Page 6 of His Hot Mess

Something about the way he said that made me reconsider the snarky comment I was about to unleash on him. I didn’t know how a business plan could make someone sound like someone had died or something.

Then he turned back to his book. The dismissal annoyed me enough that I ignored the warning my brain had given me to lay off. “Obviously the plan can’t have been that good if you’re not running your business now.”

The seriousness that had been in his voice a moment ago appeared on his face. His liquid eyes grew shadows, like dark clouds passing over a lake. “It was a good plan. And a good business. My circumstances changed.”

He turned back to his book once more, straightening his shoulders. His body language was clear: the conversation was over.

But who said he was in charge?

“What happened?” I knew I was on rocky ground, but he’d stuck his nose into my business a minute ago. It was only fair.

Chris’s grip on his book tightened. “It’s none of your business.”

“Oh, that’s rich. A minute ago you were looking at my personal drawing, thedreamI sketched out on a piece of paper, and now you can’t tell me why you can dole out business advice but you suck at business?”

I heard his low, steady intake of breath. Then he folded the book shut.

“Fine. You want to know what happened? I had a thriving business. I ran a consulting company where I helped hook up architects, builders, and designers and put them together to bid on beautiful homes. I had everything I wanted. A house. A fancy truck. A fucking fianc—” he cut himself off, as if just realizing what he was saying. “I lost it all, okay? Everything but the truck. I wrote an impeccable business plan and it didn’t matter, it all went to shit. So you’re right, I have nobusinesshelping anyone with plans of any kind.”

He drained the last of his coffee and stood up, shoving the paperback in his back pocket and tossing a few bills on the counter.

I watched him with something I wasn’t sure I’d felt before burning in my chest. Shame, that I’d made someone relive something painful. Anger, that I’d gotten an earful when I’d barely said anything to set him off.

When he looked back at me his eyes were deeply shadowed. The storm clouds had landed and he looked ready to swirl off into the darkness with them.

Then his shoulders sunk the tiniest bit and he looked down at the linoleum on the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words hard and quick. Then he strode out the door.

CHRIS

Istormed out the door of Aubrey’s, mortification burning.

I didn’t do outbursts. I didn’t do emotional expression at all, at least not outside a close circle that involved me and…no one, now. My mom, I guessed, who I called every other week to check up on and was the only one I’d let ask me personal questions.

“Is there anyone special?” Mom asked the last time we talked.

“Nope,” I said, the word hard.

“You said you might consider dating again. It’s been three years…”

“I said I would if you would.”

Mom hadn’t dated anyone with any regularity since my dad ran off when she was pregnant with me. I figured it was a low-risk bet.

She’d huffed but said nothing.

“Anyway, these calls are to see howyou’redoing,” I said. “I’m doing just fine. Did you get that stair railing fixed?”

It was the same every time we talked. And when I hung up, I knew I was safe from anything remotely involving me and whatever feelings I was suppressing for two whole weeks.

Iwasdoing just fine too, until Sadie.

As I pulled out of my parking spot and headed to the job site I was working at with Graydon today, I tried to push the strange jumble of feelings aside.

I didn’t need feelings. I needed to think about work. Schedules. Sub-trades. Tools.

But I couldn’t push Sadie aside.

Even as she drove me nuts fighting me on every last thing, I knew why I’d opened my mouth at the diner just now. The way she looked so… vulnerable had made some idiot part of my brain feel like it was okay to casually talk about my past. Like I needed to show her I could see her softness.

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