Could we be good for her, too?
Could she handle a package deal?
I’m about to split open wondering about all the things I shouldn’t, especially this thing I’ve been trying to deny that’s getting too big to contain.
The magnetism that keeps pulling me to her.
The destructive want I’ve been trying so hard to avoid.
Let’s be real. She’s not the only one who sometimes won’t look. Having her in my home—up close and personal—has been making me ache nonstop.
Just glimpsing her sleeping in my bed with her hair splashed over the pillows in a cinnamon cloud, her drowsy puttering over that French press in the mornings, my eyes always caught on the falling strap of those loose tank tops she likes to sleep in...
I don’t understand how I’m this fucking wrecked.
How and why I’m obsessed with a chick so closemouthed I don’t even know her middle name.
I don’t need to know it to feel some kind of way I don’t dare dwell on, though.
I know she loves her mother.
I know her father hurt her.
I know she’s had it hard, and she never stops smiling.
I know she’d let herself shatter to keep someone else from hurting.
I know when she loves something, she loves it with her all, and she gives herself over to it without a second thought.
I know when she smiles, it’s full of pain.
I want to know what it looks like when her smile’s running over with joy.
I know enough, dammit.
Just never enough to feel like I’m anywhere close to satisfied.
I must be staring. I clear my throat awkwardly, pretending I’m just people watching.
I’ve probably got the most ridiculous look on my face. Because when she glances up and catches my eye, she jolts a little before ducking her head with a thoughtful quirk of her lips.
“Sorry,” she says. “Evening rush gets crazy. Is there something I can get you guys?”
“Coffee, black,” Eli says, drawing himself up. “Tara says that’s how her aunt’s friends drink it. They’re all artists.”
He earns himself a Dad look, and I ruffle his hair. “This one gets decaf, or he can have soda, juice, or milk. Take your pick, polecat.”
“I’ll take you not calling me that.” He sticks just the tip of his tongue out at me. “Hmph. I guess I’ll have a Diet Coke.”
Felicity chuckles. “Watching your figure, Eli?”
“Huh? No!” He sputters in a way that means yes, and I wonder just how smitten he must be with this Tara girl.
For his sake, I hold my tongue.
Felicity’s busy, and Eli looks like he’s about to crawl under the nearest table.
“I’ll take my usual,” I say with a smile.
She glances at me, the curl of her lips lingering, then nods. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
It feels like she lingers just a little longer on my drink, putting extra care into making it.
...and I’m giving my kid crap about being smitten?
Ha.
Even after Fliss leaves our drinks in front of us—and refuses to accept a single penny for them, calling it payment for room and board, along with a free muffin for me and a giant cinnamon roll for Eli—I can’t help but watch her.
How she moves.
The little gestures she makes.
The way her gaze drifts toward me almost unconsciously every now and then—before she realizes it and snaps her eyes away.
I try not to chuckle.
I thought Eli was busy with his camera, so I’m not expecting the playful poke right in my ribs, along with an amused stage whisper. “Hey. Just ask her out, Dad.”
“Hey, yourself.” I bump him back with my elbow. “Keep your voice down.”
“Why?” He just grins, and goddamn if he isn’t my kid with that wickedness in his smile. “You scared Miss Felicity’s gonna find out you like her?”
“I think half the town’s figured that out already, but if you can let grown-ups handle grown-up business, it’s probably in your best interests.”
“What’re you gonna do if I don’t?”
“You want dish duty for a week?”
“Hey!” he echoes, scowling at me. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
I’m bluffing. The boy doesn’t need to know it, though. Not when I’m the one ready to crawl under a table, now.
Thankfully, Fliss seems oblivious to our crap.
She murmurs something to the girl working the register, then turns to slip into her back office, fingers working at her apron.
I crane my head to follow. I have a few questions I desperately need to ask her, and if she’s as tired tonight as she’s been lately, she won’t be in any shape for a heart-to-heart when she gets home.
On the other hand, if I can steal five minutes now...
I brush my fingers against Eli’s arm. “Will you be okay out here on your own for a few minutes?”
“Huh?” Then he turns his head to follow Felicity’s retreating back, and grins. “Sure. Go get ’er, Dad.”
“It’s not like that,” I grumble.
How did I raise such a little monster?
Raking my hair back with a frustrated hand, I slide off the stool and angle through a few people lingering around the bakery display case, marching down the corridor into the back.
I catch up with her just as she ducks—not into her office—but into the back storeroom. It’s dark and close and oddly homey. Giant sacks of beans and grounds fill the space with the rich scents of mingling coffee blends. Several upper shelves are lined with new-looking five-gallon glass cold brew jugs stamped with The Nest’s curling logo.
“Hey, Fliss,” I say, leaning in the doorway, watching as she hangs her apron on a hook just inside the door—only to fumble at the sound of my voice, catching her breath and glancing at me wide-eyed.
“Oh—hey,” she sputters, clearing her throat. “Everything okay out there?”
“Yep. Just wanted to catch you before you came staggering in after midnight with your tank on empty.” I offer a smile. “This a good time to talk?”
Her puzzled expression clears, only to ice over.
She leans, peering past me before beckoning quickly.
“Close the door. Please.”
I step inside, pulling the door shut behind me, which makes me realize how narrow this room is with so much packed in here. There’s barely a foot between us and next to no air circulation.
I’d swear the balmy heat isn’t coming from the close quarters, but from her.
Still, I try to ignore how my chest tightens, the way my lungs want to swell like balloons to inhale her, and focus on the issue at hand.
“What’s the plan? We can’t leave the gold at the vet’s office forever,” I say, ignoring how her teeth pull anxiously at her lip.
“No, but it’s bought us time.” She frowns, tapping her fingers along her lower lip, then curling them under her chin. “I don’t know yet, Alaska. There are a lot of things I have to think about.”
Me too.
Like wondering what would’ve happened if we hadn’t banked time.
Who’s running the clock? What the hell’s she counting down to?