“I’m flattered. But you prefer what? Overexcited blond lapdogs?”
Her shoulders bunch slightly, just like they have every time I’ve thrown a verbal dart at Calvin. I should stop, but the urge to discover whether her defensiveness is purely platonic or coming from something deeper eggs me on.
“If you’re referring to Calvin—”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll repeat what we both said earlier: it’s ancient history. If you didn’t notice, he’s getting married, and not to me.”
Her thick lashes cast downward, and the fact that she feels anything other than dislike for him is utterly confounding. Annoying, too.Deeplyannoying.
“I did notice and feel it’s my right as the reluctant fourth wheel to be briefed on any history that might complicate dealings with our clients.”
“Is this just the way you talk? Like you eat contracts sprinkled with binder clips for breakfast?”
“I never claimed to excel at casual conversation. The whole lawyer-by-day, vampire-by-night thing really limits my range of social skills.”
“To spreading misery and suffering?”
“Almost exclusively.”
A laugh bubbles out of her, and it’s almost the same one I heard in the church.More. The thought is voracious and I realize with a jolt that I’m not just attracted to her—I like her. Ilikethe way she holds up a mirror to all my faults and makes me think twice about them. I like the way she was professional and kind in the face of whatever personal turmoil that meeting with her ex obviously caused. I knowfrom daily experience that separating your personal shit from work can be challenging, and Gracie did it flawlessly.
“No wonder you don’t see the point of keeping Larkwood as a wedding venue,” she says, brushing against me as we sidestep a puddle. “Have you never been in a serious relationship?”
“Now who’s asking the intrusive questions?”
She bites her bottom lip. “Sorry, you’re right. Too personal.”
I shrug, and—trying not to look too deeply into my sudden urge to be a sharer after avoiding the topic my entire adult life—say, “No, you’re right. I’m your standard, emotionally unavailable one-night stand expert with baggage of every size, shape, and hazardous material class.” I pause, trying to articulate decades of avoidance into one sentence. “I guess as someone whose job primarily involves helping people decouple from walking red flags, I figure I should probably keep myself off the market until I’m not one of them.”
Gracie is silent for so long, I look down at her. She’s staring up at me with an expression I haven’t seen on her face before. But then the heel of her shoe catches on something and she stumbles into me. A haphazard second later, I’m holding her against my chest and fumbling to keep the umbrella above us.
“You okay?” I ask, but even after she feels stable, I can’t force myself to let go. Not with her looking up at me like this. Not with rain pouring all around us likethiswas the whole point of the sky opening up.
“I think the strap of my shoe is broken,” she says, eyes still wide and startled.
“Hold this,” I instruct, handing her the umbrella as guilt takes another swing at me.What was I thinking, suggesting we walk in a downpour? What if she’d hurt her ankle?
I barely hear her halfhearted “You really don’t have to…” as I drop to one knee to examine her shoe. Water soaks through my pants where I’m kneeling and down my back where the umbrella doesn’t cover me, but it hardly registers as I take in her bare legs and delicate ankles, slick with rainwater. A muffled swear escapes me,but I don’t think she can hear it over the deluge. Thankfully, the strap isn’t broken, but it has come undone, and the prospect of refastening it sends a burst of heat through me. I swallow hard before raising my eyes to hers.
“Not broken, just undone. Can I?”
She nods, her lips slightly parted, and I can feel my heartbeat in my fingertips. My hands get to work, slipping the thin black strap of her shoe into its minuscule buckle. My body is chugging dopamine with every brush of my fingertips against her wet skin, and it’s indecent, what a simple act like this with her can do to me. If she knew, she’d probably kick me away, and I’d deserve it.
When I discover a little black bow at the back of the strap, I have to stop myself from crawling on my hands and knees to see how well they go with the ones inked above the backs of her ankles.Christ, what’s wrong with me?
With effort, I finish the job as quickly as I can and stand back up, praying she doesn’t notice exactly how much I enjoyed that.
“You’re all set,” I say, voice hoarse.
“Thanks,” she says, looking a little flushed herself. “I didn’t plan on going full damsel-in-distress there.”
“Well, to be fair, I didn’t save you from a dragon or anything—just an undone shoe,” I reason to herandmyself. “But I do feel like I should be acknowledged for my self-sacrifice.”
“Oh yes, the trials of buckling shoes should never go unrecognized.”
“I was actually referring to my ass, whichsomebodyneglected to cover with the umbrella.”
