Page 13 of Kissing the Boss
By closing time, my resolve is hanging by a thread.
"I'm heading out," Cassandra says from the office doorway, bag slung over her shoulder. "See you tomorrow?"
"Yeah." I clear my throat. "Tomorrow."
She hesitates, like she wants to say something more, then just offers a small smile and turns away.
Chapter 5 – Cassandra
There are moments that change everything—invisible lines crossed, points of no return.
Standing in the doorway of Cox Auto Repair as the day fades around us, I can feel it happening. Something fundamental has shifted between us, some final thread of restraint fraying until it's gossamer-thin and ready to snap.
Jonathan stands by the workbench, tall and solid in the dimming light. His sleeves are rolled to the elbows, exposing forearms corded with muscle. A smudge of grease marks his jaw.
"Yeah," he says, his voice rough. "Tomorrow."
I should turn and leave. Go back to my apartment, and pretend that what's building between us isn't inevitable. That's what a sensible woman would do. A professional woman. A woman who values her fresh start and her new job.
Instead, I linger, caught in his gaze like a moth in amber.
Through the windows, the sounds of the Fall Festival drift in. Inside, it's quiet. Just the hum of the fluorescent lights and the soft tick of the wall clock counting seconds neither of us is willing to break.
"Your hand," I say finally, nodding toward his scraped knuckles. "You should clean that."
"It's nothing."
"It could get infected." I set my bag down, crossing the threshold back into the office I should be leaving. "Do you have a first aid kit?"
"Cassandra." My name sounds like a warning on his lips. "Go home."
"Where is it?"
He sighs, shoulders tight with tension. "Under the sink."
I find the kit and bring it to the desk, opening it with steady hands that belie the chaos inside me. I gesture for him to come closer.
"It's fine," he insists, but he moves toward me anyway, pulled by the same invisible force that's keeping me here.
"Humor me." I take out an antiseptic wipe. "Consider it payback for earlier."
His eyes darken at the reminder of how he stood between me and Ryan, how he claimed me as one of his, as Whitetail Falls'. "That's not something that needs paying back."
"It does to me." I reach for his hand, and he lets me take it after only a moment's hesitation.
His palm is large, swallowing mine, calloused and warm. I focus on the scrapes across his knuckles, gently wiping away traces of grease and blood. The antiseptic must sting, but he doesn't flinch.
"You have gentle hands," he says, so quietly I almost miss it.
I look up, and the air between us changes. Charges with electricity.
"And you have the hands of someone who builds things," I respond, my voice sounding breathless even to my own ears. "Who fixes what's broken."
"Not everything can be fixed." His gaze is intense, searching. "Some lines, once you cross them..."
I run my thumb over his palm, feeling the rough texture, the strength contained there. "What if they're lines that shouldn't exist in the first place?"
"Cassandra." My name again, this time half-groan, half-plea.
