Page 51 of Give & Take

“No,” I say. “It’s—I’m sorry. I barged in. I wanted to talk to you and…” I sigh. “I should have waited until you were done.” If only I could look at you without feeling like I’m naked.

Without liking it.

Raphael pauses. “Am I fired?”

The genuine concern in his eyes and tone take me aback. “What?”

“After today, and the shit I pulled with your date the other night. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to let me go.”

There’s something in his expression that reminds me of the little boy he probably was. Earnest. Thoughtful. Observant.

Except his words—and the way his expression shifts the longer we go without speaking—he looks very much a grown man.

“No,” I say.

Raphael leans back against the wall next to me. He lets out a breath, visibly relieved. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He looks over at me. “Are you just saying that because you saw my underwear?”

And there it is. His lips have lifted up in this sexy little smirk. It’s so easy for him.

I press my lips into a hard line. “Yes. I’m sure. But this is exactly why I need to talk to you. Put your laundry on. I’ll be waiting.”

With that, I head for the kitchen. I sit on one of the stools at the island and press my palms onto the cool quartz.

I love this island, I think absently. I love this kitchen. I designed it with Mike. Or rather, when I was with Mike. He didn’t do jack shit.

I hear the sound of the washer lid closing, the machine starting up.

Raphael comes in a moment later, looking like he’s awaiting the executioner.

“Please sit down,” I say, extending my hand to a stool on the opposite side of the island. For a moment I panic, thinking he’s going to ignore me and take the seat next to me, but he dutifully slips into the stool I indicated.

Because for all his many flaws, Raphael does do one thing right. He pays attention.

Raphael clasps his hands on the countertop, his eyes on mine.

Something in my chest feels a little melty, the way it always does when he looks directly at me.

I clench my jaw.

“It has to stop.”

Raphael blinks. He wasn’t expecting that. “Okay,” he says, nodding.

AndIwasn’t expecting that. “Okay?”

“Yes. What, exactly has to stop?” He frowns, but his lips turn up again.

“That,” I say, pointing. “That…twinkle in your eye. That smirk you give me whenever you talk to me, like there’s some kind of inside joke happening.”

He has the decency not to smirk. “Oh.”

“The…” I hesitate. “The flirting, Raphael.”

Now he looks embarrassed.

---