“Pastries, some savory pie, a little salmon. They like salmon here.”
“Sounds yummy.”
He sets out the food, and I wiggle anxiously in my seat, waiting for him to say anything. Anything to break the tension, or even better, to let me know what is happening with us.
I can’t believe I want to ask my boss what we are.
It doesn’t come. We get through the entire dinner with nothing but small talk. He talks about his busy day, chopping down lumber, and tells me everyone was worried about me.
Nothing real. Nothing about us—because we’re not real, not to him. I spent the day forcing myself to be optimistic, but now that he’s here, my stomach sinks lower and lower.
By the time we finish eating, I feel small. There’s nothing to do but clean up—the only thing that can keep me feeling normal, a little semblance of who I usually am. Because this? This is not me. Waiting for some guy to want me back couldn’t be further fromme.
“I’m turning in early tonight,” he says. “I’m sore from chopping.”
It’s not as if I can sink any lower. He doesn’t even want to spend time with me. That’s fine. I open my mouth to speak, but?—
He’s sore?
“Oh.” I watch him from the corner of my eye. “You are?”
He grunts a confirmation and rubs his arm absentmindedly.
The sound goes right between my thighs. I shuffle to the fridge to put away our leftovers, trying to force myself to stay there—to stay away from him.
I’m fighting myself, and I don’t know which side will win.
Without questioning the decision further, I move closer to Theo, resting my hands on his shoulders.
“As I thought.” I sigh. “You’re so tense.”
He only grows tenser under my touch. “Evie…”
“What? Let me help you out.” I rub his shoulders, and he relaxes, groaning softly. I bite my lip.
“That’s a bad idea.” He slumps over and sighs, pressing his fingers to the wooden table. “But it feels so good.”
“Then how bad can it really be? You helped me out last night.” I chuckle softly. “Giving you a little massage is the least I can do.”
He opens his eyes and turns his head. The lump in his throat bobs. “I know you probably want to talk about that.”
“I don’t.” A lie. “We don’t have to talk about anything. I understand.”
“Do you?”
I nod. “We shouldn’t have done that, and it won’t happen again. Message received.” My hands hang limply by my sides. I step back and swallow, trying to suppress the growing guilt.
We shouldn’t have gone so far. I shouldn’t have let it go that far.
“Evie. Wait.”
He stands, but it’s too late. I’m already crossing the room. Maybe I’m the one who needs to turn in early.
“I saidwait.” His voice grows firmer and louder.
“Why should I?” I open my bedroom door. “This is what you want, isn’t it? You want to pretend nothing happened and be professional. Let’s keep doing that!”
“This isn’t professional.”
