Page 28 of The Art of Falling in Love with Your Enemy
“Seriously, I can do this myself,” I start to object, but then follow him into the next room. “It’s embarrassing enough you witnessed my fall, but now you’re cleaning up the carnage, too.”
We’ve stopped at the sink, Zac leaning against the counter. He runs the tap water and takes my hand in his again. “Shush. I’ll do this for you, then I have to go back to work.”
The quiet in the room is thicker than a bowl of gravy. You know the kind of quiet I’m talking about: when you feel that all of the air you could be breathing has left your system and you recognize that you’re standing still for a moment in time. Granted, this is an embarrassing moment for me, but a moment nonetheless.
While Zac’s busy rinsing my hand, I study him. I let my eyes drag along his jawline and skim his neck, reminded it wasn’t long ago we were thisclose together and thisclose to kissing. Allowing my gaze to dance across his chest, I’m starting to get it. I can only imagine this man has had women throwing themselves at him for years. Even if he is a quilter.
Hmmm. Quilting. I don’t know a lot about that, just that there’s binding, and sashing, there’s applique, ornamental needlework, and tacking. And I only know this much because of course I looked it up on Mr. Google after Zac left the other day. I could use a good tacking myself…
“Does that sting?” Zac’s voice drips with worry, a nice look on him if I do say so myself.
I start to shake my head from side to side, when a piercing sting begins to rise from my tiny wound. “Oh, yeah, actually. Ow!”
“Sorry,” he whispers, taking my hand and lifting it to his lips. My breath hitches as his lips brush across my skin, sending a thousand tiny ripples of electricity across my flesh. My breath is crippled. I’m starting to worry I’m going to need more resuscitation myself.
Zac lets his lips linger on my skin for another moment before he pulls away, a dangerous smile playing on his lips as he gently dries my wet hand with a clean towel. “Is that better?”
I want to pull my eyes from his, but I can’t. I can only nod and fight the shaking and shuddering that my body wants to do.
He places the bandage on my skin, fastening some tape down over it. He holds his hands over the wound, his warmth surrounding my hand.
“Thank you,” I manage, finally getting the nerve to move my eyes away from his. The room feels thick again, but this time it’s awkward. Overwhelming? Surprising.
And confusing. So, so confusing.
“Okay, well, I need to finish unloading and get back to the station.” Zac claps his hands together and points to the front door. “I’ll be out of your hair in a few minutes.”
I stay standing at the sink while Zac goes back to his purpose for being here. From my vantage point, I watch him as he gathers a few more bags from his truck and does a careful balancing act to bring them all inside. The heat which had been building inside me is finally calming down, like a fire that has gotten a good dousing.
Inhaling a giant breath of air, I close my eyes and steady myself as that unpredictable flutter in my chest comes rippling back. I can’t ignore the sparks between us, and I think it’s because I don’t want to.
A weird acid feeling hits my stomach as I realize what’s happening.
I’m falling for Zac Wright.
TWELVE
Zac
This morning has flown by, and no wonder—I’ve been going a mile a minute since I woke up today. My alarm had buzzed at six and I was out the door on my morning run by five minutes past, back by seven for a quick shower and breakfast before I had to go. I was happy I’d dropped all my things off yesterday because it made it that much easier to get out the door so I can be here on-site at the campground by eight. The team won’t start arriving until after nine, but at least I’m here if needed.
Etta has set up a check-in table in the dining room and put out trays of snacks. There’s a large silver container filled with ice and stuffed with cans of soda and Cheerwine, and a bevy of small brown bags in which she’s packed a lunch for each retreat-goer to take with them as they check into their cabins.
“You really thought of everything to welcome us here, didn’t you?” I ask as I spin around and look at the whole setup. “You should run your own hotel.”
“I just did things how I’d like them to be if it was my team event, you know?” She walks over and stands next to me with a bunch of freshly picked lavender in her hand. “When I was running my old business, the winery, I used to pay attention to the little details our customers asked for, and then I’d replicate it for other events.” She holds the bunch of lavender aloft in one hand, and in the other, she shows off a ball of twine. “Like this.”
She holds out the ball of twine, indicating for me to take it, so I do. “What’s this for?”
“Well, you’re going to tie a string of twine around each bag, and we’ll stick one or two pieces of lavender in the bow. It adds a little flair.”
My right eyebrow hikes itself up to the top of my forehead. Don’t ask how, it’s a gift handed down to me from my father. “It adds flair, does it?”
A flash of pink flushes her cheeks—it’s coupled with a tiny grin she tries to hide from me and it sends a thrill to my very core. What is it about this woman that makes me want to see her smile all the time?
I take the twine, grab a pair of scissors, and point to the bags, trying to push away the memory of my lips on her hand just yesterday in this very room. “Should I start now?”
“Please. The retreat is over tomorrow, so we need to hurry,” she teases. I could get used to this Etta. I wonder if she could get used to me?
