“Yeah,” he rasps. “You just need to make sure it’s worth the risk.”
“That’s a great line.” Riann says, and her voice pulls me away from my fixation on the strong column of George’s neck. “I’m quoting that.”
“Great. Glad you got everything you need.” Is my voice breathy? When did that happen? “I should get back to work.”
“Wait! I still need a picture.”
I sigh. “Riann—”
“Please,” she drags out the word, blinking her big brown eyes at me. “There’re still no customers. And I get extra credit if I include a photo with my article.”
“I don’t mind,” George offers.
What is it with Cornfield people wanting to take pictures of George and me together?
“Fine. But make it quick.” I stand up from the booth, and George slides out to stand beside me. “Where’s this picture happening?” Glancing down, I’m relieved to find there are no visible stains on my uniform. “Can’t believe I’m going to be inThe Busy Beaverin this outfit.”
“You look great,” George says softly.
I don’t have time to fixate on his words because Riann grabs my wrist and drags me over to the counter. Billy is watching the whole situation through the pass with a smirk.
I glare at him. “I need a hash brown. Stat.”
“On it.” The cook disappears back into his kitchen cave.
“Sit here.” Riann points at a stool.
After a mighty woe-is-me sigh, I do as she commands. Riann doesn’t have to lead George to my side because he followed on his own. She has him wedge his body into the space beside my stool.
“Arm on the counter,” she directs, and he braces his arm behind my back. I swear I can feel the heat of his body through my uniform. The guy is a walking radiator. That’s the only reason I’m sweating more than is socially acceptable.
Riann holds up her phone—the one her dad worked overtime to get her for Christmas and is now her prized possession—and points the lens our way. “Serious faces first.” Easy enough for George. She snaps a few pictures. “Smile big now.”
Hopefully my expression doesn’t give off hostage-situation vibes.
“George, lean down some. You’re so tall.”
He huffs a laugh, but then a more intense, delicious-smelling wave of heat flows over me, and I know he’s closer than he was a moment ago.
More pictures. “Now pretend like you’re talking to each other.”
I barely stifle a groan. Turning my head, I find that yes, George’s face is much closer to mine. So close that in addition to his rich-guy cologne, I can smell his cinnamon gum, which I find vastly more erotic than Billy’s spearmint.
“Hello, George Bunsen,” I rasp. “How are you enjoying being bossed around by a fourteen-year-old?”
His lips quirk. “Don’t mind so much.”
Even though there aren’t any audible shutter clicks, I’m sure Riann is shooting away.
“I’ve got a flight scheduled for the day after tomorrow, if you’re free.” His silver eyes hold mine, the lid of his baseball cap only inches from my forehead. “It’s a longer one.”
“I have a morning shift here.” Regret at the missed chance itches like bug bites.
“That’s fine. I’m leaving around two in the afternoon.”
My smile starts small and grows as I realize I will be flying again. Soon.
“Perfect,” our amateur photographer announces. “Now kiss.”
