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“I know I don’t have to, but I don’t have any plans anyway.”
“You’re a rock star.”
Emmett grins. “I know.”
“When we get through this, I’m giving you a week off so you can go visit your family or take a vacation somewhere sunny.”
“Ooh. Bribery. I love that for us.”
“Go home.”
He grabs his coat. On his way past my desk, he leans down and, in the world’s least subtle stage whisper, says, “Boss, I don’t know what’s going on with you and the rock star, but I’m one hundred percent supportive of it. I think you two should just have sex about it already.”
“Emmett. Get. Out.”
He grins, waggling his eyebrows before he disappears out the door.
Fox is very much pretending he didn’t overhear that, which I appreciate.
Around seven, Fox finishes his last call of the day and stretches out in his chair. His shirt rides up slightly, which is unfair for the mere mortals in the room.
“I should probably head back to the farm,” he says quietly.
“Yeah.”
“You’re not going home yet?”
I look at the mountain of paperwork still on my desk. “No. I need another couple of hours.”
“Okay.”
Fox stands. When he wraps my scarf around his neck, I see the mark I put there last night. There will be no midnight visits tonight, or probably ever again.
I try not to feel the disappointment, but I fail.
Fox leaves the office, making me promise not to stay too late.
I open my laptop and go back to work. The chances of keeping that promise are slim.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
FOX
The guestroom at the farmhouse has a beautiful bay window with a view of Sylvie’s orchard.
The bed is comfortable, the linens are softer than I’ve experienced in some five-star hotels, and the room is warm, quiet, and smells faintly of lavender.
But the comfortable bed is still the wrong bed.
It’s not that anything is wrong with this room. It’s that there’s no warm Finn curled against my side. There’s no soft breathing next to my ear or arm slung across my chest, no leg hooked over mine, no small unconscious sounds from a man who mutters unintelligible words in his sleep.
Not long after six, I give up pretending I’m going to get any more sleep and get dressed. I pull on the sweater Finn gave me yesterday, which is still slightly too tight across the shoulders but still smells like him, and head downstairs.
The kitchen is dark except for the range light Sylvie leaves on overnight. The coffee maker is programmed to start at six, so it’s already gurgling to life when I come in.
I’m pouring my first cup when Nikko appears in the doorway.
He’s wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants.
