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I can only hope so, at least.
Not that I haven’t been thinking about his kisses since they happened.
But that’s none of his business.
Chapter Nine
Clifton
I’ve been sharing an office with Emma for a few weeks now and I notice that it's the little things about her that make her so captivating.
Like, right now, she's unfocused, clearly thinking about a case, but her eyes drift toward the window. I've learned that in moments like this, her brain is working hard, but she's not really present with me. When a case has all of her attention, she checks out of reality and retreats into her own mind and thoughts like a hermit crab into a familiar shell.
“You’re staring again,” she says, jolting me out of my thoughts. I sit up in my chair, shuffling my case files like I’ve been working all along.
“I think I was zoning out,” I say. The words aren’t a lie - I was zoning out thinking about her, but she doesn't need to know that. “What do you want to do for lunch?” I ask, quickly changing the subject. Lunch is a good half-hour away, but I like to be ready. We often work through lunch, shoving food into our faces and discussing cases. We have a fantastic ability to help the other find what they’re missing, though she’s much better than I am, and I don’t mind admitting that.
She reaches into her desk and pulls out a snack. I learned the first day I was here that she keeps all kinds of snacks in her desk, mostly healthy stuff like granola bars and dried fruit. “You made me hungry,” she says with an accusatory glance at me before offering the bag of dried jackfruit.
My stomach grumbles in answer and I lift both shoulders, well aware she heard the noise.
“I’m hungry, too, that’s why I’m asking,” I say, taking a small handful of dried jackfruit and popping one into my mouth.
“I guess so,” she responds with a laugh, before biting down on the fruit and chewing with a thoughtful gaze. “Meatball subs?”
I’d learned they’re her favorite and since I love them, too, I generally say yes when she suggests them, even if we’ve eaten there recently. A sense of warmth and comfort flood my being.
“Sold.” I lean forward and pick up my phone as she reaches for her purse.
“It’s my day,” I say. We’ve made it a point to alternate who buys lunch and neither of us keep track of how much the other spends. This way the gesture feels balanced and fair and neither of us feels we owe the other anything.
“Fine,” she says in a playfully mocking tone, putting her purse down next to the pretty white orchid on her desk. She keeps her space so clean and neat I often admire her desk. Today she has a plastic iced coffee cup with a red straw on the side with the orchid, a neat stack of case files on the other side, and her laptop centered between them.
I pull out my phone to order and pay online like I typically do, marveling at how well we get along. Anton has had a few choice words, but I blow off all of his condescending accusations of there being more between us than a polite working relationship.
He’s right in that I want more with her, but despite my offer to kiss her however she’d like, she hasn’t taken me up on the promise and I haven't pushed.
I like spending time with her. I love hearing her explain cases and giving me insight into how her mind works. And I love how animated she becomes when she discusses anything and everything she’s interested in.
“Food is ordered,” I say, putting my phone down. “Do you have any interesting plans today after work?” I ask. I’ve been building up the courage to ask her out, but the time never seems right. I don’t think she’s seeing anyone. She doesn't mention anyone, and she’s not getting messages all the time or going out for lunch. Of course, maybe she is seeing someone, but I genuinely don’t think so.
She shakes her head. “Nope. Going to go home, veg out in front of the TV, then sleep.” We’ve had conversations about how big jobs just drain the energy right out of her and leave her unable or unwilling to do much else other than basic chores once she’s off.
On the weekends, she catches up on everything and the system seems to work for her.
“Sounds about like what I have planned,” I say. Internally, I push myself to invite her over for a movie, but I can’t make the words come.
The warmth in her eyes as she glances at me steals the breath out of my lungs, and I look down at my phone as if I can escape the way she makes me feel. There’s something about her that draws me in and won’t let go.
Instead, I glance at the orchid. “You brought in a new one,” I say.
She nods, turning and delicately stroking a petal of the flower. “They brighten up the room,” she says, and I nod my head in agreement. Of course, they brighten her up, too, and make her smile. Anything that makes her smile is worthwhile in my book.
“Do you like flowers?” she asks.
I chuckle, thinking about all the plants in my penthouse. “I like them, but I love my plants.”
She nods her head, clearly remembering my place and how many plants I had scattered around. Instead of responding, she bites down on her lower lip and shifts the files on her desk, already lost in her case again. She’s so dedicated and driven, I’m inspired by her. But I also wish I could snag a bit more of her attention more often.
