Page 39 of Single Girl in the City
Things that would end their “just” friendship. A friendship she didn’t deserve. Not even a tiny bit. This was it, the time she’d been both anticipating and dreading, the time to come clean. Only before she could say anything, he cupped her face and made her look at him. She couldn’t remember her name let alone the million and one reasons why kissing him again was a no-no. But then his eyes softened and his touch was ever so gentle, making her feel like she was the most precious thing in his whole world.
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
“What happened to just friends?” she whispered—to his mouth.
“You don’t start until Monday.” He lowered his head and when he was a breath away, he said, “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
She’d known that he’d eventually hire her because no matter how crazy she drove him, he needed her. Bad. Almost as bad as she needed to make this right between them. “I won’t.”
“My conditions still stand.”
“So do mine.”
He gave a single, short nod and she sucked in a breath. His expression was purposefully blank, his attitude dialed to easygoing, but there was an edge to him now.
He cupped her hips and tugged her closer. “Your contract ends a week before you leave.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s how long we’re going to test this ‘just friends’ theory of yours.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “And when the week is up?”
He hesitated, just long enough to send her mind into a spiral. “You’re leaving; I’m not in a place where I can commit to more. A week is all I can handle.”
She knew this. But hearing it still sent a ping of disappointment cascading through her body. Hearing that it was all he could handle was a painful throwback to comments her parents had made over the years. Logically she knew he didn’t mean it that way, but her heart said differently.
“Me too. After I finish things here I’m going to Thailand,” she said. Her job in Asia was supposed to be a self-imposed expiration date that insured her ability to maintain emotional distance. A fail-safe to prevent her from making a stupid decision—like giving into a seven-day sex-cation with the man she was crushing on.
The smart thing to do would be to walk away with her heart intact. Only she wasn’t thinking all that smart right then. In fact, she wasn’t thinking at all when she said, “A week it is.”
“I am going to use every spare moment getting to know each and every inch of your body,” he said, all confidence and swagger.
And he had every reason to be confident. He was a kissing god. Skilled and practiced, he delivered slow, panty-melting kisses, each one lasting an eternity. Each one making it harder to let go.
As she saw it, a conflict of interest plus an expiration date equated to one epically bad idea, but she was feeling a little naughty right then, so she slid her arms around his neck and, even though she knew she’d flash the neighborhood her cheeky-cut undies, she kissed the hell out of Owen Easton.
Chapter Fourteen
Happy Things:
Holding hands
Abi stood on a rose-lined path looking across the massive green lawn which was speckled with yellow leaves from the turning maples. It was hard to imagine that someplace so beautiful could bring on such sadness.
The last time Abi had visited a cemetery was six years ago for her grandmother’s funeral. Now she was back, but Ruth wasn’t the only reason Abi had come. She was there to pay respects to someone she’d never met.
When Abi showed up for her morning shift at Sip Me yesterday, there had been a name and number on her sign-up sheet, the wish unspecified. So Abi had called the number, reaching an elderly woman named simply Ms. S, who had a story as heartwarming as it was heart-wrenching. And it hit a little too close to home for Abi’s liking. Which was why she’d been standing on the pathway for the past ten minutes staring at Mr.S’s grave from afar.
Abi had become a pro procrastinator.
Even the drizzle hadn’t lit a fire under her. She was cold and shivering and still hadn’t made a move. She knew that today’s good deed would be the hardest one thus far. It was going to be an emotional gut punch.
Abi pulled her coat tighter. Actually, it was Owen’s coat that he’d lent her, and she’dforgottento return. And when she turned upwind his manly scent teased her, making her wet in places that had zilch to do with Portland’s seasonal rainfall.
Ms. S was a widow who’d lost her husband and soulmate over a decade ago. In their fifty-three-year marriage they’d never spent a single night apart. She still lived in the same Victorian Mr.S had surprised her with on their wedding day and still set his place around the dinner table. And on Saturday, without fail, she’d revisit how they used to sit on the front porch, hold hands, split a cold beer, and share the happenings of their week.
After his passing, Ms. S simply moved the location to the cemetery so she could be with him. She’d bring a beer, just one, and drink exactly half, watering his grave with the leftover.
