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Mine?
He lays his cutlery down, puts his elbows on the table, and covers his face with his hands.
I stare at him. “Are you okay?”
He nods without removing his hands.
I don’t know what’s wrong or how to make it better, but the poor guy is obviously struggling with something. “Fraser,” I say gently. “Come on, you can talk to me.”
He drops his head so his hands slide into his hair, then finally sits up and leans back in his chair. Around us, the café is bustling—customers coming and going and paying at the till, waiters bringing food and coffee and clearing plates, people talking and laughing and paying us no attention at all, so it’s as if we’re in the eye of the storm. Everything around me blurs and fades into the background, and all I can see is the heat in Fraser’s eyes.
“When I like a girl,” he says, “and I get flustered, I stutter.”
My lips part, but my voice has vanished.
We sit there like that for a good thirty seconds.
“Um…” I say eventually. My heart is racing, doing its best to play my ribs like a xylophone. “Are you saying… that means… you like… me?” I can’t believe it.
He surveys me, his eyes narrowed a little, almost glowering. “I haven’t stuttered for nearly eighteen m-months. I thought I was cured.”
My head is spinning. “But I’ve been working at the museum for a year, and you’ve never stuttered when you’ve talked to me before.”
“You had a boyfriend. I convinced m-myself I wasn’t interested in you, and put you firmly in the friends b-box. And then you broke up with him, and now I’m thinking k-k-…” He stops and blows out a breath.
“Kinky thoughts?” I suggest.
That makes him laugh. “No,” he scolds. “Well, maybe a little.”
Our eyes meet, and I inhale. I was teasing, but his eyes hold heat I haven’t seen before. Not in any man, not even Ian. Ian never looked at me with desire. He was never tender with me, never affectionate. I assumed romance was something you only found in books and movies.
“Fraser…” I whisper. “I don’t know what to say. I was convinced you didn’t like me in that way.”
He sighs.
I take my courage in both hands. “I like you too. A lot. I always have. But I thought you were way out of my league.”
He frowns, then huffs a sigh and looks away, out of the window. I study his profile, my heart still racing. Is he about to ask me out on a date?
When he looks back at me, though, the frown is still there, along with a touch of regret. “I can’t,” he says simply.
“Can’t what?”
“Ask you out. Date you. You work for me, Hallie.”
Disappointment fills me. Is he really going to let that get in the way? “We don’t have to tell anyone.”
“I can’t,” he says. “I have a clause in my contract that stipulates I won’t get involved with an employee.” He’s not stuttering now he’s being all professional.
I stare at him, shocked. “Really?”
“It’s getting more common now. Companies are cracking down on office romances because it can lead to favoritism, harassment, and jealousy.”
“I’ll make sure I keep out of your way at work, and I won’t let on to anyone, I swear…”
“I can’t, Hallie. It’s happened before.”
“What’s happened before?”