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She grins and pokes my chest. “You probably did that sort of thing. I didn’t.”
I catch her hand and hold it. “Never kissed in the backseat of a car?”
“Are you kidding me?” she says. “No!”
“What is so wrong about backseats?” I ask as I guide her hand around my waist to my back again. I leave her hand there, then wrap my arms around her again. “They’re nice and comfortable. Lots of room.”
“That’s the point!” she says with a quick laugh. “Too much room.”
“Room to move around is good.”
Over at the door, the jingling sound gets louder. “I know it’s one of these, but I just can’t remember which,” a woman on the other side of the door says.
I pretend I don’t hear the voice. I don’t want to hear anyone out there. I want to stay in this bubble with Gwen, pretending like the whole office outside doesn’t even exist.
Gwen seems to be feeling the same.
Her hand drifts up to my neck again. Her fingertips slide through my hair. She moves her fingertips gently to my scar and touches it carefully.
“Room to move around is trouble,” she says as her fingertips graze the length of my scar.
“I think you’re trouble.” I catch her hand, pull it down to my lips, and kiss her fingertips. “What we just did was trouble.”
“You’re the one who started it,” she whispers.
I can’t help myself. I steal a quick kiss.
That makes her smile.
I love her smile more every time I see it. “I only wanted to say good morning,” I tease. “You’re the one who closed the door behind us.”
“But you’re the one who locked it,” she counters before linking her hands behind my neck and guiding me down into another kiss.
“Guilty,” I croak when our lips part. And I’d do it again if I had the chance.
Suddenly, across the room, the door flies open.
A tall woman in a matching blazer and slacks barges in, keys in hand. “Got it, Frank,” she says to someone out in the hall.
She’s in her late fifties, and her short-cropped silver hair reminds me of a history teacher I had in middle school.
“Oh!” she cries when she spots Gwen and me. “Good gracious, you ‘bout gave me a heart attack, you two! Frank told me no one had opened this up yet—I thought the cleaning crew locked up…” She trails off, and her eyes flit back and forth between us a few times.
Gwen steps away and busies herself with the coffee pot.
This key-wielding, teacher-lookalike intruder must be Janelle.
I do my best to appear innocent despite the fact that I just admitted my guilt to Gwen seconds ago.
Janelle purses her lips. “Hm. Like I was saying, I thought the cleaning crew locked up last night due to a fluke. This room is usually open.”
“I might have locked it by mistake,” I say.
Gwen keeps her back to us. She stands on the tip toes of her clogs to grab two mugs from a cupboard. Then she hums to herself as she fills one, then another. Coffee drips down from the percolator, sizzles against the hot base, and sends a scent of burning drifting out into the room.
“Strange mistake to make,” Janelle muses.
“Things happen,” I say.
