"I'm asking you to trust me," I continued. "I'm going to call the committee chair and see if we can't get you out of this." Pausing, I found it very pertinent to add, "But if we can't, I really do hope that you can see how the community of Beacon Hill leans into this honor and what it means to them. It's a very big honor."
"And the cameras?" she asked, lifting one eyebrow.
"Unavoidable, I'm afraid." I offered a small smile. "But you'll get used to them."
A heavy sigh escaped her lips and she frowned. "You don't know that."
"I do, actually. I've been doing public appearances for years. The first few are nerve-racking, but eventually, they become routine." I tilted my head, studying her.
"I just don't enjoy being the center of attention." It wasn't the whole truth.
I could see the evasion in the way she avoided my gaze, but I didn't press. "And my boss kissed me in front of the whole town," she blurted out before covering her face with both hands.
The one thing I tried not to bring up at all and she blurted it out so effortlessly.
It should have been a non-thing.
We were both mature adults with the ability to recognize acting and the difference between reality and stage performance.
But she was right about one thing—everyone at that festival and probably on the local news this evening had seen or would see it.
And now she'd said it aloud, and I couldn't ignore it anymore.
"I apologize," I said carefully. "That was unprofessional. I should have restrained myself and kept it brief, but the crowd was watching, and I let myself get carried away."
I was apologizing again, and this time for something I didn't want to say I was sorry for.
That kiss was electric and the look in her eyes afterward showed me she felt it too.
"I didn't hate it," she said from behind her hands.
I blinked. "What?"
She lowered her hands slowly, her face flushed. "The kiss. I didn't hate it."
Her words hit me square in the chest.
I opened my mouth, then closed it, unsure how to respond.
The room suddenly felt too warm, the space between us charged with an energy I hadn't felt in years.
She was biting her lip, gawking at me uncertainly, and I became acutely aware of how young she was, how inappropriate this entire conversation had become.
"I see," I managed to choke out nervously. This conversation had gone from zero to sixty in a blink of an eye.
Ember shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her cheeks still pink. "I should water your plants."
"My plants?"
"You have plants. On the windowsill. They look dry." She was already moving toward the window, using it as a distraction from the giant can of worms she just opened. "I'll just get some water from the break room."
She fled before I could form a response, leaving me standing alone in my office with my heart racing.
I ran a hand through my hair and let out a slow breath to try to calm myself.
I found myself smiling slightly at the idea that a woman that young "didn't hate" the fact that I'd kissed her.
It'd been ages since I kissed a woman—really kissed one—and I was definitely out of practice, and that definitely wasn't my best effort.
