Page 60 of Playing with the Heartbreaker

He relaxes a bit. “Oh, not much. You really think my hair is messy?” He touches the wet strands.

“You can take a break now, Chloe, if you want. We’re slow.” Maggie raises her brows. I haven’t really been here long enough for a break, but I take the hint.

“Yeah, thanks. Just the fifteen.” I hang my apron on the hook and round the counter.

“Hi,” Rhoads says. Without the counter between us, he feels so close. “I swear I didn’t know you’d be here. I’m not like, following you or anything. Though you probably didn’t think that until I just said it. Anyway, I just remembered you mentioning this place, and I had some free time, so here I am. Feel free to jump in anytime.”

I laugh. “Come on.” I lead him up the stairs to the canopy of the Tree House and into my oasis, my version of his workshop. Sinking into my favorite chair, I eye him. “So?”

He breathes in deep. “So…I sent you a message that you never answered. Are you okay?”

“My mom took my phone. She won’t even let me look at it. Maggie had to call my landline to get me to come to work today. Who still even has a landline these days? It’s archaic.”

Rhoads runs his hand through his hair. “So, you don’t hate me for getting you in trouble?” His dark brown eyes search mine.

“No. I don’t hate you. Not even a little.”

He visibly sighs. “You had me worried, Baker.”

“I did?”

He steps closer and nods. “I thought maybe everything last night was too much trouble.”

He looks so open and vulnerable right now, like the thought of me breaking off our arrangement would deeply hurt.

“No. I mean, I’m grounded. No phone. No car except for school stuff. I haven’t even been able to email Anita and Charlotte to tell them. I’m sure they’re freaking out that I haven’t texted today. Anyway, I’m on lock-down for the next two months.”

Rhoads’s eyes widen. “Two months? That’s until Christmas!”

“I know.”

He sinks into a beanbag chair and focuses on a spot on the wall. “So, does that mean you won’t be able to go to Winter Formal?”

My fingers tap, channeling all my anxiety and memories associated with those two words into the soft knees of my wide-leg jeans. I frown. “I’m not sure. Technically, it’s a school function. But on the most basic level, it’s a social event. Jury is still out on that one. Maggie thinks Mom will let me off sooner. But I’m not convinced. She’s really mad.” Would I want to go, anyway? If the right person asked me?

“Oh.” He rumples his hair. “Well. Here’s hoping Maggie is right.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to last two months without my phone. Or my car.”

“I’m sorry again. For getting you in trouble.”

“It’s not your fault. But I appreciate it. I actually had a lot of fun.”

He beams. “Me too. So, next time, I want the town’s best omelet.”

I clear my throat, a genuine smile cracking my frown. “Deal. When I’m ungrounded, omelets.”

“Does your omelet place serve French dark roast coffee?”

I shrug. “Probably, why?”

He grins at me again, mischief brewing. “Well, I thought about it, and I’d really like my coffee to match my eyes.”

My own eyes widen in panic. “Oh, no. You heard everything, didn’t you?”

“That depends. Is this”—he smiles huge and a bit manic— “my scoreboard-bright smile?”

I pick up a throw pillow and whack him with it. “I’m going into this corner to die of embarrassment now.” I turn away from him and hide my reddening face in my hands.