Page 22 of Let It Breathe (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #1)

“Ow,” he muttered, grinning as he headed toward the door. “See you tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

As soon as he was gone, Reese closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the cupboard.

She didn’t love Clay. She couldn’t love Clay.

She thumped her head on the cupboard a few times, willing it to be true.

Clay put off going into Reese’s office for as long as he could the next day. Finally, there was no avoiding it.

She looked up the instant he knocked on the doorframe, her green eyes flashing under the fluorescent lights. Her hair slid back over her shoulders, framing her face in a cinnamon-gold halo, and Clay felt his breath catch in his throat.

“Hey,” she said. “Thanks for coming over last night.”

He nodded, trying not to think about what her hair would feel like sliding through his fingers. He didn’t see it down too often, and he ached to reach out and touch it. He pushed the thought out of his mind and cleared his throat. “Thank you for dinner. It was great.”

Reese smiled. “Even when things got a little weird with Larissa?”

“I’ve known Larissa since she was a teenager,” he said, returning her smile. “When do things not get weird with her?”

“It’s part of her charm. What’s up?”

Clay hesitated a moment at the threshold, then came in and shut the door behind him. He dropped into the chair in front of her desk and rested his clipboard on his lap.

“We’re reaching a point where you’re going to need to make some decisions,” he said. Seeing her face register alarm, he gripped the edge of his clipboard tighter. “About the building. Decisions about the building project, I mean.”

“I know what you meant,” Reese said. “I’ve got an appointment with the bank tomorrow to discuss additional financing in light of your increased estimate.”

“Technically, it’s not our estimate that increased,” Clay pointed out. “It’s the price of materials.”

Reese rolled her eyes. “What’s the point in having an estimate if the numbers are completely arbitrary?”

“They weren’t arbitrary. They were based on market conditions at the time. It’s not our fault material costs went up.”

Reese gritted her teeth. “I’m not going to argue with you. I’m too tired, and the bottom line is that we can’t do anything about the price of the stupid fly ass.”

“Fly ash.”

“What?”

“It’s fly ash, not fly ass.”

“Whatever,” she said, beautiful in her flustered state. “Just give me a few days to work things out with the bank. Do you and your crew have enough you can do in the meantime?”

Clay gave a small nod. “We’ve got several more days of clearing and grading, but we can’t stall too long.”

She gritted her teeth. “We should know something by then.”

“Okay, then. I’ll get back to work.”

Reese nodded. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. She picked up her letter opener. Clay watched for a moment as she rolled it between her palms.

“You’ve done that for as long as I’ve known you,” Clay said.

“Done what?”

“Fidgeted with something when you’re uncomfortable. Rolled it around between your palms like that. It always used to be a pen—back when we were in college, I mean. The letter opener is a change.”

Reese stared at him for a second, then set the letter opener down. “So moving from the pen to the letter opener is a sign that I’m growing and maturing?”

Clay raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Reese shook her head. “Nothing. Just seems like I’ve been hearing a lot lately about how I haven’t changed.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

She shrugged. “Being stagnant isn’t a good thing, is it?”

“I wouldn’t say stagnant. Just consistent. Consistently charming.”

“Or lacking growth and maturity, one or the other.”

“Growth and maturity aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.” He gave her a wobbly smile. “Neither is change. Take it from a guy who’s had to do a whole lot of that.”

She shot him a look that was somewhere between sympathy and uncertainty, and Clay felt his chest tighten. He kicked himself for driving the conversation down a dark path and tried to think of a good way to steer them back on course.

“For what it’s worth, I think your rolling habit is endearing.”

“Thanks. I think.” She stayed quiet a moment before picking up the letter opener again, this time rolling it more slowly in her palms. “You know, the old Clay would have made a dirty joke about my palm-rolling habit being a sign of my fixation with hand jobs.”

Clay gripped the clipboard tighter, willing himself to keep breathing so he wouldn’t pass out or lunge across the desk to kiss her. He honestly wasn’t sure which would be worse.

“I wasn’t aware you had that fixation,” he replied evenly.

Reese laughed. “That’s not what I meant. I guess I just meant that’s one of the ways you’ve changed—you no longer seize every opportunity to make dirty jokes.”

“Pretty sure that is a sign of growth and maturity.”

“Mmhmm,” Reese said.

Clay sat still for a few more seconds. There was something on her mind. Was it the kiss at Vineyard Grill the other night? That had been dumb. Really dumb . Talk about a stupid risk. With only a handful of friendships left, should he really be jeopardizing the two most important ones in his life?

Or maybe Reese wasn’t thinking about that at all. Maybe it was the other thing. The issue they’d been avoiding.

“Thanks for last night,” Reese blurted. “For not drinking during the whole I’ve never slept with anyone in this room round.”

Clay swallowed hard, not sure what to say now that the words were out there on the table. “It seemed like the respectful thing to do, under the circumstances.”

She laughed. “Like things weren’t awkward enough last night.”

“Exactly.”

She nodded. “Right. It was. Look?—”

The phone rang, and Reese glanced down at the caller ID. She frowned. “Shit, it’s the bank. I’ve gotta take this. So we’ll talk again later?”

“Absolutely,” Clay said. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

He stood up, part of him wishing they’d had a chance to finish the conversation.

But most of him damn glad they hadn’t.

Reese was reviewing a draft of the Sunridge Vineyards e-newsletter with Larissa late that afternoon when her phone rang for the millionth time that day. Larissa leaned across the desk, spilling cleavage as she peered at the readout.

“Who’s Wallace O’Brien?”

Reese looked down at the phone. “That’s Dr. Wally. He’s the vet who took care of Leon yesterday.”

“A vet, huh? Cute? Single?”

“These are the criteria I should use when selecting a veterinarian now?”

“What do you mean now ?” Larissa grinned. “They’ve always been the criteria.”

Reese rolled her eyes and picked up the phone. “Sunridge Vineyards, this is Reese speaking.”

“Reese, this is Wallace O’Brien. We met yesterday after your alpaca ate?—”

“Right, right—I remember,” she said, leaning back in her chair as Larissa leaned forward to eavesdrop. “Thanks again for everything. For coming out on short notice and all.”

“Of course. How’s he doing?”

“Perfect. He seemed a little hungrier than normal last night, but other than that, he seems fine.”

“Good. That’s good.” Wally cleared his throat. “Look, I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to say that I’m going to the Friday Art Walk tonight in Newberg. I was wondering if you might like to join me?”

“Tonight?”

“I’m sure you’ve been before—it’s the first Friday every month, and all the shops and galleries have art and wine and cheese.”

“Oh—well?—”

Dr. Wally laughed. “Sorry, is that dumb to invite a wine pro on a date where wine will be served? Too much mixing business with pleasure?”

“No, actually, it’s great,” Reese said, her brain sticking a little on the word date as she tried to decide how she felt about that. “Um, I think I’m free tonight.”

Across the desk, Larissa perked up. She mouthed the word date? and made a kissy face while Reese tried to ignore her.

Dr. Wally rattled off details about the artists and galleries and shops, and Reese wondered if she should be writing down the information or feeling her heart go pitty-pat in her chest. She couldn’t seem to muster up the enthusiasm for either one, so she settled for grabbing her letter opener.

“So can I pick you up around seven?” he asked.

“I was thinking I’d just meet you there, but?—”

Larissa shook her head vehemently. She grabbed a piece of paper out of Reese’s recycle box, then snatched a pen and scrawled something in big, block letters. She shoved it across the desk at Reese, who was still trying to focus on the conversation with Wally.

Let him drive! Car sex is fun!

Reese rolled her eyes and shoved the note back at Larissa.

“Sure, go ahead and pick me up,” Reese said. “Not for car sex, but?—”

“What?”

Reese squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth. “I was talking to my cousin. I mean—never mind. I’ll see you at seven.”

Reese hung up the phone and set down her letter opener, not sure whether to kill her cousin or herself.

“You have a date!” Larissa squealed.

Reese shook her head. “No. You don’t get to dress me this time.”

“Please? No front-clasp bras, I promise.”

“Larissa—”

“I’ll be good, I swear. Pretty please?”

Reese sighed. “Fine. But nothing slutty, okay?”

“Your version of slutty or mine?”

Reese stared at her.

“Fine,” Larissa said, rolling her eyes. “Nothing slutty. I can do that. I can do your hair, too, right?”

Reese smiled in spite of herself. “Sure. You can do my hair. You want to come to my place, or should I come to yours?”

“Yours,” she said. “I have a date tonight with this new guy, but I’m afraid Joey might try to stop by my place to see me again.”

“How the hell do you manage this?” Reese asked. “Seriously, I get hives just thinking about the one date.”

Larissa beamed. “It’s talent.”

“It’s something, all right.”

“This will be fun,” Larissa said. “Don’t you feel better now that you’re dating again?”

“I’d hardly call the thing with Bob the Boob-man a date. More like a visual assault.”