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Knowing I can make this man lose control without even trying gives me immense satisfaction. As we hear the unmistakable sound of Ms. Winters's heels approaching, we pull apart, trying to compose ourselves.
"Here is your bill," she informs me, placing it on the table. Christopher's hand shoots toward it, but I block him.
"Absolutely not. I invited you." I pay Ms. Winters before he has the chance to fight me. As the elder woman chats me up, asking me about my business, I rise from the table, slipping into my coat.
"Are you coming?" I ask Christopher, who hasn't moved from his spot.
He cocks a brow, gesturing with his chin down below. My cheeks instantly heat as I remember what he told me after the kiss.
"I’ll talk to you on the phone, then," I say, attempting to gather my wits and not allow the image of Christopher's predicament to hijack my thoughts. No such luck. "About your keys, and…."
"Other things," Christopher finishes for me, the cor
ner of his mouth lifting up. "You should probably go to the kids, in the car."
That snaps me out of my haze, and I check the old grandfather clock on the wall. The kids have only been gone a few minutes, though it feels like an hour has passed since they left.
After a curt good-bye, Ms. Winters walks me out of the coffee shop. As I hurry to the car, one thing becomes clear. Next time Christopher and I are alone, I'm going to be in big trouble.
***
Sleep evades me that night. I go to bed early because I have an early meeting with a potential client, but I end up staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours, replaying the kiss in my mind, touching my lips as if I can barely believe it happened. I wonder if Christopher is awake too.
Almost unwillingly, I reach out in the direction of the nightstand, curling my fingers around my phone. A small voice in my mind tells me it wouldn't be appropriate to text Christopher right now, but I brush it off. We crossed to inappropriate a few hours ago. Hovering with my fingers over the screen of my phone, I begin to type a message, then delete it. After repeating the process a few times, I sigh in frustration. That's when the brilliant idea strikes me of replicating one of his own icebreakers.
Victoria: I have a problem.
Only after pressing Send do I realize that it's much later than I thought—it's past midnight. Christopher must be asleep. Still, I hold onto the sliver of hope that maybe he's awake. My breath catches when my screen lights up with an incoming message.
Christopher: And what's that?
Victoria: A certain someone gave me the most amazing kiss a few hours ago, and I can't stop thinking about it.
This time when my screen lights up, it's not with a message, but with a call. I don't even think twice before answering.
"Excuse the late call, but this requires more assistance than a text message." Just the sound of his voice is enough to send my pulse into overdrive. I easily slip into his game.
"Thank you for taking your time to help me with this serious matter."
"You know what the real problem is?"
"What?"
"That you rate that as ‘the most amazing kiss.’"
My stomach plummets and I pull my covers up to my chin, insecurity gripping me. "You didn't like it?"
"I loved it, Victoria. But we were in public."
I try hard not to acknowledge the flutter in my stomach at hearing the words “loved” and “Victoria” in the same sentence. Those damn butterflies again.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask.
"That I was holding back."
"Oh." Ohohoh! Now I understand, and my mind conjures up images of Christopher and me in a private place, of his mouth covering mine, of him not holding back anymore. I search for a safe topic, something to take my thoughts out of the gutter. "What are you doing up so late?"
"Unfortunately, work. Issues I didn't get to finish today at the office."
