“Leash? Huh. That choice of words should be concerning. Then again, you are a career-driven guy and demand everything your way. Maybe a leash is needed.”
He answers with his eyes dark and a smirk ghosting on the corner of his mouth. Dangerous too because he’s tempting.
“And your desk?”
I glance over my shoulder to my corner. It’s my computer with a large screen for editing and a cool keyboard that lights up pink. I like to keep my desk clean and surround it with candles and motivational quotes. I love Post-it notes and pens, too.
“My sanctuary. Don’t you have a place like that?” I take a bite of the pizza.
“I tend to work off my coffee table or at the office.”
We both chew on our food in silence. Is this awkward? Did I make a mistake asking if he wanted to stay? It just flowed out of my mouth because it seems we are treading toward neutral territory.
“For someone who loves to work, your work atmosphere could improve. Add a little ambiance.”
“Maybe sitting on my floor at the coffee table is my ambiance,” he challenges.
“You work too much.”
His face is brimming with a wry grin. “You’ve mentioned that many times. Maybe my workload is the way I like it.”
“Do you not experience stress?”
He shakes his head. “Long hours only give me more drive. You know what you sign up for when you enter law.”
My shoulders bounce. “Okay. An opposite to me. I make my own schedule.”
“Good for you. I guess working in a creative field that you only have inspiration when it comes?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
Silence shadows us again, and I softly thrum my fingers against the counter. Hmm, what topic can I bring up?
“Your sister!”
Keats’s eyes turn peculiar from my sudden outburst. “My sister?”
“Yeah, you mentioned your sister the other night. She visits you a lot.”
He swallows and his face turns sullen. “Summer is… my little sister who I love.”
“You mentioned she’s married?” I wonder.
Keats scratches his chin with the back of his thumb. “Uh, was. Her husband passed away last year.”
Instantly, I offer my condolences. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Well, she is actually now with her husband’s brother. It’s a long story,” he explains.
Bringing my hand to my heart, I feel bad that I asked. But relief hits me when his lips curve up while he is thinking.
“I have a nephew. He’s the cutest little guy. I just ordered some toys so I have stuff at my house when he visits. The kid can barely walk but his need to explore runs strong.”
Swoon. This man seems to have a connection with kids, and I wasn’t expecting that.
Clearing my throat, I try to bury that thought. “That’s sweet.”
Keats’s eyes bug out. “Did you just say sweet in relation to me?”
