I lean back in my chair and drag a hand down my face.
Focus.You need to get some work done.
But my mind strays.
I straighten, crack my neck, and start typing.
I get through exactly three emails before my brain veers off track again.
Dammit. Stop thinking about her.
But I don’t.
“…This is a problem.”
Luna blinks.
“Not you,” I say quickly. “You’re fine.”
She yawns.
Rude.
I push back from the desk and stand, stretching my arms over my head. My muscles protest immediately.
“Yeah, okay,” I mutter. “Maybe getting assaulted by a tennis racket wasn’t my finest moment.”
Or the bush.
Or the rake.
Or the entire sequence of decisions that led me there.
I head toward the kitchen.
Coffee will fix this.
Or at least make it feel fixable.
Luna follows behind me like she’s supervising.
“This is your fault,” I tell her.
She meows.
“Don’t argue. You like her, too.”
She jumps onto the counter and sits.
I make a pot of coffee and take a cautious sip so I don’t burn my tongue.
Apparently, I can break into houses, fight bushes, and get assaulted by sporting equipment, but hot coffee is where I draw the line.
Also, I can’t stop thinking about a woman who may or may not be rearranging my entire life one casual conversation at a time.
The weirdest part?
Nothing feels wrong.
