate hunger from before.

"So," he says, a smile tugging at his mouth. "Should we maybe move this upstairs now?"

Rebecca grins. "I think that can be arranged."

"Good." He kisses her again. "Because I'm nowhere near done with you yet."

Her whole body flushes with heat. "Oh?"

"Darlin', I've been thinkin' about this for months." His hand trails down her side possessively. "We're just gettin' started."

She pulls him down for another kiss, already feeling heat building between them again.

"Upstairs," she murmurs against his mouth. "Now."

He stands, pulling her up with him, and she's momentarily unsteady on her legs. He steadies her with a hand on her waist, grinning.

"You okay?"

"Your fault," she says, but she's smiling.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

They gather their scattered clothes — or at least enough to make it upstairs — and Ted pulls his boxers back on before following her up the staircase with his hand on the small of her back. When they reach her bedroom, he pauses in the doorway, looking around like he's taking it all in.

Rebecca turns to face him, suddenly aware that this is different. Deliberate. That they're choosing to continue this in her bed, in her space.

"Ted? Are you okay?" she asks softly.

He meets her eyes, and there's something in his expression that makes her breath catch. Want, yes. But also certainty.

"Just thinkin' about how I've imagined this," he says, voice low. "And how much better the real thing is."

She steps closer, fingers trailing down his chest. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He catches her hand, brings it to his lips. "You're real, Rebecca. Not some fantasy I built up in my head. You're real and you're here and you want me."

"I do," she whispers. "Very much."

He kisses her, slow and deep this time, then walks her backward toward the bed. When the backs of her knees hit the mattress, she sits, then lies back, and he follows, settling between her thighs.

"Hi," he murmurs, bracing himself above her.

"Hi." She runs her hands up his arms, over his shoulders. "Are you planning to just hover indefinitely, or…"

He grins. "Oh, I’ve got plans, baby."

"Good." She pulls him down for another kiss, wrapping her legs around his waist. "Because I'm not done with you either."

She can feel him already hardening again against her thigh, and she rocks her hips up deliberately. His breath catches as he slides his hand down to let his fingers play in the wetness between her legs.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he groans.

"Oh, but what a lovely way to go."

He laughs surprised and delighted at how easy this is between them, and kisses her again. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with promise.

"Round two?" he asks.

"At least," she says, and pulls him back down.

Finally, she thinks as he kisses down her neck, as his hands map her body like he's memorizing every curve.

Finally, no more almosts.

Just them.