Page 27 of Objection to Love

It was entertaining.Shewas entertaining. And Garrett would claim that as the reason he kept seeking her out. Not the fact that she seemed to have hidden depth to her. Or the fact that she might just be the most beautiful woman of his acquaintance.

Beautiful women were never good news.

When he saw her exit her car in a complete state of distraction, only to face plant on her porch, he’d been racing across their lawns before he was even aware of it. He might have even jumped his porch railing. Yeah, he was pretty sure he had.

The fact that she’d been distracted by people not thinking she wasfunwas nothing short of shocking. She’d told him just a few days before that she didn’t do fun. Why should she care if other people believed that as well?

Enter: hidden depth.

Or maybe it was just a natural human tendency to worry about what other people thought of her. But something niggled at the back of his mind saying it was more than that. He was probably crazy, but it was too late now.

Because now he had to figure out what he was going to do about the predicament he’d found himself in. He hadn’t intended to make that deal with her, and he was starting to think he might be going crazy.

What sane guy would put himself through the torture of spending time with a woman like Em? He was essentially saying to himself: Look Garrett, you’re attracted to this woman and don’t want to be, so here’s an idea! You can spendhoursgetting to know her, with the explicit knowledge that she’s not at all interested in you. Then, if you’re lucky, you might even start tolikeher. Then what, man? Whatcha gonna do then?

Idiot.

And to top it all off, he’d just lost a month of weekend excursions. He’d been looking forward to summer and all the activities the warm weather in Colorado brought. Last summer he’d been in Maine, which wasn’t quite the same experience.

But now he would have to forego his rock climbing, hiking, and biking. Plus camping. And boating. He’d just willingly given it all up.

Or had he?

Garrett fell back onto his leather couch and squinted in contemplation.

Em had agreed to three hours every Saturday. That wasn’t long enough for camping or boating, really, but it was long enough for a hike. Or rock climbing.

He grinned to himself. What he wouldn’t give to see Miss September Miller attempting to scale a mountain. She’d probably try negotiating with the rocks before climbing them. He rubbed his hands together.

Well, if he’d gotten himself into this predicament, the least he could do was enjoy the time. And enjoy it he would.

He jumped up from the couch and paced to his spare room, surveying the mess in there. Which one would she like theleast?

That thought was a little mean. He didn’t intend to be cruel, really, but he did have the strangest desire to make September feel a little uncomfortable. Growth didn’t come in your comfort zone. And this woman needed to grow. Like a freaking sunflower. Sunflowers needed sun, air, and water.

And Garrett needed to stop thinking about flowers.

He backed out of the room.Definitely losing my mind. He’d figure out what activity to do later. Sometime when his hands couldn’t distinctly remember holding the side of her face, which had been wet from tears, and tending to her cut barely twenty-four hours before.

Actually, that would probably stick with him for a while. The least he could hope was that the memory of sitting next to her, eating pizza, and watching her try not to laugh would fade by that weekend.

With more than a little force, he fell back onto his couch again and flipped on the TV. Em’s house didn’t even seem to have a TV, unless she kept it in her bedroom.

He’d have to ask her if she did. Or maybe just find out for himself.

He stopped there, physically hitting himself in the forehead with a fist.

Yup. I’ve lost it.

Chapter 11

Em

Emwasbeginningtoworry that work would be forever ruined for her.

She had gotten half the amount of work done than usual during the remainder of the week. She blamed her decreased productivity on the fact that she had become painfully aware of every time a coworker crossed the office to talk to another prosecutor or paralegal. She had watched while they left in pairs and groups for lunch, and had noticed that no more than two people besides Stephanie talked to her each day. And even Stephanie didn’t talk much. To Em, at least.

With a sigh, Em glanced at the clock. Five-thirty. Good enough. She couldn’t remember the last time she was happy to leave work, but she was hoping that, by Monday, this itchy, distracted feeling would be gone, and she could return to work as usual.

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