I flushed at themanywrong ideas we’d had on a certain night more than three months ago. Ideas we’d acted out against the wall and in his bed . . .
“It’s okay,” he said when I didn’t respond. “You don’t have to tell me what you’re thinking. I can guess based on your pretty pink cheeks.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, annoyed that my fair complexion always gave me away. “Now you’re intentionally misbehaving.”
He laughed wolfishly. “This is not misbehaving. There’s a whole world of misbehaving that we’re not doing.”
Goddamn if I couldn’t help the way my body shuddered. “You didn’t answer my question,” I said. “Why does it feel like this when we’re doing something as simple as just walking together?”
His face turned serious. “Are you really prepared to have this talk?”
I hadn’t realized, but my heart was pounding. I shifted Lucy’s keys in my sweaty palm. I knew I should look away, but my eyes wouldn’t obey. “What talk?”
“You know what talk, Olivia.”
Aboutus. About what we were doing. And about why just taking a walk was so nice, but also so wrong. He leaned closer now. His gaze lingered at my throat, and his tongue flickered over his lips. Just on the other side of the door was an empty apartment, our own private escape. On the other side of the door was the potential to make mistakes—over and over again . . . I touched my fingers to the base of my neck, sure that he could see my pulse racing.
“Answer me,” he said. “Are you prepared for what I have to say?”
“No,” I blurted. “I’m not ready.”
He pushed off the doorjamb with aplomb. “Well when you are, let me know.”
He turned and walked back down the hall. I fumbled with the keys, cursing when I dropped them at my feet. I wanted to call after him, invite him in, and drown in the fantasy of us, just for one night.
Instead, I entered the apartment before I made an enormous mistake. I slammed the door shut with both hands, bracing myself against the barrier between us.
12
Late Sunday morning, I slid behind our breakfast counter and grinned at Bill.
“You’re in a good mood,” he said cautiously.
“I’m going to the dog shelter.”
“Great, babe. You haven’t volunteered there in forever.”
“Come with me.”
“Nah, you go have fun,” he said. “I should catch up on some stuff.”
“Come on,” I prodded. “It’ll be fun. We can get lunch after.”
“I warned you.” He arched an eyebrow and waved an overstuffed folder in my direction. “If I left the office early the other night, I’d have to give up a weekend. That, and because of next weekend’s fishing trip, I have to get as much done as possible now.”
“All right.” I held up my palms in defeat and bent over to lace up my tennis shoes. “I just think you’d enjoy a break. You work so much.”
“So do you.”
“I know,” I said, knotting my laces. I glanced up at him. “But I’m going to try to cut back, now that I’m more settled in this position.”
“You know I don’t have that option. The partners expect us to bust our asses.”
“I get it.” I stood. “I’m going to get going, then. Don’t work too hard.”
He kissed my forehead and tossed the folder onto the kitchen table. “I’ll try not to.”
Twenty minutes and five M83 songs later, I’d arrived at my destination. George, the manager of the animal shelter I’d been volunteering at for years, greeted me with a warm smile and told me they’d missed me the past few months. I apologized for the fact that I’d offered to help him plan their annual gala but had disappeared back in May. After waving off my apology, he paired me with an older golden Labrador mix named Sofie, who lovingly nudged me with her snout when I asked if she was ready for her walk.
