“I’m sorry you failed your dissertation, as you know. But I have an idea.”
“No,” I say.
June’s nose wrinkles in that way it does when she’s momentarily stymied. “You don’t know what I’m going to ask.”
“And yet, I can already tell I won’t like the idea.”
“I think you should work here for me.”
I burst out laughing. “Ha, ha. That’s funny.”
“Seriously. You know how a lot of the professors stop in. Working here will keep you connected to the university while you’re banned from the department…” She stops talking when she sees the look on my face. “While you’re working on your thesis from home,” she rephrases.
“I wasn’t technically banned. I know Gerry said I have to take a break, but I doubt working here is what he had in mind.”
“Just while you’re figuring things out,” June says. “I can even pay you.”
“I write your monthly store newsletter for free,” I say. “And I’d do this for free too, whatever it is. I’m not going to be your employee, believe me.”
“Fine,” June says. “No money exchange then. You can start with something small like the sign out front that’s so faded. You have a painting portfolio, Lei. Or have you forgotten?”
I flush. “That part of my life is a closed book, June.”
“Right. I forgot,” she says even though I know she didn’t even remotely forget. “Let’s circle this conversation back to more important things. Like the hot cowboy who just got you to let your hair down.”
“June…” I warn her. I never told anyone in my family about that night in high school, and I don’t plan to start a confessional right now.
Flustered, I head down aisle four to pick up breakfast for the week.
I walk quickly until I reach the nine-grain granola bin, which June inexplicably keeps at nearly eye level. I grab the plastic spoon from the tray above my head and then open the cereal bin and dig in. As soon as I’ve filled the spoon, I realize I forgot to grab a plastic bag to put the granola into. I don’t want to put the spoon back down because then the granola will start to slide off the spoon, and I’ll have to start over. I’m lazy that way. So I keep my left hand on the spoon inside the open bin and stretch my body as far as I can to the right so I can rip a bag off the holder with my other hand.
It takes a few seconds to separate the perforated lines from the next bag, and when they finally do come apart, the effort sends me off-balance. The spoon comes out of the bin, and granola spills everywhere.
“Shit!” I say loudly.
Still holding the now-empty spoon, I step back, and that’s when I see Brayden squatting below me just to my left. He’s got a cardboard box filled with cereals next to him and, courtesy of me, granola all over his head. His blond hair comes down past his ears and stops in a wavy style on his neck. It’s really nice hair, hair that I’ve now messed up with granola.
“Oh, God.” I stand awkwardly with the spoon in my hand. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
Brayden stands up and brushes granola off his hair. “I think I’ll live,” he says with a smile.
Laying the spoon on the shelf, I step forward to try to help clean up my mess. As I do, I slip on the granola coating the floor.
“Oomph.” I pitch forward, arms flailing as I grasp at anything to keep me from bashing my face on the ground.
What I find is Brayden’s nice, solid chest. My hands grip at the soft fabric of his shirt at the same time that his arm curves around my waist and keeps me upright.
“You okay?” His voice is still low, like super-sexy low.
My face is buried in his chest, and I don’t know why I’m not moving. It sounds crazy to say, but I feel more at peace in this one moment than I have in years.
Brayden’s hands go to my shoulders, and he gently rubs my back. “It’ll be okay. It was just surprising is all.”
Yes. Surprising. To run smack dab into a man I haven’t seen in years, a man who’s not my fiancé and yet who’s making me feel something. Something big.
I jerk to awareness and pull back from him quickly. Not making eye contact, I murmur, “I’m sorry. Again. I’m not usually this clumsy.”
His callused thumb and finger take my chin and tilt it slowly, forcing me to look at him. His expression is filled with genuine concern and interest, two emotions that haven’t been directed my way in a long freaking time.
