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Naomi looks up from her computer, and my brain short-circuits because, god, she’s beautiful. Even when she’s giving me her best ‘I could murder you with this stapler’ look. Actually, especially then. “What are you doing here?”
Right. Words. I should use those.
“Delivery for Ms. Smith.” Or, hopefully, one day, Mrs. Milton. I hold up the container. “Caesar salad. No croutons. Your favorite.” Nailed it. Sort of.
She eyes the container, then me. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“I know.” I set it on her desk. “But you haven’t been returning my texts. Or calls.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to let me know you’re okay?” Okay, dick move. Rein it in.
“I’m okay. So you can go now.” Her words cut deep, but I knew this wouldn’t be easy.
“I was hoping we could?—”
“Brandon. I appreciate the salad, but I really don’t have time for this right now.”
It stings. Deep. “Okay, well, maybe we can grab dinner later?”
“Dinner is Thursday.” She finally meets my gaze, her eyes hard as flint. “Something else?”
“I won’t disappear, cupcake.” My shoulders slump in defeat. “I’ll be here. Whenever you need me.”
Something flickers in her eyes. Uncertainty. Longing?
But then it vanishes. “You should go.”
I nod, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll go then.”
I turn to leave, each step heavier than the last. This can’t be it. This can’t be how we end.
At the door, I pause, my hand on the knob, and I glance back at her over my shoulder. “I made the salad myself. Hope you like it.”
Her eyes flick to the plastic container, her lips parting, and then, almost imperceptibly, her lips twitch. “You made it yourself?”
I nod, hope flaring in my chest. “First time in the kitchen in a while since the pancakes.”
Her gaze lands back on me, searching. Assessing. Like she’s trying to figure out if this is some kind of trick or if I’m being sincere.
I want to tell her that I’d spend every damn day in the kitchen if it meant seeing that tiny hint of a smile again. That flicker of warmth in her eyes before the walls slam back into place.
But I don’t. I can’t. Not yet.
Baby steps, Bash said. Don’t push. Just be there.
So I wait, holding my breath, as she considers my peace offering.
“Thank you,” she says finally, her voice soft. Uncertain.
It’s not much. But it’s something. A tiny crack in her armor. A crack in the wall she’s erected between us.
“I’ll see you Thursday then.” She resumes the work on her computer. A dismissal, but a gentler one than before.
“Thursday,” I echo, my hand twisting the door knob. “Looking forward to it, cupcake.”
A ghost of a smile flits across her lips. There and gone in an instant, but I saw it. I fucking saw it, and now I’m grinning like an idiot in the elevator because she almost smiled at me. She almost smiled at me!