Page 28

“I told you, I came to see you,” I tell her. “If this is what I have to do, then I’ll do it.”

“We can probably get it done in half the time since I have help,” she informs me. “And maybe I’ll be able to squeeze in a longer lunch.”

“That’s motivating enough for me.”

This makes her laugh, and I see an edge of the mask she wears around others slowly slip. It wasn’t there when I met her, and it makes me wonder what it’ll take to have her let it fall off completely.

We make our way into a storage room that is entirely too small to be called as such. It’s a tight fit, and the air is warm, but not entirely uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” she says, nervously tugging at her earlobe. “I know this isn’t really ideal.”

Finding a nearby box, I carefully place the tablet and stylus on top of it. My hands involuntarily reach for her shoulders, softly squeezing, hoping to release her apprehension. Her eyes fall closed and she drops her chin to her chest with a sigh. “Your hands are like magic, you know that?”

Her head snaps up and a hand flies to cover her mouth. “I did not mean to say that out loud.”

“Why?” I say through a wide smile. “I don’t deserve the compliment?”

Her cheeks fill with embarrassment, so I steer her body around till she’s no longer looking at me, offering us both a reprieve. My hands continue to massage her shoulders, alternating between soft and firm touches, as my body instinctively moves closer to hers.

“Are you always this tense?” I ask.

She relaxes under my ministrations, so I continue kneading her neck and shoulder muscles.

“I’ve got a lot going on,” she reveals. “And…”

“And,” I coax.

“And I’m in knots around you,” she confesses. “I’m not really sure how any of this is supposed to go.”

“Tell me,” I start. “If I walked into your coffee shop today and it was the first time you saw me since that night, what would you do?”

“Are you really asking me that while your hands are on me?”

I stop moving them. “I can stop.”

“Don’t,” she rushes out. “Please don’t.”

My fingers glide up and down her neck, fingertips firm at her pressure points as I massage her nape and the bottom of her scalp. The silence between us stretches, but it’s comfortable and familiar.

“If today was the first time I saw you after our night together,” she says, bringing us back to my earlier question. “I would put my big girl panties on, act like Clementine instead of Clem, and ask if we could do it again.”

My stomach somersaults at her honesty, my body heating up, my pulse frantic. I want to tell her I would absolutely do it again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

But part of me worries that if I breathe life into those words, she and I would find ourselves in a lot more trouble than we have time for. This is still her place of work, and the quick knock on the door is an instant reminder of that.

“Clem,” a voice calls. “I need your help. A bus broke down nearby, so they’ve all piled in here wanting drinks while they wait for the repair service.”

“Be out in a second,” Clem calls back.

She then turns to face me, my hands reluctantly falling off of her body. “I think we were only supposed to be a one-night thing,” she says. “And I don’t want to burst that bubble with all this shit.”

She waves her hand around the storeroom, but something tells me she means more than just her job. I don’t know the whos and the whys and the hows of her life, but it’s obvious she’s carrying the weight of the world on those delicate shoulders.