“Uh…”
Uh?Is that the best I can do?
I spent two-thirds of my life desperately and embarrassingly in full-on, down-bad,Bruno Mars-catch-a-grenade-and-other-mass-weaponry-for-youlovewith this man. And now that a literal fantasy is playing out right in front of me, I can’t think of a better thing to say than ‘uh’?
Nat’s smile is crooked and a little unsure. “You don’t have to say anything right now. You can think about it for as long as you need.”
Think about it?
What on earth is there to think about?
Nat backs away from me and I want to claw at his shirt and pull him close again. I want to grab his face and mush my lips on his and then pepper the skin from his neck up to his hairline with kisses.
But that would be too much.
So far, Nat has no idea that I’ve been obsessed with him for years and I can’t give him the ick this early on by being too much. I don’t want to scare him away.
Nat picks up the broom and continues sweeping.
I clear my throat and cross my legs as elegantly as I can. “Nat.”
His head swings around.
“I…”
Just then, my phone rings.
I look at the screen.
Unknown Number.
Conflicted, I hesitate to answer. It could be a customer, but I’m in the middle of something important. Can’t they wait?
The call persists.
With a groan, I tell Nat, “I need to take this.”
He lifts his chin in a ‘go on’ gesture.
This isnothow I expected the morning to go and I am deeply annoyed at myself for hesitating. I should have thrown my arms around Nat, told him that I’ve been his rabid and loyal fan since the day I learned that boys weren’t gross and admit that all the times I pushed him away recently was from self-preservation.
I should have told him I would gladly take him as my boyfriend if I could pretty please with cherries on top be his girlfriend in exchange.
But now I have a business call to answer and the moment is ruined and I hate everything about this picture.
“Hello.” I dig deep to sound as professional as possible. “This is Riley Carter.”
“Are you the one who fixed my wife’s car the other day?” An aggravated voice fills my ear.
“I’m not sure.” I hesitate because this customer soundslivid. “What’s your wife’s name?”
“It’s Belinda.”
We haven’t had that many customers, so I instantly pair the name to a face. Belinda is the woman who walked into our garage early this week asking for help with her brakes.
“Yes, we worked on the car for your wife. Is there a problem?”
Nat stops and looks over, his green eyes perusing my face.
