Rafe stared at her for a few seconds while she looked off in the distance. Why was she sharing this story? He stepped beside her.
“Are you saying you thinkI’dabandon my family?”
Ahri turned to face him, and their gazes met. She reached up and cupped his cheek, her expression gentle, sympathetic. Rafe held still, hurt by her words yet touched by the kindness in her eyes.
“We both know there are different kinds of abandonment,” she said, her voice soft. “My father’s was physical; your father’s was emotional. I don’t believe you’d do it on purpose. I’m only saying that as consumed as you are with your business that it’s a real possibility. You and my brother both need to consider your priorities when you’re ready for a life outside of REKD Gaming.”
Ahri started to drop her hand, but Rafe captured it with his and kept it against his cheek. Her touch had sent an electricity through him like he’d never experienced before. Those hazel-green eyes held him, like there was an invisible thread drawing them closer, trying to link them. He craved the tantalizing connection that teased his mind with its almost-touch.
Against his will, held in those mesmerizing eyes of hers, he leaned closer. Ahri must have felt the tug too because she eased in. The pulse in her throat pounded in rhythm with his own. He inhaled and took in her fragrance, a combination of perspiration and her subtle perfume. He wanted to seek it out. Had she put it on behind her ear or on the hollow of her throat?
It was getting hard to breathe. Rafe dropped his gaze to hermouth and found her lips parted, almost an invitation. Was it? He paused, waiting for permission. She edged in. Closing his eyes, he moved close enough to taste her breath.
You’re her boss.
With a jolt, Rafe stepped back, stumbling on the uneven ground. He coughed and steadied himself. She stared at him, her cheeks flushing red. His gut wrenched.
His mother’s very loud oven timer went off.
“Dinner’s ready.” Ahri brushed past him and didn’t look back.
Rafe shook. He’d blown it. Big time. How could he have given in? Two more months. All he’d had to do was to wait two months, and he hadn’t been able to do it. Did she think he’d been teasing her? He clenched and unclenched his hands, letting out slow breaths.
When he was in control again, he returned to the house.
Ahri was pulling out the casserole as he entered, so he washed his hands. The silence weighed on him, but he couldn’t make up his mind what to say.
Letting out a slow breath, he took two plates from the cupboard and set them at the table. They needed to have a normal conversation to get past the awkwardness. He had to pretend it hadn’t happened, go on as normal. He set the cutlery in place and went to the Frigidaire.
“What would you like to drink with dinner?” He opened it. “There’s milk, ofcourse, and a couple kinds of juice. You want me to make you some coffee? Ma doesn’t drink it, but she keeps some quality instant on hand for her guests who do.”
“I don’t want anything hot,” Ahri said, still not looking at him.
“Oh, look, here’s some sweet tea.” Rafe pulled out the pitcher and held it up, forcing a smile.
“What is it with you people and sweet tea?” she asked. “Even in the cafe at work, if I want a cup of hot tea, I have to ask for it specifically or they give me iced sweet tea.”
“It’s a tradition.” He put the half-full pitcher on the table,grateful for something normal to talk about. “This, for example, belonged to Granny Gladys’s great grandma. It’s a family heirloom.”
“It’s beautiful.” Ahri came to the table to examine the pitcher, running her fingers over the delicately painted flowers. “I’ve meant to ask about it but kept forgetting.”
“The family story has it that her husband owned a fleet of ships, and he brought it back for her from one of his cruises.” Rafe sat down and signaled for Ahri to do the same. “That was before the War of Northern Aggression.”
“Thewhat?” Her expression had lightened, and he hoped they were on the way to mending things.
“You northerners call it the Civil War.” He scooped out a healthy serving of food onto his plate.
“War of Northern Aggression.” Ahri shook her head as she took the spoon he offered and ladled some of the casserole onto her plate. “That certainly wasn’t in any of my textbooks.”
“Well, the thing is, the side that wins a war gets to write the history books. Not that I’m sorry they won. Funny to think about it though. If the South had won, you’d need a green card to work here.” He arched his brows, allowing the corner of his mouth to quirk up. She must have accepted his truce offer because she gave him a half-hearted smile.
At the end of what turned out to be a pleasant meal where they talked about routine stuff they could just as easily have discussed at the office, Rafe rose to clear the table. Ahri’s phone went off. She pulled it from her pocket.
“Is it Kayn?” he asked.
“No, it’s a work email.”
“Who’s sending you work emails on a Saturday?”
