Again the dog did not respond.
The back door opened and April bustled through. “Hey, sorry that took so long. Lola had a meltdown at drop-off.” The edges of her lips turned down at that statement before she apparently recovered and blasted through the frown with a gentle smile. “Thanks for waiting.”
He shifted in his seat, since his body had reacted in an entirely surprising way when he’d seen her in the skirt in the hall that morning. Yeah, it was inappropriate, but his body didn’t seem to care about inappropriate with the way the skirt rode up the slightest bit along her thigh.
She had a freckle there on the left leg, just above the knee. He knew because he had forced himself to stop his upward gaze at that point and skip to her face.
Unfortunately, seeing her in the short skirt again was doing the same damn thing to him now.
“Is she okay?” he asked, willing his body to behave like a fucking professional.
April nodded. Swallowed hard. Then toyed with the tea bag in her own yoga stick-figure mug. “This is our normal.”
“Are you okay?” he asked.
The way she leaned to the left, stared at the string on her tea bag, and never actually took a sip—this wasn’t the April he’d signed.
She nodded. “I’m fine.”
Just like every person on the planet knew—or should know—when the woman in front of them said she was fine in that tone? She wasn’t okay.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, standing, grabbing his mug and joining her at the counter.
She wrapped her hands around her cup but didn’t take a drink.
“No.” The look she gave him with the watery eyes and the soft shake of her head made him want to give her a hug. And, to be clear about one thing, Jack did not give hugs.
She seemed to shake off whatever was making it not okay. Sipping what had to be tepid tea.
He should’ve warmed it up for her.
That’s probably what Kitty would’ve told him to do. And, if he was learning anything, he should probably start helping April by thinking a little more about what Kitty would do.
“What’s on the agenda for today?” April asked, sticking the mug in the microwave and pressing the button labeled beverage.
“Well, to start, I want to talk to you about a cookbook opportunity.” He leaned against the counter, crossing his socked feet. He’d learned his lesson about wearing shoes around Mayonnaise.
Since he wasn’t wearing shoes, his suit jacket felt more than a little out of place.
But he was at work—even if he was at April’s place—so he’d put it on.
“What kind of opportunity?” She scrunched her forehead. Apparently, she didn’t know what to do with that.
If he were Kitty, he probably wouldn’t jump right in to cookbooks—he’d get to know a little more of April’s day.
“We’ll get to that. Tell me more about what you would normally do once the kids are at school,” he said.
Her bottom lip must’ve been chocolate flavored, what with the way she gnawed at it.
“First, I need to check my social media accounts. I haven’treallylooked at them since the…you know. I’ve looked. But notlooked. Then I need to ensure the new posts went up as scheduled. Then I’ll do thirty minutes of yoga class planning and write up a five-minute meditation for next Monday. Then I’ll answer email, fold as much laundry as I can in the thirty minutes that are left before I pick up Lola. Oh, and I try to remember to throw a load in the washer between emails and folding, so at least someone in the house will have clean clothes tomorrow.” She took a deep breath. “Then it’s lunch for Lola and me. I work while she naps—reply to comments, check attendance at my Tuesday and Thursday in-person class, and send a personal note to everyone who signed up in advance. Then it’s time to start the evening shift.” She said all of this in what seemed to be a well-practiced recitation.
He got it. He did. He worked more than a person really should. But he thrived on his job. She…didn’t. At least, not the way he did. Because if she did, she wouldn’t have been frowning the entire time she laid out her day.
Some people—like Jack—found immense joy in what they created at work. His gut said April didn’t have time to appreciate the joy in what she did.
The microwave dinged, and she pulled out her now steaming mug of what smelled like some kind of herbal concoction. She blew at the rising steam, her pink lips attracting the tiniest bit of condensation.
He couldn’t quite pull his gaze away from her mouth as she parted it, lifted the rim of the blue mug to her mouth, and let her lips close over the edge like two soft pillows of goodness.
