Keifers pov;
The first time Jay acted like a child in front of me, I didn't know what to do with it.
She was usually so composed, so careful—always watching, always calculating, always protecting herself.
But that morning, she walked into the kitchen with her hair messy and her pajamas too big, rubbing her eyes like she hadn't slept.
And for some reason… she looked like she belonged to someone else.
Like she wasn't the woman who held the office together.
She was just… Jay.
I watched her pour coffee into a mug that was clearly too big for her hands.
Then she sighed dramatically.
"I hate mornings," she declared, like she was a child complaining about chores.
I smiled, because she sounded so real.
She looked at me, eyes wide and playful.
"You know what I want?" she asked.
"What?" I replied, playing along.
She leaned in and whispered like it was a secret.
"I want… pancakes."
I raised an eyebrow. "Pancakes?"
"Yes!" She nodded seriously. "With syrup and strawberries and a lot of butter."
I walked over to her and took the mug from her hands.
"Fine," I said. "But you're going to help."
Jay blinked. "I'm not a kid."
"Then act like one," I teased.
She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms like she was offended.
"I'm not acting," she said.
I smiled. "Sure."
She stood on her toes to reach the flour jar, then she struggled to open it.
I watched her carefully.
She wasn't pretending.
She was just… enjoying being free.
So I stepped closer and helped her open it.
Her eyes met mine.
And I saw the spark.
The little girl inside her, finally allowed to come out.
She giggled.
A soft, genuine laugh that sounded like music in my ears.
She turned back to the counter and started measuring the ingredients with exaggerated care, like it was a game.
She made a mess.
Flour everywhere.
And she didn't care.
She looked at me with flour on her nose and said, "You're going to clean this up."
I raised my hands. "No."
She blinked. "What?"
"I'm not cleaning your mess," I said, "because it's your mess."
She pouted.
Then she did something I didn't expect.
She threw a pinch of flour at me.
I felt it hit my chest.
She giggled again.
I looked at her.
She looked at me.
And suddenly, we were kids in a kitchen, not a CEO and his assistant.
I leaned down and whispered, "Now you're in trouble."
Jay's eyes widened, and she made a dramatic face like she was afraid.
"Please don't hurt me," she teased.
I smiled. "Oh, I won't hurt you."
I leaned closer.
"Unless you make me."
She laughed and shoved me lightly.
Then she ran away.
I chased her around the kitchen.
It was ridiculous. It was childish. It was beautiful.
She finally stopped at the dining table, breathless.
"Okay," she said, "you win."
I sat across from her.
She looked at me, smiling, eyes shining.
"Why do you do this?" she asked quietly.
I tilted my head. "Do what?"
"Make me feel safe," she whispered.
I leaned forward, my voice soft. "Because you deserve to be safe."
Jay's smile faded a little, replaced by something deeper.
She reached out and touched my hand.
"Back then," she said, "I didn't have anyone."
I watched her carefully.
"Back then," she continued, "I was always alone."
I squeezed her hand.
"You're not alone anymore," I said.
Jay's eyes filled.
But instead of crying, she laughed again—this time, a little quieter.
"Stop making me emotional," she teased.
I smiled. "I'm not trying."
She leaned her head on my shoulder.
"Do you know what I realized?" she asked.
"What?"
"I realized I never knew I could be happy like this," she said. "I never knew I could be simple."
I kissed her forehead.
"You're allowed to be simple," I said.
Jay closed her eyes, her face soft and peaceful.
Then she opened her eyes again and sat up.
"Okay," she said with sudden seriousness.
"What?" I asked.
She looked at me with a childlike innocence that made my heart ache.
"I want to stay like this forever," she said.
I felt a warmth spread through me.
"Then stay," I whispered.
Jay smiled and leaned into me again.
And for the first time in her life, she wasn't trying to be strong.
She was just being herself.
And I loved her more for it.