Page 37 of Hacking the Holidays
“Don’t quit your day job,” Rose deadpanned.
“I need to work on my delivery,” I said with a shrug.
“Hilarious!” Chloe squeezed my arm. “You certainly are the complete package, Sam. Are you single?”
“Anyway!” Rose jumped in, straightening her shoulders,and visibly pulling herself back together. “We need to get back to work. You mentioned the bug you wanted me to get rid of.”
“Right—you two should definitely get to that,” Chloe interjected with enthusiasm. “I’ll leave you to your genius collaboration." She waggled her fingers in a wave. “See you both at the restaurant later. Looking forward to those bratwursts, and thanks so much for including me. That was so sweet of you.”
“My pleasure,” I said.
Chloe headed toward the checkout scanner with the hiking book tucked under her arm, leaving me alone with Rose and a growing collection of unanswered questions.
I studied her face, trying to reconcile the nervous energy with the straightforward explanation, when she looked up and caught me.
“You’re staring again,” Rose said. “Most cultures find that rude.”
“You’re right—I apologize,” I said, making a conscious decision to let it go. At least for now. “Occupational hazard of spending too much time with computers—I treat human behavior like I’m debugging code, and then run diagnostic tests on them.”
“I hope you got it out of your system.”
“For now,” I admitted. “Though I reserve the right to revisit the debugging when the urge hits me.”
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth—genuine this time, not the carefully constructed variety from moments ago. She bent down for the small trash can from beside mydesk, then started gathering the scattered papers and ceramic pieces from the carpet.
“Don’t worry about that,” I said, moving to help. “I can do it.”
“So can I.” Rose continued collecting the larger shards, methodically working her way across the mess. “Besides, I broke it. The least I can do is clean up my disaster.”
I was about to argue when she made a sharp intake of breath and jerked her hand back. Blood welled up from a cut on her index finger where a vicious ceramic shard had caught her.
“Ouch,” she said under her breath, moving her hand closer to inspect the damage.
I was already moving, reaching across my desk and pulling a tissue from the box. “Here. Apply pressure.”
“Thanks,” Rose said, taking the tissue and wrapping it around her finger.
I dug through my bottom drawer for the first-aid kit Eleanor had insisted I keep on hand. It was wedged behind a box of emergency protein bars and a half-dozen charging cables.
“Take a seat,” I said, pulling the other chair closer.
Rose sat, still holding the tissue against her finger, looking more annoyed with herself than in actual pain. I opened the first aid kit and extracted disinfectant, cotton swabs, and a bandage.
“Let me see,” I said, keeping my voice steady.
She hesitated for a fraction of a second before extending her hand. I carefully unwrapped the tissue, examining thecut. Small but deep enough to have bled freely if she hadn’t applied pressure to it.
I dampened a cotton swab with disinfectant. “This might sting.”
“I can handle it,” Rose said.
I cleaned the wound with careful precision, aware of how close we were sitting, but trying not to over-analyze it. The cut was clean, with no ceramic fragments embedded, just a straightforward laceration that would heal quickly.
Rose watched my face while I worked, and when I glanced up, our eyes locked.
The moment stretched.
She had incredible eyes—sharp, yes, but also complex. Layers of something I still couldn’t quite identify, but would be wise to not mention. Curiosity mixed with caution. Warmth under careful control.
