Page 64 of A Little Too Late
I’m still crouching, my ass inches from the ground, and wishing I’d worn something warmer than a skirt and tights today.
Reed solves this problem by scooping me into his arms and depositing me in his lap. The down jacket I borrowed from him makes a noise as I land, and our gazes lock in anuh-ohexpression.
He grins, and once again, I feel as if the last decade of my life has been shed like a lightweight jacket. Looking into Reed’s sparkling eyes is like staring right into my past, when we were both carefree twenty-one-year-olds and life was simpler.
I wish he didn’t have that effect on me, but nostalgia is a powerful drug, and we had some fun capers in Vermont. I see Reed dancing on a table in nothing but his underwear at a ski-team party, while I played DJ. And it was Reed who taught me how to play the ultimate prank—he bought three hundred Solo cups, spent hours filling each one halfway with water, and then covered his teammates’s dorm-room floor with them.
When his friend got home that night, the only free space was the semi-circle where the door swung open. I’d helped Reed tape a wildlife camera to the ceiling beam so he could catch his teammate’s utter confusion as he stood there for several minutes, befuddled, before eventually removing the cups one by one and carrying them into the bathroom to dump out.
Years have gone by since I let myself remember any of the fun times we had. After Reed broke my heart, I’d pushed those thoughts from my memory. It was a survival technique. Yet Inever stopped carrying the bad ones around with me like a heavy weight on my soul.
I don’t like to think of myself as a bitter person, but if the boots fit…
Reed eases the branches aside again to peer at the caterer. The guy is still standing there, the vape in his hand, looking up at the cloudy sky. He’s having a leisurely smoke while snow slowly floats down on the two people hiding behind a shrubbery.
Reed doesn’t look the least bit put out by this development. He’s sitting in the snow as comfortably as another man would sit on a couch. When his gaze returns to mine, there are snowflakes on his eyelashes.
Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he leans in and kisses me.
It’s a soft, slow kiss, as if we aren’t hiding like thieves in the night. As if Reed weren’t the last man on earth I should be kissing.
But tell that to my heart, which is thumping wildly against his. He tastes me slowly. His kiss is full of promises that he can’t keep.
And I don’t even care, because the only man I ever loved is kissing me in the snow on a moonlit night, and romantic moments are as fleeting in my life as shooting stars. I’ve been waiting years to be kissed again like this, and I didn’t even know it.
Our moments of bliss last for a few lovely minutes before the bang of the backdoor lets us know that the coast is clear again.
When Reed pulls back, I feel dazed. I quickly stand up, brushing new-fallen snow off my head. Reed hands me my phone. Then he squeezes my shoulder and points at the window. “One more peek?” he asks.
“Sure,” I whisper. What’s one more minute of stalking between friends?
Reed hoists me up for another glimpse into the conference room, but the presentation is over.
“They’re having pulled-pork sandwiches,” I hiss. “Nothing more to see here.” Reed starts to lower me down, but I gasp, “Wait!” And, yup, I guess I should have seen this coming. “They’ve opened that same leather case, and it’s filled with fresh bottles of moonshine and whiskey.”
Reed snorts. “Does this mean I’m really not all that special?”
Misplaced outrage prompts me to take a photo of the velvet-lined case before Reed lowers me back to the snowy ground. “Who are these assholes?” I whisper. “What is their game?”
“I’ve got a few ideas,” Reed says. “Let’s go home and figure it out.”
Home. The word choice is interesting. But I don’t call him on it.
The car ride back is quiet, because Reed has to concentrate on keeping the car on the snowy road, and I’m busy forwarding the photos we took to Reed’s phone. “Should I send this photo to your dad?” I ask.
“Sure,” he grunts. “Unless you’d rather have me do it. If you don’t want to deal with him.”
“I deal with him all the time. Actually, I’ll stop in our office and print it out for him. He doesn’t like to look at documents on his phone, and he doesn’t bring his laptop home in the evenings. It’s a deal he has with Melody. No work after supper.”
“Wow.”
“I know. He’s a new man these days. I’m sorry you didn’t get that version of him.”
Reed’s eyes are steady on the snowy road. “You know, I once did. Right up until the moment I didn’t.” He puts on the blinker for the turn up Old Mine Road. “Where do you want me to drop you?”
“Let’s just put the car back in the employee lot. I really need to change out of this skirt and into dry clothes.”
“I’ll bet.” He gives me a quick smile before returning his attention to the winding road. “Thanks for being a trouper. Tell you what—I’ll sweet talk that bartender friend of yours into giving us a bottle of wine and then take it up to the suite and open it.”
