Page 7 of Making His Move

CHAPTERSEVEN

“Ican’t believe you got her hopes up and then didn’t ask her out. What’s happened to you? I know you like her.” As we head back to the office, Hank picks at the wounds of my failure. He’s right.

I like her and think she wanted me to ask her out. Perhaps I imagined it. It’s been a long time since I propositioned a woman, and I’m unsure if I can accurately detect their interest.

“Aren’t you the one who said she was out of my league?” I remind him of his earlier jab, soothing my fractured ego with a healthy dose of reality.

“And since when do you listen to anything I say?” Hank makes a good point. Typically, it goes in one ear and out the other whenever he offers advice. So, why am I listening now? Because Wren York is a pampered princess, too good for an old soldier from Queens who only enlisted in the army to escape his abusive home.

I thought I’d spend four easy years in the military and use the GI Bill to attend college. How the hell could I know a bunch of crazy terrorists would blow up the Twin Towers and send us into over a decade of nonstop war? After fifteen years, multiple promotions, three tours overseas, and a crippling case of PTSD, the military allowed me to retire without compromising my pension.

I’ve spent the last five years attending night school, building my business, and trying to silence the voice in my head that assures me I’m utterly unlovable. Maybe I’m attracted to Wren. I’m sure I’ll lie in bed tonight and dream about what could have been. But I know when to quit while I’m ahead. She’s too young, rich, and beautiful for me.

Our size difference alone would be challenging to maneuver. Although, I’m not sure I’d count that as a problem. We’d figure it out.

“Stop!” Hank shouts and places his hands on the dash, bracing himself for an accident.

I roll my eyes and slow to a stop, having seen the red light from a block down. “Settle down, pussy. I didn’t even need to slam on the brakes.” I minimize his concerns, too much in my own head to placate him.

“Get your head out of your ass, Ford. I lost count of how many times I’ve caught you daydreaming today. I didn’t survive war just to come home and die in a car accident because you weren’t paying attention,” he hollers, holding his shaking hands in his lap to keep me from seeing them. I know better than to play fast and loose with his safety. His fragile mind is still recovering.

“Sorry, man. I wasn’t daydreaming. I was just thinking about something important. There’s practically a whole car’s length between us and the crosswalk. You weren’t in danger,” I rasp, my voice tight with remorse.

Hank takes a deep breath and readjusts his seat belt, grumbling profanities and shaking his head. “I know what I said before. The princess may be out of your league, but that doesn’t mean you can’t hook up. Uptown girls love getting down and dirty with guys like us. Show her the time of her life and give her memories to tell her grandchildren.” He laughs at my expense, feeding horrible images to my lovesick brain.

Hook up? Grandchildren that belong to another man? Is he trying to force me off the road?

“I’m not looking for a fucking hookup. That’s never been my thing. Even if it was, this girl is different. Did you see all her books? The stuffed animal collection she set up in the spare bedroom on the third floor? She took fifteen minutes folding and unfolding a cashmere throw and began tuning her piano before we left. This is not a party girl who wants to walk on the wild side.” I clench the steering wheel, tightening my grip until my knuckles turn white.

Hank sits in silence, quietly staring through the windshield and pretending to be fascinated by oncoming traffic. I know he has more to say, but I appreciate him keeping his opinion to himself. Hearing about what-ifs and missed opportunities is difficult when the moment is lost.

I turn into our lot and park the truck next to the others. This job took up most of our day, and I’m ready to head home and maybe grab a bite to eat. I should have taken Wren up on her offer to buy pizza, but the longer I stayed there, the more I never wanted to leave.

“You could go back. It’s not like you don’t know where she lives.” Hank jumps off the truck and talks to me through the open door. He drops the volume of his voice when he sees Chuck loitering nearby. “It’s me, man. Don’t pretend you don’t want to see her again. Maybe she’s too good for you, but why should that stop you? Most women are too good for our sorry asses.”

Ignoring his strange pep talk, I walk around the front of the truck and head for the office door. He may mean well, but he’s reached the end of my nerves. The topic is moot. I had a chance, but I blew it, and the more he reminds me about my stupidity, the angrier I become. I’m not going to stalk her or appear at her door unannounced. It’s creepy and inconsiderate. That’s not my style.

“Just stop talking about her. She was a client, and now she’s not. We no longer have any business together, and I doubt I’ll ever see her again,” I groan, fed up with the conversation and eager to move on with my unremarkable life.

Walking into my office, I replay our goodbye and mentally kick myself. What if I get another chance? I could send her a survey requesting feedback about our customer service and ask her to leave a review. No. Wren’s a smart girl, and she’ll see right through me.

“Hey, Boss.” Chuck saunters into the room, holding my clipboard under his arm. He hands it to me and points to the line item marked with an X. “Do you know you left a box on the back of your truck? The order says it was unloaded, but the box matching this number is still on your truck. It’s marked as books.”

“A box?” I stare, confused, trying to remember how I would let something like that slip. This is unheard of. We pride ourselves on a complete and thorough delivery. Did I do it on purpose to have an excuse to return?

Chuck leans forward and whispers, “Don’t beat yourself up. That’s Hank’s handwriting. Make him deliver it and apologize in person. I’m sure he won’t complain.” He wags his eyebrows, suggesting something lewd and making me want to clock him in the head.

“Hank!” I call him into my office, grinding my teeth and furious over his interference. It might solve my problem, but it wasn’t his place to meddle.

“What?” Hank strides in, his backpack on one shoulder and his keys in his hand.

“You know what,” I growl and stand from my desk, crossing my arms over my chest to keep me from lunging forward.

Casually amused, his mouth eases into a smug smile. “You’re welcome.”

CHAPTEREIGHT

“The moving man?” Holly balks and refers to his profession instead of calling him by name. I’m confident she knows it because I haven’t stopped talking about him all damn week.

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