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“Because they were interesting. I used to wish I could be on the design team for one of those projects. Truthfully, that was my goal.”
“You mean to say you didn’t want to be my assistant forever?”
Smirking, I stab more pasta with my fork. “Shockingly, no. I had slightly higher aspirations.”
“But you just stayed because you loved your boss so much.”
I laugh and stick my tongue out at him. “I just had bigger dreams for myself, you know? I didn’t want to always take notes for the boss; I wanted to be the boss.”
He eyes me thoughtfully. “There’s still time.”
I roll my eyes. “Sure. Between breastfeeding and the two separate mafias who are after you—and, by association, me—I’ll have loads of opportunities to work on getting my career off the ground.” Sighing, I push around the remaining pasta on my plate. “Somehow, I don’t see that happening.”
“Are you really writing yourself off so soon?”
“I’m not writing myself off,” I snap. “I’m just being realistic.”
“You were willing to be the surrogate for your sister, Wren. You seem to have a habit of making the improbable possible.”
“Since when did you become my cheerleader?”
His big shoulders roll. “Just calling it like I see it.”
I shake my head. “Well, stop it. It’s unnerving.”
He laughs and cleans his plate with the fork. “Let me take care of the dishes while you get dessert. It’s only fair that I do the clean-up.”
Giving him a shy nod, I make my way to the fridge and pull out the cheesecake. It smells like lemon and gingerbread and it looks almost identical to the one Mom used to make for Rose and me on Sundays.
Shoving aside the weird feeling of melancholy that stirs up in me, I cut up two slices and deposit them onto clean plates, very aware that he’s watching me closely from the sink.
It’s been an entire dinner and I haven’t brought up one single talking point yet. Syrah made it sound so simple on the phone. But now that we’re up to dessert, it feels like my window of opportunity is closing slowly.
I turn with both plates in my hands. “I… um… I wanted to cook dinner for you today so we could talk.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Ah-ha. So you’re the one with the ulterior motive.”
I flush. “No, that’s not?—”
“I was only joking, Wren,” he chides gently. “If you need to talk to me about something, then by all means, go right ahead.”
I chew on my bottom lip a little longer, trying to muster up the courage. It’s far too late to turn back now.
“Is it about what happened the other night?” he tries.
I wasn’t planning on bringing up the bathtub sex at all. But now that he has, it feels like the soapy elephant in the room. “Well… not exactly. But as long as we’re on the topic?—”
“We don’t need to be ashamed about that.”
I stare at him incredulously. “Maybe you don’t, but I do.”
“Wren—”
“No,” I interrupt, turning and walking away to put some distance between him and me. “That was a mistake. I let things go too far.” There’s a little voice in the back of my head that’s telling me that this is not how I meant for this conversation to go. I was going to be calm, in control, unflappable. And yet here I am, stuttering over my own words or letting them run away from me altogether. “I was vulnerable and you were there and it… it just happened. It can’t ever happen again!”
I’m not even sure I really want that, but now, I’ve gone and said it. Take a deep breath, you hysterical fool. Just a deep breath.
I don’t listen to my own advice, though. I just keep plowing ahead blindly.
