Hope smiles and shakes her head. “I already have an agenda for tomorrow, and blackberry picking is certainly not on it.”
Her comment dissolves the imagery alive in my mind. It feels like a slap in the face, but I know she doesn’t mean it that way. Hope clearly has different priorities now, and I either need to get used to that—or help her remember her old ones.
Chapter Six
HOPE
It’s still dark when I finally drag myself out of bed the next morning. After my mind and eyes adjust slightly, I realize the extra layer of dark shades are mostly to thank for my long and deep slumber. But the moment I catch sight of the time on the digital clock in the corner of the room, my eyes practically bulge out of my head.
Nine a.m.? I haven’t slept past six thirty since first moving to Seattle. I’d gotten used to the groggy mornings before coffee recharged my brain, followed by a hot shower to cleanse me of my night terrors. Because while city life felt like a dream most of the time, it came with challenges I wasn’t mentally prepared for. Like the constant sounds outside my window, the busy intersections that carried more traffic on foot than in the street, and the endless options of not just food but clothing and jewelry and automobiles. There was so much chaos, and since I had an already-chaotic brain, it led to many panic attacks when I first arrived in the city.
I shower and dress in a pair of navy slacks and a pale pink button-down to keep things business casual. My high heels can stay in the closet though. Instead, I reach for my brown sandals and head to the bathroom to apply my makeup.
One look at my phone on the nightstand has me sighing and remembering what I’d said to Dexter last night. He was out of line, but deep down I know that my reaction had more to do with my history with Anderson than anything. Because of that, guilt stirs in my chest as I contemplate picking up the phone.
It isn’t like he hasn’t emailed me half a dozen times since we’d last gotten off the phone, but I don’t respond to him on email either. If I’m going to spend two weeks with Anderson Bexley, I can’t be getting caught up in my love life back home. It’s too distracting. Besides? Dexter wanted to give me this time away so that I can think about what I really want to come from our office fling. Do I want more? Do I want nothing? It feels like that’s the ultimatum he’s giving me, which adds another layer of stress to my thoughts.
It feels like such a silly conversation to have at this point in our relationship. Things have been great. Better than great. But that’s because up until this point, keeping things secret has protected me from risking my reputation at work, not to mention another heartbreak. The moment we start dating for real, everything will change. I’ve worked too damn hard to let that happen.
When I walk through the front doors of the main office, nostalgia hits me. Freshly brewed coffee smacks my senses in a way I hadn’t expected. I can almost hear Anderson’s grateful sigh when he would walk in on me waiting for that first heavenly drip. And then his sweet smile after I would hand him a cup before serving myself.
The entire scene hits differently than me rounding the corner amid downtown Seattle traffic to grab a six-dollar venti latte from the nearest coffee shop. Nothing is relaxing about that. Especially when the line is so long that I have to run the entire way back to the office while trying not to spill half my drink.
But this morning… it’s Anderson who brewed the coffee, and it must be his second pot because there’s no way in hell he would have waited this long to start in on his caffeine high.
“Let me guess,” I say while pushing my way into the staff-room kitchen. “You’ve already gone on a three-mile run, swam a hundred laps, and guzzled an entire pot of coffee.” I quirk an eyebrow while trying my hardest not to gawk at the gorgeous specimen in front of me. The short half-glance I took was plenty to remind me why I had such a hard time thinking of anything other than Anderson Bexley when I lived here.
He’s still a tall drink of whiskey, with his golden eyes and invisible armor that wraps him like a thick coat of glass. Still top-shelf. No matter how good he may look sitting there, he’s unreachable. Which is probably for the best. I just know that one sip would kill me.
“Actually, I went on a five-mile run, swam two-hundred laps, and guzzled half a pot of coffee, not a full one.” He rubs his stomach over his plain white shirt and winks. “Taking it easy today.”
I take the hot cup of steaming caffeine that he hands me and smile. Warmth from the steam buzzes across my lips and heats my chest. “Sounds like it.”
His chin tips up. “What about you? Still running?”
I nod then rethink my answer and shrug. “On a treadmill. I have a gym membership, but I can’t say that it’s the same.”
“You’re welcome to join me like old times. I can show you some of the new trails I carved out.”
This time, my smile becomes pinched as I avoid his eyes. “Thanks, but I think my time is best spent working on your reopening while I’m here. Speaking of”—I look around—“where should I set up camp?”
“Set up what?”
“Camp,” I repeat then laugh when I realize why that word could be confusing. “You know, a workstation.” I shrug the shoulder holding my laptop bag. “I’d rather not work in my cabin the entire time I’m here. I guess I could use a table in here.” I look around at the staff room’s round tables and try to pick one that gives off the best vibes.
Anderson waves a hand toward the window. “There are picnic tables all around here. You could even sit at the dock of the marina if you want.”
My smile feels pinched. “I’ll need an outlet for my laptop.”
He blinks at me for a second. “I can run an extension cord.”
I make a face. “And then my laptop slips into the water and I’m shit out of luck.” I shake my head, the risk too fearful to imagine. “I think I’m better off in here.”
“You can use my office if that’s what you prefer. It’s not like I’m in there much. Hopefully you won’t be either.”
I tilt my head, finally making eye contact for the sole purpose of letting him see just how serious I am. “I’m here to work, Anderson. I’ve got an entire project budget to set up today and a team of designers waiting to start pumping out material. I’ve got project timelines to build and vendors to contact. I want Camp Bexley to be a success as much as you do.”
“Hope,” Anderson says, his head tilting, “the reason I wanted someone to be on site for this project is so that they wouldn’t be sitting behind a computer all day directing some poor marketing team. I wanted someone out there, experiencing life here, walking the trails… so that they would understand what I’m trying to promote here.”
“Right.” I press my shoulders back. “Which is why it’s great that you have me. I already know everything there is to know about this place.”
His gaze sweeps my attire before hitching a brow like he’d just made a point. “I’d say you’re a little stale, Sparky.”
I swear my breath seizes at the sound of his old nickname for me. It was a name he’d adopted in our first week of getting to know each other because of how energized I always seemed. And in typical fashion, I took his way of poking fun at me as an endearment. Now I know better.