Page 27 of Letters of Faith
“I’m—I’m sorry, sir.”
“Sorry?” I ask, controlling my tone. “Sorry doesn’t fix the twentythousand dollar mistake you missed.”
“I—um—I,” The man stutters.
“Enough.” My voice is low. My patience is quickly running out, and if I don’t get this man out of my office soon, I will fire him—no questions asked. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to take a few refresher inspecting courses. The company will pay for them. Then, for the next six months, you are on probation. That means that each time you inspect, you will have a superior there with you. If a mistake this big happens again, you will be fired immediately.”
“You’re—” he stops, considering me, then swallowing hard before continuing, “You’re not firing me?”
“Not this time, but the ice you’re walking on is very thin. You would do well to remember that. Now go,” I say, pointing towards the door.
He stands, stuttering out several thank you’s as he makes his way out of my office. Georgia walks in as he walks out, closing the door behind her.
“And they say you don’t have a heart.” She grins. Walking over to me, she places a cup of coffee in my hands and sits on the corner of my desk. Her legs are on display beneath her black pencil skirt, making my throat bob as I clear it and look away.
“They would be right.”
Her hand reaches out, tousling my hair, and the feel of her fingernails scratching against my scalp almost sends me over the edge of sanity.
“I don’t think so, Gray. You just like to hide it, so it’s hard to find.”
The sadness in her voice has me turning back to her. There’s a smile on her face, but her eyes glitter with pain. Reaching out, I grab the papers that I placed on the desk earlier and clench them between my fists to stop myself from pulling her into my lap and holding her until all that pain is gone.
“I must be really good at hide and seek then because I’ve hidden it so well, even Ican’t find it.”
“You will,” she says, holding my gaze. “One day, you’re going to find a girl to love, and it will be impossible to hide that heart of yours.”
I give a gruff acknowledgment because I can’t tell her I’ve already found that girl—she’s sitting across from me, forever out of reach.
“So,” she says, clapping her hands and jumping off the desk. I think my lucky stars because if she had sat there one more second, I might have been tempted to reach out and run my hand over the smoothness of her skin. “I need a favor.”
Arching my brow, I wave my hand, urging her to continue. She takes a deep breath, her lips parting and drawing my attention to them. There hasn’t been a single day that I haven’t wondered what it would be like to taste them—to feel them pressed against my own—but each time that thought crosses my mind, it’s like a punch to my gut, reminding me that she’s my best friend’s girl.
“Do you remember how you said I wouldn’t have to do these letters alone?” she asks.
“Yes.” Her question is like a bucket of water being poured over my head. She’s still grieving, and all I can think about is pressing my lips to hers.
“Well, I think I know what I want to do for the first one.” She’s nervous. I can hear it in how her voice wavers as she speaks, her hands rolling the end of her hair between her fingers.
“What’s that?” I ask cautiously.
“There is a winter festival that the church is putting on, and I thought maybe we could go because there’s going to be funnel cake, and rides, and games. There will be a big crowd because people from across several counties are coming, and I thought maybe it would be easy to get lost in that crowd—that way a ton of people aren’t attacking me with a hundred questions.” The words bubble out of her mouth at a speed that makes it hard to follow. When she’s finished, she bites her lip and digs her toe into the ground.
My brain finally catches up to the words, and a sense of dread settles into my chest. I know I told her that she didn’t have to do this alone, and I meant it. I just didn’t expect the first place she’d want to go would be a festival filled with people who can’t stand the sight of me and vice versa, but I made her a promise. I won’t back out just because of my aversion to people.
“When is it?” I ask.
She meets my gaze, still chewing on her bottom lip, and I have to physically restrain myself from getting up and tugging it out from between her teeth.
“This Saturday.”
I nod and turn away from her, back to my desk. “I’ll put it on my calendar.”
For the second time in a matter of days, I’m caught off guard as she rushes over to me and slings her arms around my neck. Heat rushes through my veins from the feel of her cheek pressed against mine. She turns her head, presses a kiss on my cheek, and whispers, “Thank you” against my skin.
And—if I thought I knew guilt before, it’s nothing like what I feel now because I don’t know if there’s a possibility that I can go my whole life without finding out what it’s like to have Georgia’s lips on mine.
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