I wait for her to argue. To tell me that she’ll drive herself back to her parents’. But she doesn’t, so I figure that she’s either taking the soft approach with me, or that she didn’t understand the meaning behind my words.
The second we’re done, I ask for the bill, and then we’re heading toward my car.
“Thank you,” Freya says once we’re both inside. “That was incredible.”
“You’re welcome. Thanks for your help today. I know the guys at the shelter appreciated it.”
“I’d love to go with you again,” she admits as I head toward home.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Just let me know when you plan to go so I can work around it.”
“Maybe a dinner date again after?” I ask with a little too much hope surging through my veins.
“Yeah, you can take me to dinner again. Don’t make it a regular thing, though, or I’ll start thinking you don’t like my cooking.”
“Not a chance. You deserve to have the night off every now and then.”
“What do you think I do when you’re away?” she teases.
“Probably still cook for yourself,” I predict.
“I ate with Casey last night,” she argues.
“And the other nights?”
“So, what time are you due at the arena tomorrow?” she asks, blatantly changing the course of our conversation.
“You’re funny.”
“I’m really not,” she mutters, a little dejection filtering into her voice.
“Whoever told you that had a shitty sense of humor, Freya,” I say sternly.
Honestly, I fucking hate her ex.
“Yeah, you’re probably right about that,” she confesses quietly.
“You’re amazing, Freya. And the guy is a fucking asshole for letting you go.”
She mumbles something as I pull into my underground garage.
“If it’s okay with you, I’ll just leave my things in the guest room and collect them tomorrow. I have my car keys in my purse.”
My heart slams against my ribs. I don’t want her to leave. I want her to come up so we can spend the rest of the night hanging out. We could watch a movie and …
She’s your employee…
“Yeah, whatever. As long as you don’t need any of it.”
“Nothing I can’t do without until tomorrow.”
I nod, desperately trying to come up with a reason why she shouldn’t leave. But there isn’t one.
“Okay then. Well, I guess I’ll see you in the morning,” I say as I kill the engine, and we both push the car doors open.
“Yep. Bright and early for breakfast,” Freya says, almost as if she’s questioning her need to leave. I don’t allow myself to believe that, though. She probably just doesn’t want to drive home.
