Page 32 of Love in the Time of Conversation Hearts

The next morning, I’m sitting at my desk in my tiny office, staring at final plans for the Valentine’s Day fundraiser this weekend, but really running over and over Lauren’s words from last night. Maybe just focus on whether or not you even want to see him again. She’s right, of course. The curse of the eldest daughter means that I always jump to the conclusion farthest out of reach. I generally need someone—usually Lauren—to pull me back to the present and remind me that there are about ten steps before the one I jumped to in the doomsday scenario playing out in my mind.

It’s only nine-thirty when I click over to the tab that holds my checklist, hoping that the predictability of accomplishable tasks will soothe me. It does, for a moment, but almost everything is done, which doesn’t leave much to distract me. I drop my chin into my palm with a sigh as I consider checking with Dorothy about the catering, but she might actually kill me if I call her again. I’ve already confirmed three times.

This is going to be a very long day. Especially if Adam’s toned body keeps flashing, unbidden, through my subconscious. Or his gorgeous gray eyes. Or his huge—

A throat clearing from the doorway snaps me to attention. I sit up straighter so I can peer over my monitor, and my breath catches at the sight of none other than Adam Sullivan leaning against the doorframe. He’s actually leaning with his shirtsleeves rolled up to expose his glorious forearms like some kind of viral internet video. And it’s in that moment that I realize, without a doubt, that I do want to see him again. Even if it’s impractical. Irresponsible. Downright risky for my heart. And if I have any kind of luck at all, his presence here means he feels the same.

I must gape at him for too long, because he chuckles deeply. “Hi,” he says. Casually. Like we’re just two friends who often visit each other’s offices on random Tuesday mornings.

“Hi,” I return, but it comes out all squeaky and weird. God, I’m such an idiot.

He pushes off the doorframe and crosses the small space, coming around the side of my desk to extend his hand. Which is about the time that I notice said proffered hand is holding a paper cup with the Sugar on Top logo stamped on the side. From this close, it smells suspiciously like a half-caff macchiato with almond milk, one pump of sugar-free vanilla, and a sprinkle of cinnamon, but it’s hard to tell over the equally delicious scent of his spiced cologne.

“For you,” he says carefully when I don’t take it from him, like I might bite if he makes a sudden move.

In a daze, my fingers curl around the cup and brush his in the process, sending a jolt of electricity up my arm. My gaze snaps to his, only to see his eyes widen slightly. He must have felt it, too.

Not wanting to give too much away just in case I’m mistaken, I eye him suspiciously. “What’s this for.”

He shrugs and shoves his hand into the pockets of his perfectly tailored slacks. “Can’t I bring you a coffee just because?”

“That’s not really a thing we do.” I take a sip. The moan that escapes me is something Adam could report to HR. As I suspected, it is exactly my order. I hadn’t had time to stop this morning, so this is particularly welcome.

He licks his lips, then sips his own coffee. “It could be. A thing we do, I mean.”

I raise my eyebrows at him. “What does that mean?” It’s a loaded question, but I really want the ball in his court on this one. While I know I want to see him outside of work again, I need to know we’re on the same page.

He clears his throat again, and his shoulders creep up slowly toward his ears. He’s uncomfortable, I suddenly realize. Luckily, my coffee cup at my lips hides my self-satisfied grin.

“It means I had a nice time in Reno. And I… uh… well, I didn’t see very much of you yesterday.” He shuffles his feet a little. “Listen, I’ve been thinking, and I know we said this could get messy, but… we’re mature adults, yeah? We can handle ourselves. If we want it, and I know I do, then we deserve it.” His gray eyes settle on me, and the heat in his gaze has me feeling flushed.

“‘It’ being…?” I ask, though I hope I already know what he means.

The smile that plays at his lips is relieved, and it changes his entire face. The normally angular lines of his eyes and cheekbones soften. Fuck, he is attractive.

“Us. Together. At least, exploring the possibility of it.” With a half-smile, he adds, “What do you think?”

I bite my bottom lip to keep from grinning like an over-eager buffoon, but the vigor of my nod is likely no better.

“Right,” he says. “Good.” He studies me for a minute longer, and just when I think he’s going to turn around and walk away, he takes in a quick breath and blurts out, “Would you want to go out with me? On a real date, I mean. One that isn’t attached to work or a conference.”

If the first step Lauren was talking about is figuring out if I wanted to see him again, the second surely is finding a way to do it. And here’s Adam, serving up a date on a silver platter along with my ridiculous coffee order that he either knew or asked Dorothy for. Either way, it’s a God-tier move, and I’d be stupid to play hard to get.

“Yeah.” I carefully set my coffee cup on my desk. “I’d like that.”

He bounces to his toes, then back on his heels. “Great. I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Wait, tonight?” I ask incredulously. “But it’s Tuesday.”

“Do you have prep work for the fundraiser that you need to focus on instead?”

I shake my head, lips pressed together. “I might’ve been a bit dramatic about how much work I’d still need to do just to get out of the conference.”

His laughter is indulgent and decadent, rolling over me and settling in my chest. “Well then, it’s not like it’s a school night, Cora. Live a little.”

I flatten my lips into a thin line and narrow my eyes at him. He sounds suspiciously like Lauren, but I know she’d have told me if he talked to her. Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe I really do need to loosen up.

“Fine,” I give in. “See you at seven.”