We pull into the parking garage a few minutes later, and suddenly I am acutely aware of the fact that the outside world exists. Coworkers. Desks. The very real possibility that Devon is alive and employed and will say something unbearable before lunch.
We park. Neither of us gets out immediately. It’s not dramatic. Just a pause. A breath. A moment suspended between private and public.
Miller turns slightly in his seat. “You good?”
There it is again. The question that somehow means more every time he asks it.
I nod. “Yeah.”
Then, because honesty has apparently become a thing I occasionally attempt now, I add, “Slightly terrified, but yeah.”
His gaze stays on mine. “About work?”
“About existing in fluorescent lighting after this weekend.”
“That’s fair.”
I study him for a second. “Are we… acting normal?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Define normal.”
“Not making out in the break room.”
“That seems like a reasonable starting point.”
I laugh. Relief, mostly. And maybe a little desire because apparently even discussing not making out with him is enough to short-circuit my better judgment.
“Just so you know,” I blurt suddenly. “I think I might be in love with you.”
He does that slow blink thing he does when I’ve said something that surprises him. “Good.”
“Good?”
“Yeah. Good. If you weren’t it would make thatsomedaywe were talking about pretty awkward.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling a little stupid, as I turn and start for the building.
As if he can read my mind, he snags my hand and pulls me back to him. When I land in his arms he threads his fingers through my hair. “I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear yesterday. I’m not used to …” He closes his eyes and presses his forehead to mine. “… having emotions. Forget talking about them.”
“Oh.”
He raises his head and looks down at me. “Just to be clear. I love you. I’m in love with you. I want to marry you. I want to adopt your lazy cat. I want to give you babies if you want them.” He brushes histhumb across my cheek. Maybe brushing away a tear, but I’m not sure. “That’s whatsomedaymeant to me.”
And then he leans down and kisses me. Right there in the parking lot of FMJ for God and all of the company to see.
Somewhere from across the asphalt, someone issues a wolf whistle. Someone yells that we should get a room.
Several delicious beats pass before Miller lifts his head, seemingly deeply unconcerned about our level of visibility.
Blushing, I duck my head. “Well, I think the cat’s out of the bag.”
Miller laughs, tucking me beneath his arm and as we walk toward the building.
“For me, there never was a bag.”
My steps falter as I shoot him a look.
He just laughs. “Come on, Khaleesi. Let’s go be professionals.”
