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And I ruined it. I missed my chance. Here he was, talking about us in the past tense, all because I was a moron. I shrugged, going for casual, even though my chest ached like a deep bruise. “Doesn’t matter now. It changes nothing.”

Something flickered behind his eyes, but he looked away, hiding his thoughts behind a blank wall. “We’ll see.”

“So, what am I supposed to do until your dad realizes I’m not some dangerous threat to you? Or him? Or whatever he’s so scared of?”

Unexpectedly, Cam broke into strained laughter. “Just keep doing what you’re doing, Honeycutt. It’s working.”

“But—”

He lowered his hand to meet my gaze. “But what?”

“They’re driving me crazy, Cam.” I shrugged helplessly. “I— I’m⁠—”

“You’re perfect,” he said. “Keep giving them hell.”

Perfect.

Objectively untrue, of course—no one was perfect—but my heart didn’t care about logic. It turned into a melted puddle of goo-goo eyes. He said he’d liked me. Was it ridiculous to consider he might like me again at some point?

Wait. He was my boss.

Get your head out of the clouds.

I stood on weak knees and nodded, then paused when a pang of bravery stilled my legs. He raised the scarred eyebrow.

“Are—are you the one bringing me coffee every morning?” I asked.

Bemusement edged his gaze as he peered at me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ah. Well, so much for that theory.

“Never mind.” I set my hand on the doorknob.

“Vanilla lavender, correct?”

I turned to find him watching me, a hint of daring in the tilt of his head.

“Or was it caramel macchiato?” he asked.

My lips parted. It was him. A large part of me had hoped, but didn’t dare believe. His grin unfurled.

I straightened my spine and lifted my chin. “Yes. And on hard days, a flat white.”

He laughed as I stepped out of his office.

Nineteen

Needing a moment to myself, I headed straight for the elevator. The weather had taken a dramatic turn toward winter, and the shadows of the buildings kept the alley perpetually cooler than the sunshine-lit front. As soon as the door shut behind me, I shivered.

A chuckle to my right answered, and I turned to find Bennett, smoking a cigarette. “Here,” he said, shrugging off his jacket.

“Thanks.” Still warm from his body, the jacket wrapped around me like a sandalwood-scented blanket.

“Need a break?” he asked.

I nodded. “It was all just…a lot.”

He hummed and tossed his cigarette to the ground, smashing it with his foot. “Enlightening?”