Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
I fidget with my earring, twisting it around.
I could try. I could ask him out on a real date. Something beyond let’s grab grub before we bang.
My palms sweat. I swipe them on my skirt as he pats the sturdy hinge, closes the cupboard, then drops the Leatherman in his pocket.
He crosses the distance in the small kitchen, looks me up and down. His gaze flips my insides. “You doing better today?”
“I am. Thanks again for last night.”
I practice in my head: Thank you for showing me your heart, and can I please keep it for myself?
“Anytime. And don’t think you’re getting out of the final item on your list,” he says.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say, silently adding we can be more than a top-five list.
“Mmm. Love that list,” he says, then gently brings me in for a kiss. My toes flutter. If I were writing a column just for him, I’d want to reassure him with: I know you’re scared of relationships, but I won’t hurt you. I just want to be yours and you can be mine.
When we break the kiss, he says, “I leave tonight for the bike ride. But I’ll be back at work on Tuesday. We can tackle the rest of the list then if you want. I can give you the code to my home, and you can come find me in the shower,” he adds, his voice low and dirty.
He’s still focused on sex, which is understandable. I need to ease him into the idea that we level up to romance.
I glance toward the living room, where the dogs are sharing a giraffe toy, and on to the balcony, with its garden of small pots.
That’s what I need to do—plant the seeds of a possible romance. I turn back to Milo. “What if we get dinner too? And maybe we could extend the list,” I say.
His lips curve up. “Miss Cute Devil Butt has some more fantasies?”
“I do.” Of you and me together for real. The list can be a springboard, and on Tuesday, I’ll spell out my heart.
“So, we keep going?” He sounds intrigued.
I’m breathless with hope, and I want him to see how easy romance with me can be. “I want to. Do you? I mean, right now we work together and it’s complicated, but in another month, there won’t even be any potential awkwardness at work with other employees wondering what’s up. Or anything like that,” I add.
His expression goes blank for a few seconds, like he forgot something, then he blows out a breath. “Ah, shit. Somewhere along the way, I think I stopped worrying about that,” he says, wincing, like this reawakened thought pains him. “But maybe, I probably should worry about it more. I don’t want my dating life to drag things down at Bikes and Blooms.”
I shirk back. “I would never leave a bad review,” I say, a little offended.
Quickly, he shakes his head. “Oh no, I didn’t mean that. I just meant I should probably do a better job keeping everything separate. I don’t want one to affect the other.”
I relax a bit. But only a bit. “Sure. That makes sense. You have to think about Zara and Ian and Iris and James.”
“Exactly. And customers. I don’t want my personal life causing problems for the business,” he says with a frown.
I’m not a troublemaker, I want to shout.
Except, there is probably more to his careless words. They might mask a real issue.
A warning light blinks in my mind, telling me to slow down. Maybe even to hit pause on my ask-him-out plan. Because . . . is his tapping the brakes a sign he’s just not ready? If so, there’s nothing I can do to make him ready.
But when Trudy rises and stretches her front legs, that’s a clear sign the time has run out for us this morning.
“Bryan’s meeting me at my place in a few minutes to pick her up, but I’ll see you at work soon. Should be a busy day,” he says, then, like he’s swiping away his worries, his expression clears and he drops a kiss to my forehead. “And the answer is . . . yes.”
I smile softly, but I don’t feel his yes in my bones or my heart.
Milo and Trudy take off, and when the door snaps closed, Hot Stuff sashays across the kitchen counter, shooting me a look of disapproval.
He walks on by, tail held high, as if saying you chickened out.
Maybe he’s right.
But maybe it was necessary.
On the way to work, I shove romance out of my mind. Time to focus on the next big thing. I’ll start now, reaching out to Jessica at Little Artists to get the ball rolling on social media.
As I walk, I click on my inbox to send her a note, but before I can draft one, I spot an email from TJ’s friend Amelia, the lead singer for Ten-Speed Rabbit. She’s asking me to meet for coffee tomorrow.