Page 128 of In Sheets of Rain

50

Grounding Me

Iwas playing with the rose-gold cross on the chain around my neck. Michael glanced over and stared at me.

“What?” I said, leaving a finger on the line in the report I’d been reading; I didn’t want to lose my place and start again. A headache was forming.

“Who gave you the cross?” he asked.

My hand stilled at my neck.

“Never mind,” he said and looked away from me.

I let the cross go and tried to concentrate on the numbers, but the lines blurred, and memories assailed me.

I wanted to shut them out. Some were good, and I missed them. Some weren’t as nice, and they made it hard to breathe.

For a moment, all I could see were superimposed images. Love notes and Weet-Bix.

I sat back in my chair and let out a sigh.

Michael ignored me.

I stared at him across the meeting room table. He scowled down at the report he was reading.

Was he jealous?

I smiled. He made a disgruntled sound. I leaned forward and rested my elbows on the table, my chin in cupped hands.

He looked up at me.

“What?” he said gruffly.

“You sound like an angry bull, huffing and puffing,” I said.

He arched a brow at me.

Placing his report down on the table to the side, he turned in his seat and faced me. His elbow came down on the gleaming wooden surface. He cupped his chin in his hand and stared at me.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

I blushed.

He looked at me, and I looked at him. The reports forgotten.

The sound of the clock on the wall ticking set a counterpoint to the beat of my heart. Time stretched. The clock ticked. Michael kept looking at me.

“Stop it,” I said, laughing.

“Stop what?”

“Staring at me.”

“But I can’t help it.”

“A second ago, you were scowling at your papers,” I pointed out.

He shrugged. “I got over it.”