“I don’t suppose you have a towel?” she asked, pushing wet locks of hair out of her face.
“I’m not sure a towel would cut it,”Isaid with a laugh, taking her coat as she held it out. “Atthis rate, you need turbo jet air blasts from all angles.”
“Kinky,” she said, raising one eyebrow slightly, andIcouldn’t help but grin. “Gotany of that hidden around here somewhere?”
“’Fraid not.”
“Then a towel will have to do, if you’ve got one.”
“I’ll do you one better,”Isaid. “Youcan borrow both a towelandsome dry clothes, and we’ll chuck those in the dryer.They’resoaked through.”
I ran upstairs to my room, pulling out a pair of my most comfortable sweatpants and aNorthDakotaStateT-shirt thatI’dhad for almost a decade.Ihanded them toChloe, who ducked into the bathroom under the stairs to change.
When she emerged wearing my clothes, something happened to my brain chemistry thatIwasn’t prepared for.Thesweatpants were too long on her, pooling around her ankles in a way that was inexplicably endearing.TheT-shirt, damp on the shoulders from where her now-tied-up hair dripped on it, hung loose like it did on me, but it hugged her curves, too, the university logo stretched across her chest in a way that made me think possessive thoughtsIhad no business thinking.Shelooked comfortable and rumpled and completely at home, and my entire body flushed with heat at the sight of her.
“Thank you,” she said, finally accepting the mug of teaIheld out with hands that were still slightly shaky from the rain. “You’rea lifesaver.”
Our fingers brushed asIhanded over the cup, and we both faltered at the contact.Hottea sloshed over the rim, splashing across the back of my hand and making me hiss with the sudden burn.
“Shit,I’msorry,”Chloesaid immediately, setting the mug down on the hall table and reaching for my hand.
“It’s fine—”Istarted to say, but she was already examining the angry splash of red across my knuckles with a frown of concern.
I brought my hand to my mouth without thinking, sucking the tea off my skin to stop the burn from worsening.Itwas an automatic response, nothing more, but whenIlooked up,IfoundChloewatching me with an expression that made my mouth go dry.
She was staring intently at my lips, as if she was starving, andIwas the first meal she’d seen in weeks.Theintensity of her gaze gathered the heat in my body and pooled it right in my centre, andIhad to resist the urge to close the distance between us.NotthatIknew whatI’ddo whenIgot to her, but suddenlyIwas incredibly tempted to find out.
“It’s fine,”Isaid again, my voice catching slightly. “I’mnot burned.”
Chloe blinked and seemed to come back to herself, dropping my hand like it was made of fire. “Right.Good.Sorry.”
Then she took a step back, cool air rushing between us and putting out whatever had been sizzling a moment ago.
* * *
We endedup working side-by-side inJen’sstudio for the rest of the day,Chloehunched over her laptop working on festival planning whileIordered farm supplies online.Icould have askedMaggieto handle the purchasing and taken the day off– it was, in theory, one of the things she helped with– butIfound myself reluctant to leave.Therewas something soothing about the sound ofChloe’sfingers flying across her keyboard, and the occasional muttered comment or frustrated sigh that told me she was deep in concentration.
Partway through the morning, her phone rang.Sheglanced at the screen, then immediately declined the call.
“You could have taken it,”Isaid. “Idon’t mind.”
“I don’t want to,”Chloesaid shortly. “It’smy mum.Idon’t really feel like talking to her.”
The casual way she said it hit me like a punch to the gut– jealousy coursed through me at the simple fact that she had a mother to not get on with.Thatshe had the luxury of ignoring phone calls from a parent who was alive and presumably worried about her.Itwas a familiar pangI’dgrappled with plenty of times since my mom had died, but it was persistent, even thoughI’dtoldChloenot to worry about it.
“I’m sorry,”Isaid, trying to keep the complicated emotions out of my voice.
“It’s fine,” she said. “Ijust haven’t actually told her about the new job yet, andIdon’t want to until…”Shetrailed off, looking at me with a tinge of what felt like guilt in her gaze, and it took me a moment to realise what she was alluding to.Idid my best to look impassive, even as the realisation stung.
“Until you know if you’ll get to keep working here.”
She nodded. “Exactly.”
I felt my resolve wobble, but no,ChloeandIhad come so far.Iwasn’t going to let anything get in the way of moving forward; of working together.Wecould both get what we wanted.Ihad to believe that.
“Well,”Isaid, sounding more confident thanIfelt, “Ican’t imagine that’ll be a problem.Andsurely your parents wouldn’t doubt that.”
Chloe was quiet for a long moment, her fingers drumming against her laptop.Shetook a deep breath before explaining. “TheythinkI’mwasting my potential,” she said. “Theycouldn’t understand whyI’dwant to work for a small nonprofit whenIstarted at the rescue; they certainly wouldn’t understand me wanting to work here.NotwhenIcould be doing something ‘impressive’.Somethingwith proper career prospects and a salary they could brag about to their friends.Theywant me to be something more …consequentialthan this.So, no, untilIknow that this is a permanent move,Idon’t want to tell them.They’lljust thinkI’mbeing indecisive.”
