Page 64 of Feel It in the Air

“Apparently no hard bowel movements either,” I mutter.

A loud, deep guffaw explodes out of Gus. Throwing his head back, he drops the knife, his laughter echoing through the kitchen. His reaction makes me laugh, mostly because my own quip wasn’t that funny. If anything, it was probably in poor taste considering we’re cooking.

His laughter dies down, but his smile remains in place as he turns to me, looping an arm around me. “I meant what I said. I want you to stay all weekend. I know I sprung it on you, and so you’ll probably have to go grab some things, but please. Spend the weekend here. With me.”

My heart soars, his simple declaration more than enough to sweep me off my feet. Honestly, everything about this man does that. I have yet to see a part of Gus that isn’t genuine. Even through all the endless flirting—which I love and crave more than I can say—I know that his words are heartfelt. That he’s not saying things just to say them.

Which is even more of a turn-on.

“Happily.”

Gus pulls me in for a kiss, once more like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I have to fight so that I don’t lose myself in this feeling. Because I could. Without question. At this point, my concern isn’t spending the weekend with Gus—it’s leaving at the end of it. There’s little doubt in my mind that come Sunday evening, going back to my apartment half a mile away at Hayes House, I’m going to be leaving more than a small part of my heart here. And what I do bring back with me is going to be a bit tender.

Okay, more than a bit.

“Want to tell me what has you so grumpy?” I ask, throwing the question out there like a life preserver into open water. Turning back to the island, I start in on the rest of the ingredients, following the steps I know by heart almost without thinking, waiting for an answer.

“Nope.” His answer is hard and final. “I would love for you to continue to distract me though. Mrs. Burch couldn’t be the only thing that soured your day.”

No…

“She wasn’t. But it’s work-related and⁠—”

“I’m not wearing my boss hat.”

I flick my wrist hard and fast, slicing through the onion on my cutting board in one fell swoop. “Teresa.”

“Still?”

“Still?!” I exclaim, my voice so shrill it’s borderline piercing, even to me. “Gus, it’s like she looked at Dolores Umbridge, Miss Trunchbull, and Captain Hardcastle and said ‘I’d like to join your ranks!’”

“I only know who one of those is.”

“Miss Trunchbull is from Matilda and Captain Hardcastle is from Boy, both by Roald Dahl,” I explain, making the assumption he knows the Harry Potter character. Which, maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe he’s read one of the others and I’m the one who’s going to look…nope, the nod he’s giving me affirms I’m correct. Well, there we go. “Both, like Dolores Umbridge, were tyrannical monsters who abused the protagonist, basically out of spite.”

I thwap the knife down again, the frustration that I’ve been tamping down all week rising in me now that I’ve opened the gate.

“Doesn’t matter what I do. Seriously, does. Not. Matter. I sit there, minding my own business, and she accuses me of thinking I’m too good for the group. I try and join in the conversation, and she snaps that no one was talking to me. She’s not my superior in any way, other than having seniority simply out of being with the company longer, but she is constantly handing off things to me that she doesn’t want to do. Then gets upset when they aren’t done on the timeline she wants them done on, since I have my own projects I have to complete.”

“How’s about I just take this?” Gus reaches over, taking the knife out of my outstretched hand.

Oh, ooops…

Guess I started talking with my hands and didn’t realize it. Maybe it’s time to move over to the stove and get the meat started. Grabbing it from the counter, I spin, finding Gus poised and ready with a pan. I take it from him, enjoying this new rhythm we’re finding.

“Want me to step in?”

“No! That would make it worse. Because she already got pissy about the whole drugstore building thing. And what happened to not wearing your boss hat?”

“I know, sorry,” he replies, bringing over a plate of chopped vegetables. “Speaking of the drugstore, I don’t think I saw the contract this afternoon. Pretty sure today was the deadline I gave.”

“It was.”

He sighs, the long, heavy exhale filled with more than just concern over a missed deadline. The two deep lines between his brows reappear, and my insides clench, wishing I could take away whatever this is that’s bothering him.

“Don’t worry about her. She’s harmless. Really.”

I glare at him, making it perfectly clear that I don’t appreciate him trying to placate me. He nods, reading the message loud and clear.