Page 67 of Better Hate than Never

“I have my reasons for me, too,” I hedge. Sliding my hands off his shoulders, down his arms, I take my first step back until he reluctantly lets go, his hands landing heavily on his thighs. “But those...”

“You’re not ready to tell me,” he says.

“Girl’s gotta have some secrets.” I lift the camera and force myself to focus on its mechanics, my eyes on Christopher not as someone who’s touched me tenderly and offered an olive branch of trust, but as my subject, contained safely in its frame.

He stares straight at me, jaw clenched, his eyes two glowing embers that burn through the barrier I’ve tried to put between us. “I can wait,” he says. “Until you are. Ready, that is.”

I lower the camera for a moment and search his eyes. “Andwhat if I told you that you might be waiting a long time, Petruchio?”

His eyes hold mine. “I’d tell you, I’m a patient man, Katerina.”

I clutch my camera like a shield and bring it between us, capturing frame after frame, reminding myself why I came here today in my feminist red power suit, armed with my best camera, my fiercest boots, ready to take charge—not get myself emotionally twisted up and melt into a puddle of lusty goo.

But as I snap photo after photo, as I look into those warm amber eyes locked on me, sure and steady, all I can think about are those photos on his desk, the handkerchief in his drawer, his gentle touch, his eyes searching mine, his voice, low and steady, revealing kindness, promising patience.

I can wait.

I have more than enough photos of him, but I keep my camera up, firmly between us, hiding the fact that Christopher’s managed something I stopped hoping he would a long time ago: to put a smile on my face.

•TWENTY•

Christopher

“Turn that frown upside down.” Nick smiles from where he leans a shoulder against the threshold of my office.

I stop swaying in my chair, pinning him with a flat, weary look. “And why should I do that?”

“Because you are clearly making some progress with the ballbuster—”

“Don’tcall her that.”

Nick lifts his hands. “Okay. My bad.”

I scrub my face. “Sorry I snapped. I’m tired.”

“So go home. Get some sleep.”

I laugh emptily. Spoken like someone who can simply lay down their head and sleep, whose head pounding with pain doesn’t wrench them awake half the time, whose nightmares don’t keep them up the other half. “Yeah.”

Slowly, I ease out of my chair and reach for my coat. “Walking to the train? I’ll join you.”

“Oh. Uh...” He wiggles a finger in his ear, Nick’s nervous tell.

“Uh, what?” I ask, slipping on my coat.

“I actually have a dinner date with Bianca. I just wanted to stop by and say... thank you. Whatever you’re doing with Kate, I think it’s working. She took my picture today and didn’t judo chop me,just told me if I broke her cousin’s heart, she didn’t know where I lived, but she had her ways of finding out. I’ve been holding my breath since Bianca and I scheduled this, especially since Kate saw me earlier, nervous Bianca would cancel on me, yet here we are.”

I glance away, focused on packing up my cross-body bag, securing the clip, willing myself to ignore the dull ache spreading through my chest. “That’s great. I hope it goes well.”

Nick’s quiet. So quiet, for so long, that I glance up. I catch him examining me carefully. “Thanks,” he finally says, then after a beat: “You doing okay?”

Before I can answer him, my phone, faceup in the middle of my desk, dings with a text message from a number I don’t recognize. I read it, and my heart jumps against my ribs.

Hi. This is Kate.

“Christopher?” Nick says.

I slap a hand over my phone, oddly protective of this first. Kate and I have never had each other’s numbers. Never texted. Doing my best to ignore my heart drumming inside my chest, I flash him an easy smile. “I’m good. Thanks. Enjoy your date with Bianca. I hope it goes well. Have a good night.”

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