I Tried to Surprise My Wife at Her Office—But the Security Guard Said He Sees “Her Husband” Every Day… Then the Doors Opened – Part 4

Wait, what? Julian is gay. She said it slowly, like explaining calculus to a golden retriever. He’s not interested in me. He’s not interested in any women. He’s interested in Marcus, their dog, and whether Restoration Hardware is having a sale on throw pillows. I stared at her, then at the ceiling, then back at her. I’m an idiot.

Yes, a complete and total idiot. Getting warmer. I created an entire conspiracy theory in my head, stalked my own wife, created a burner Instagram account, and spent yesterday evening in a Camry with a philosophical ride share driver. All because I jumped to conclusions based on literally nothing. Now you’re getting it. She squeezed my hand.

But here’s what I don’t understand. Why didn’t you just ask me? We’ve been married for 5 years, Noah. You could have just said, “Hey, who’s this Julian guy? And why does this security guard think he’s your husband?” I sighed, feeling the weight of my stupidity settling on my shoulders like a really judgmental parrot.

Because I was scared. Because Julian is objectively successful and put together and he carries briefcases without looking like a tryhard and his hair does that thing where it looks professionally styled even in a hurricane. And then there’s me guy who works from home in taco pajamas and once called you from the grocery store because I forgot what kind of milk we drink. Oat milk.

We drink oat milk. See, I still don’t know that. Emma’s expression softened. Noah, I didn’t marry Julian. I married you. I married the guy who brings me a Claire’s on our anniversary and makes terrible dad jokes before we even have kids. I married the guy who watches documentaries with me even though you hate them and who learned how to make my mom’s soup recipe even though it takes 4 hours.

I don’t need someone who looks like a cologne commercial. I need someone who makes me laugh and knows me and loves me even when I work too much and forget to come home before midnight. I felt something in my chest unclench, something I hadn’t realized was wound so tight. I’m sorry for not trusting you, for being a jealous idiot for all of it.

You should be. But she was smiling. You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re stupid. So, we’re okay. We’re okay. But you’re buying me dinner at the Vine Terrace to make up for this. And you’re going to meet Julian properly so you can stop thinking he’s some kind of home wrecker when he’s actually just a really dedicated COO who happens to need fashion assistance. Deal.

I kissed her, feeling like the luckiest idiot alive. Now come on, she said standing up. You need to apologize to Rebecca for whatever weird conversation you two were having. Do I have to? Noah. Fine. But if she posts about this on LinkedIn, I’m deleting my account. We walked back out to the career fair hand in hand.

Rebecca saw us coming and immediately looked like she wanted to dissolve into the floor. I’m so sorry, she said before I could even open my mouth. I had no idea you were married to Emma and I was just answering your questions and I didn’t mean to make it sound like anything weird was going on. and Rebecca. Emma interrupted gently. It’s fine.

My husband was just doing some very thorough research on company culture. The most thorough, I agreed. Really went deep. Maybe too deep. Definitely too deep. You’re not going to fire me, are you? Rebecca asked, looking genuinely worried. Only if you tell anyone about this, Emma said. But she was smiling. This stays between us. Okay.

Rebecca nodded so hard I thought her head might fall off. Absolutely. Completely confidential. I’ll take it to my grave. Perfect. Emma squeezed my hand. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I need to introduce my husband to my COO so he can stop stalking him on social media. You know about the burner account? I asked as we walked away.

Noah, you named it definitely not Noah Carter. You’re not exactly a criminal mastermind. Dimitry thought I was doing great. Dimitry sounds like a very kind man who was enabling your worst impulses. We took the elevator to the seventh floor executive offices. My heart was pounding, but for a different reason now.

I was about to meet the man I’d spent the last 24 hours convinced was destroying my marriage, only to find out he was just a well-dressed gay guy with a sick sister and a boyfriend named Marcus. Emma knocked on a door labeled Julian Reed, COO, and walked in without waiting for an answer. Julian was sitting at his desk looking at a presentation on his computer.

He glanced up, smiled at Emma, then saw me and did a double take. Emma, hi. And you brought someone. Julian, this is my husband, Noah. Noah, this is Julian. I stepped forward, hand extended, trying to look like a normal person and not someone who’d been cyberstalking him for the past 12 hours.

Nice to finally meet you properly. Julian shook my hand, looking confused, but polite. Finally. Have we met him properly before? Long story, Emma said quickly. The short version is that Noah thought we were having an affair. Julian’s eyes went wide. Then he laughed. A genuine surprised laugh. Wait, seriously, Emma? You didn’t tell him about I know. My fault.

I should have mentioned my incredibly gay COO who I work with constantly. Incredibly gay. Julian agreed, still grinning, like aggressively homosexual. Marcus and I just adopted a second Pomeranian. We named her Versace. We’re those people now. I felt my face burning. I’m really sorry for assuming things and possibly stalking your Instagram.

Did you send me a follow request from an account called Definitely Not Noah Carter? Maybe. I thought that was spam. He turned to his computer, pulling up Instagram. Marcus and I were trying to figure out if it was a bot or just someone with a really unfortunate naming convention. It’s the second thing I admitted.

I’m not great at this clearly. But Julian was smiling. Look, no hard feelings. Emma is amazing, and I can see why you’d be protective. Though, for the record, even if I were straight, she’d still pick you. She talks about you constantly. She does constantly. Julian confirmed. Last week, she spent 20 minutes telling me about how you learned to make her mom soup.

I know more about that soup than I know about our Q3 projections. Emma looked embarrassed. I don’t talk about him that much. You literally have a photo of him on your desk wearing those taco pajamas. Those pajamas are adorable. They’re very adorable. Julian agreed. Noah, you seem like a good guy.

How about we all grab lunch sometime? You, me, Emma, and Marcus. We can all properly meet and you can see that I’m not a threat to your marriage. Just a threat to Emma’s colorcoordinated filing system because I keep putting things in the wrong folders. Lunch sounds great, I said, meaning it. and sorry again for being a paranoid weirdo.

We’ve all been there,” Julian said kindly. “Marcus once thought I was cheating on him because I was being secretive about my phone. Turns out I was just planning his surprise birthday party. He felt like an idiot for weeks. That actually makes me feel a lot better.” “Good. Now get out of here, both of you.

I’ve got a presentation in 10 minutes, and I need to fix whatever organizational chaos happened while I was distracted.” Emma and I left Julian’s office and walked back to the elevator in silence. Once the doors closed, she turned to me. So, feel better. Much better. Also much dumber, but in a good way. You’re lucky I love you. I really am.

The elevator dinged and the doors open into the lobby. Guardzilla was back at his post. He saw me and Emma together and did a visible double take. Ma’am, he said to Emma, I didn’t realize you and this gentleman were acquainted. This is my husband, Emma said firmly. Noah Carter. Hell be visiting occasionally, so please add him to the approved visitors list.

The guard looked at me, then at Emma, then back at me. His brain was clearly working overtime, trying to reconcile whatever alternate reality he’d been living in. But I thought Mr. Reed was my COO, Emma finished. Just my COO. This is my actual husband, right? Yes, of course. I’ll update the system immediately.

He was typing furiously on his computer, probably wishing the floor would swallow him whole. Em and I walked out into the sunshine, hand in hand. I can’t believe that guard has thought Julian was your husband this entire time, I said. I can’t believe you created an entire conspiracy theory instead of just asking me about it. In my defense, the evidence was very compelling.

The evidence was you being jealous and jumping to conclusions. Same thing. She laughed, pulling me closer. Come on, let’s go home. You’re making me that 4-hour soup tonight as penance. Worth it, I said, kissing her temple. And it was. That evening, standing in our kitchen chopping vegetables for Emma’s mom’s legendary soup, I had what you might call an epiphany.

Or maybe just a realization that I’m the kind of person who should probably talk to a therapist about his trust issues and tendency to catastrophize. You’re doing it again, Emma said from the couch where she was supposedly working, but was actually watching me with amusement. Doing what? That thing where you overthink while cooking.

Your face gets all scrunched up. It’s very cute and also slightly concerning. I set down the knife. I’m just thinking about how stupid I was. We’ve established that. No, but like really stupid. Emma, I followed you. I created fake social media accounts. I spent hours convinced you were cheating on me instead of just asking you a simple question.

She closed her laptop and came over to the kitchen island, settling onto one of our stools, the ones we bought at IKEA and spent 6 hours assembling cuz neither of us believed in reading instructions. “Okay,” she said. “Seriously, let let’s actually talk about this, not the Julian thing. We had beaten that horse to death.

But the real question, why didn’t you feel like you could just ask me?” I focused very hard on dicing an onion, which was convenient because now I had an excuse for my eyes watering. Because I was scared of what? the answer. I sat down the knife again because apparently we were doing this now. M. When I saw you with Julian, saw how you laughed with him, how comfortable you were, how you guys just fit together in this professional power couple way, I realized I never feel like I fit into your world. My world? Yeah.

Your world of corner offices and business trips and wearing clothes that cost more than my car. I work from home in pajamas, Emma. I spend my days troubleshooting other people’s computer problems. I’m not exciting. I’m not sophisticated. I’m just me. Emma was quiet for a moment. Then she got up, walked around the island, and hugged me from behind, resting her chin on my shoulder.

“You want to know why I fell in love with you?” she asked softly. “Because I am devastatingly handsome and charming.” “Because on our second date, you spilled wine on my dress, panicked, and tried to clean it with club soda while simultaneously apologizing and explaining the scientific properties of carbonation.

You were so earnest and dorky and completely yourself. You didn’t try to be smooth or impressive. You were just Noah. That’s a low bar. It’s not though. She squeezed me tighter. Do you know how exhausting it is to be on all the time? To be CEO Emma who is all the answers and never shows weakness. When I come home to you, I don’t have to be that person.

I can be Emma who burns dinner and laughs at stupid jokes and admits when she doesn’t know something. You make me feel like I can breathe. I turned around to face her. Really? really. And yeah, Julian and I work well together. We have to were running a company, but at the end of the day, he goes home to Marcus and their designer dogs, and I come home to you in your taco pajamas.

And I wouldn’t trade that for anything, even though I’m a paranoid idiot who stalks you through restaurant windows, especially because of that. She kissed me, though. We’re going to work on the communication thing. Deal. Deal. Good. Now, finish that soup. I’m starving and you owe me approximately 17 hours of cooking for putting me through this drama.

I got back to chopping, but this time I was smiling. Hey, thanks for not leaving me for someone with better hair and an actual ability to dress themselves. Thanks for not filing for divorce when I accidentally let our security guard think Julian was my husband for 6 months. How did you not notice that, by the way? She shrugged.

I don’t usually pay attention to what security guards think. I’m too busy running a company and dealing with my husband’s creative crisis management techniques. That’s fair. The soup took 4 hours just like it was supposed to. We ate it at 11 p.m. sitting on the couch with the TV playing something neither of us was really watching. And it was perfect.

Not because the soup was good, though it was, but because we were good. We were us again without the shadow of Julian Reed’s perfect hair and my catastrophic insecurity hanging over everything. You know what we should do? Emma said suddenly. sleep. It’s almost midnight. Tomorrow, we should invite Julian and Marcus over for dinner.

Let you properly meet them in a non-stalker capacity. I groaned. Do we have two? Yes, because you’re going to become friends with Julian, and then you’re going to feel even more stupid about this whole thing, and it’s going to be hilarious to watch. You’re enjoying this way too much. I’ve earned it.

I just found out my husband has been conducting surveillance on me like I’m in a spy thriller. Let me have this. Fine, but I’m not wearing actual pants. If they’re coming to our place, they get the full taco pajama experience. I wouldn’t have it any other way. The next morning, I woke up to Emma already dressed for work, standing over me with her phone.

Julian says they can do dinner Friday, she announced. Marcus is excited to meet you. Apparently, Julian told him the whole story, and now Marcus thinks it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. I pulled the pillow over my face. Great. I’m a comedy routine. You are, and it’s adorable. She pulled the pillow away and kissed my forehead.

I’ve got to run conference call in 20 minutes, but I left you a project. A project? Check your email. She left before I could ask what she meant, which should have been my first clue that I was in trouble. I grabbed my laptop and opened my email. There, sitting at the top of my inbox, was a message from Emma with the subject line, “Your new assignment.” I opened it.

Noah, since you’ve apparently discovered a hidden talent for investigation, albeit misguided investigation, I’m putting those skills to use. Bright Line is working on a new community project, and we need someone to research and compile information about local children’s charities. It’s volunteer work, but it comes with the following benefits. One, you get to feel useful.

You’ll learn more about what I actually do all day. can stop imagining I’m having secret affairs and start imagining I don’t know whatever normal people imagine about their spouses attached are some preliminary documents let me know if you’re interested and Noah I love you you ridiculous human m I opened the attachments there were files about children’s hospitals literacy programs community centers all marked with notes about budget projections and potential partnerships one file was labeled Reed family foundation read as

in Julian Reed I clicked it open. Inside were documents about a charity run by Julian’s family focused on pediatric care and support for families with children facing serious medical conditions. There were photos of Julian with his sister Victoria and her son. The same photos I’d seen on his social media, but with more context.

Victoria had been diagnosed with cancer 3 years ago. Julian had started the foundation to help cover her treatment costs and support other families going through similar situations. The foundation had grown significantly and now Bright Line Media was partnering with them to build a new children’s wing at Mercy General Hospital.

There was a photo from last month. Emma and Julian at the groundbreaking ceremony, both wearing hard hats and holding shovels, surrounded by kids and families. Emma was laughing, one arm around Julian’s shoulder, the other high-fiving a little girl in a wheelchair. This was what she’d been working on. This was why she’d been spending so much time with Julian.

Not because they were having an affair, but because they were trying to do something good, something that actually mattered, and I’d been too busy playing detective to notice. I spent the rest of the day reading through the documents, making notes, researching similar programs in other cities. By the time

Emma came home at 7:00 p.m., I had a full report compiled, complete with recommendations, budget suggestions, and a list of potential partners. So, she asked, dropping her briefcase by the door. What do you think? I think you’re amazing, I said. honestly. And I think I’m an idiot for not asking what you were actually doing instead of assuming the worst.

She smiled, coming over to look at my laptop. These are good notes. Really good. Did you find the information about the children’s literacy program? Yeah, I think you should partner with them, too. They’re already established in the community and it would help with outreach. That’s exactly what Julian said. She paused. You know, you could actually help with this project.

We need someone to coordinate the community outreach. And you’re good with people. I work in IT support. You help confused people solve problems all day. That’s literally what community outreach is. I looked at the documents on my screen, then at Emma’s hopeful expression. You really want me involved in this. I really do.

I meant what I said in that email. I want you to understand what I do, and I think you’d be good at this. Plus, you’d get to work with Julian, which means you can finally realize he’s just a regular person who happens to have better fashion sense than most. When you put it that way, is that a yes? That’s a yes.

But I’m still wearing the taco pajamas to dinner on Friday. Wouldn’t dream of changing that rule. Friday came faster than I expected. Which is to say, I had three full days to panic about meeting Julian and Marcus in a non-professional, actually social capacity, where they would definitely judge my life choices and apartment decor.

Stop cleaning, Emma said, watching me wipe down the kitchen counter for the third time. They’re not the cleanliness police. Marcus has a Pomeranian named Chanel. Chanel? These are people who understand aesthetics. People who probably have throw pillows that cost more than our couch. Noah, I’m spiraling.

I’m aware I’m spiraling, but I can’t stop. The doorbell rang at exactly 700 p.m. because, of course, they were punctual. I opened the door to find Julian looking somehow even more put together in casual clothes. Dark jeans, a crisp white button-down, and a blazer that probably had its own insurance policy. Beside him was Marcus, tall, black with locks pulled back in a bun and a smile that could power a small city.

“Noah,” Marcus said warmly, immediately going in for a hug like we were old friends. “I’ve heard so much about you.” The Instagram stalking story, chef’s kiss. Julian’s been dining out on that all week. Glad I could provide entertainment, I said, trying not to be awkward and definitely being awkward. Don’t mind him, Julian said, holding up a bottle of wine.