Page 49 of Reckless

I look up, and she’s already looking at me. The smile is still there, but it’s softer around the edges.

Neither of us says anything.

The monitors keep humming, someone laughs somewhere down the hallway, a cupboard door slams in the kitchen, and the clubhouse carries on around us, but for a few seconds none of it reaches this office when I hold her gaze.

A few months ago, I’d have found a reason to look away. Check another monitor. Answer a phone that wasn’t ringing. Invent a task that suddenly couldn’t wait.

But I don’t.

It’s only a few seconds.

Long enough for that familiar twist low in my stomach to remind me I’ve been losing this battle for a while now.

Then her phone vibrates against the desk, and I see the change before she even picks it up. The warmth leaves her face so quickly it’s almost hard to believe it was ever there. By the time she glances at the screen, she’s already wearing the ‘other’ smile. The polite one. The one she puts on when she wants the rest of the world to stop asking questions.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

Her eyes flick back to mine. “Yeah. Stupid work.”

I don’t believe her.

She slips the phone into her jacket pocket before I have a chance to ask anything else and pushes herself to her feet. “I should let you get back to your spreadsheets before you start color-coding the paperclips.”

“I’ve considered it,” I reply.

“I know you have, you nerd.” She smiles, soft and tired all at once, then steps around my chair.

I expect her to keep walking, but instead, she stops beside me. Her hand comes up, her fingertips brushing lightly against my cheek before her palm settles there, warm against my skin, and for one stupid second I forget how to goddamn think.

She leans down and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

It’s quick and gentle. The sort of thing she does without making a production out of it.

She’s already pulling away when my hand moves before my brain catches up. My fingers close around her wrist. It is not enough to stop her just enough that she stills.

So do I.

She’d been halfway through standing again. Now she’s caught, bent over me, her palm still cradling my cheek, my hand wrapped around her wrist, and neither of us seems entirely sure what happens next.

I lift my gaze.

She looks down.

Our eyes meet.

Something shifts.

Not in the room, in me.

It starts somewhere behind my ribs and spreads outward, until I’m painfully aware of every inch separating us. The warmth of her hand against my face. The steady pulse beneath my thumb. The way she’s close enough that I can see the tiny flecks of color scattered through her eyes, little pieces of gold I’d somehow never noticed before.

She’s still looking at me, but she isn’t smiling anymore.

Neither am I.

There’s no joke waiting to rescue either of us this time.

The clubhouse keeps moving around us, but it all feels a long way away.