“Oh, right.” I begin to riffle through the stack of invoices and files on the desk, for the sheet of paper I know is hidden somewhere in the mess. “I have a list with phone numbers and the passwords and shit.” I spot it beneath a folder and, when I tug it loose, it slips from my fingers and floats to the floor.
Hayden and I bend at the same time, my shoulder clonking into her head as she grabs it.
“Sorry about that,” I mutter, my hands instinctively settling on her shoulders as we right ourselves. Still swaying a little on her feet, she shakes the hair back from her face and wets her lips.
Naturally, my focus falls to her pretty pink tongue sliding along that mouth I so badly want to taste again.
“It’s okay, I’m good,” she exhales, her eyelashes lowering ever so slightly as she watches me watch her.
It’s been four years and nine months since I’ve kissed her. Four years and nine months since I’ve tasted her and breathed her air and felt her melt in my arms. A travesty I want to rectify right friggin’ now—
“You should probably get going.” She sets her free hand against my chest and my pride crumbles. That is, until her fingers slide down my pec, over my ribs, and to the side of my waist, all in one promising swoop… and I realize that she didn’t push me away, she merely hit pause.
Fuck yes.
“You’re right.” I dip my chin, doing my damnedest not to smile like a kid who just found his Christmas presents in his parents’ closet. “I should’ve been at the site fifteen minutes ago. The guys are probably wondering where the hell I am.”
“Don’t you dare blame your tardiness on me,” she teases, the earlier lightness of our conversation returning as she gestures toward the door. “Go. Scoot. I got this.”
And I have no doubt she does. In fact, the only concern I have at this point… is when she’ll hit that play button again.
HAYDEN
I’ve been in Jesse’s office for six hours and, for six hours, all I’ve been able to think about is how damn good he smelled… and how he’d almost kissed me.
It doesn’t help that he’s everywhere, too, from the sticky notes with his handwritten reminders, to the engineering and business textbooks on the built-in shelves behind the desk, to the stick of Old Spice Swagger deodorant in the top desk drawer. This place is all Jesse and something about being allowed into his life again—especially into a space that’s so important to him—feels like I’m breathing at full capacity for the first time in almost five years.
And then there’s the way he looked at me after we collided. I’ve seen glimpses of that lingering curiosity since I told him I ended things with Lane, but I wasn’t sure if it was simply wishful thinking on my part or something real, still smoldering beneath the surface.
Maybe that’s being dramatic. More than likely, the clarity I’m feeling is more about letting go of things with Lane and allowing myself to entertain, for the first time, that maybe the life I want now isn’t the life I’d planned on having since I was a kid. Maybe I don’t know exactly what I want... and maybe there’s freedom in that.
At two o’clock, I file away the section of invoices I’d spent the last couple of hours entering into the electronic system I found on Jesse’s laptop, which, as I suspected, hadn’t been touched in weeks, given the amount of software updates I had to make first.
Greta had shared that Jesse had been wanting to integrate the software into their daily work, but she’d had a hard time figuring it out, so they held off. From the manual and pages upon pages of notes I found—in his awful but endearing handwriting—it’s obviously still something he wants to do.
Fortunately, it’s a similar system to the one I use for my contract work, so I had no problem figuring it out. I even think I know where Greta’s been stumbling, but I don’t want to push her into something she’s not comfortable with. That’s not my role here. But maybe if I can get things organized, it’ll ease the way for her down the road. And if that ultimately makes Jesse’s life easier, too, than I’m happy to help.
Needing to get some of my own work done, I grab my laptop and dig into my emails when my phone lights up with a text, surprisingly from Lane.
Went to your parents’ last night, hoping we could talk. They haven’t seen you since Friday.
Yeah, no kidding. I’m out of town.
Cole Creek, huh? That didn’t take long.
Freaking asshole. I came for Jett.
Right. And how long before you come for Jesse? Or maybe you already have.
Oh, hell no. I lift my thumb to the phone icon, intent on calling him so he can hear my voice when I tell him to fuck off, but the door chimes at the front of the building first.
“Hello?” I call out, dropping the phone onto the desk as I head for the front. It’s probably just Jesse or Greta, though when I talked to her earlier, she hadn’t mentioned coming in.
“Who the hell are you?” snaps a broad-shouldered man with a beard—and incidentally, a gun strapped to his hip—when we nearly collide between the hall and Greta’s workspace.
“Who are you?” I counter, despite the blood pounding in my ears. There’s something familiar about him, but between the gun and the scowl, my brain is blank.
His brows rise beneath a plain black ball cap and a smirk forms amidst the dark scruff on his face. “Kinda bold for someone who shouldn’t be here, don’t you think?”
“Actually, I’m working. I believe it’s you who shouldn’t be here.” But something about the way he narrows his blue eyes stirs that familiar feeling again. Then recognition clicks. “Oh, my gosh. Aiden. I didn’t recognize you with the beard.”
The grin broadens as he props his hands on his hips. Very near that holster. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
“I’m helping Jesse with some paperwork.” I gesture back toward the office. “It’s me, Hayden. Jett’s mom.”
He doesn’t so much as blink. “I’m well aware.”
Okay. “Then why the riot act?”
“Because I’m a cop and that’s what I do.” His smirk turns into a lighthearted chuckle. Finally. “I recognized you the second you copped the attitude. Reminded me of my nephew.”
“Oh.” Whoops. “Sorry about that.” I give him a sheepish smile.
“No need to apologize. I did bust in here unannounced.”
Which makes me wonder again why he’s here. And why Jesse wouldn’t have given me a heads-up that he might drop by.
Aiden tips his head toward Greta’s desk. “Saw the car out front and thought it was Greta’s. She lets me use the printer on the down low.”
I give a short laugh. “Gotcha.” But isn’t there a printer at the sheriff’s office? I don’t dare to ask.
“Actually, if you could not tell Jesse I was here that would be great.” His expression suddenly becomes wary, his jaw tightening. “I’m working on something I don’t feel like explaining.”
Alrighty then. I pretend to zip my lips and throw away the key, unsure what exactly I’m getting myself into. I’ve only heard good things about Aiden Enders, so I have no reason to believe I shouldn’t play along.