Page 11 of Restored By the Mountain Man
"Ms. Diaz," he begins, then stops, running a hand through his dark hair. "Earlier, when I... I apologize if my behavior seemed unprofessional."
"You don't need to apologize," I say quickly. "You were concerned about safety. That's admirable."
"Was I?" His smile is bitter, self-deprecating. "Or was I just another damaged person projecting my own trauma onto an innocent situation?"
The honesty in his question catches me off guard. "We all have things that trigger us," I say carefully. "Sometimes our past experiences color how we see present situations. That doesn't make us damaged. It makes us human."
He studies my face as if searching for judgment. "You're very understanding for someone who was forced to shower in her boss's bathroom on her first day."
"I've had worse first days," I tell him, thinking of the job where my supervisor spent the entire orientation hitting on me or the one where I discovered they'd been falsifying safety reports.
"Have you?" There's curiosity in his voice now and something that might be the beginning of a smile.
"Trust me, naked in your bathroom barely cracks the top five weirdest work situations I've encountered."
This does earn me a smile. "Somehow that doesn't make me feel better about my behavior."
"It should. Because it tells you that I'm not some delicate flower who's going to run screaming from a little professional awkwardness."
We look at each other for a long moment until Ezra glances at his watch. "The tasting is in twenty minutes," he says finally. "Are you ready to meet with production?"
I gather the reports and stand, acutely aware of how his t-shirt shifts against my skin. "Ready."
As we walk toward the door, he pauses, his hand on the handle. "Ms. Diaz?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For understanding. For not making it weird."
"Zoe," I correct gently. "And you're welcome."
He nods, something easing in his expression. "Zoe."
The way he says my name, soft and careful, like he's testing how it feels on his tongue, sends warmth spiraling through my chest.
We head toward the tasting room together and I can't shake the feeling that something fundamental has changed between us. Maybe it was the vulnerability he showed when he thought I was in danger. Maybe it was the trust he showed by letting me see him rattled.
Or maybe it was the simple act of putting on his clothes and feeling for just a moment, like I belonged to someone again.
As we enter the tasting room where the production team is waiting, I catch Ezra glancing at me sideways, his gaze lingering on the way his shirt fits my body. When he realizes I've noticed, he looks away quickly, a flush creeping up his neck.
Professional, I remind myself. This is professional.
I settle into my chair and prepare to analyze the whiskey samples before us, ignoring the way my skin still tingles where his finger touched mine, or the way his scent clings to the fabric of his shirt.
Some lines, once crossed, can never be uncrossed.
And something tells me that today, whether we meant to or not, we crossed one.
CHAPTER 5
EZRA
My eyes track the crack on the ceiling, counting breaths, only, not due to a nightmare this time. I dreamt of her. Zoe.
Sighing, I run my hand down my face, desperately wanting to erase how fucking real it felt. We were in my office again, almost identical to Monday, but this time, I grabbed the hem of my shirt and slowly pulled it up over her body. Her hands wrapped around my waist, and I swear I remember the heat of her body against mine. I saw the bottom of her full, bare breasts peeking out before I woke.
And now, guilt eats at me.
