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“Um … he’s just a friend, Will,” I said, refusing to go there, but quietly pleased he wanted to.
The main dining area took my breath away, the smoked-glass wall sconces, the refurbished metal light pendants that hung over the bar area. I could picture how beautiful it would look furnished and bustling, full of shiny, sexy diners falling in love over candlelight. That’s when I saw something weird poking out from behind the new walnut bar—a brand-new twin mattress wedged between the wall and the fridge, a coverless duvet thrown on top.
Will came stumbling into the room, rubbing his hands on his jeans. I turned from the mattress to him.
“Oh,” he said, looking from me to the mattress. “I’ve been sleeping here a few nights. Tracina, with the pregnancy … I mean, if I’m not keeping her up, she’s keeping me up. And we both need our rest. When the baby comes, everything will be easier.”
“That’s kind of the opposite of what I hear about babies,” I said. I desperately wanted to change the subject, so I did.
“It’s so beautiful, Will, I mean it,” I said. “Your work … you should be very proud. This’ll be one of the nicest restaurants on Frenchmen.”
“I want to have a really interesting wine list, you know? Bring some in from atypical places, like Uruguay and Texas. They have great vineyards in Hill Country.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You will. Soon enough.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, you’ll have to brush up on your wine knowledge, because you’re going to manage this place for me. I want you to run it,” Will said. “Your hours will change. You’d be here afternoons into the dinner rush. You’ll have to wear nicer clothes. I mean, not black satin gowns, but not black T-shirts either. I’ll pay you more. I’ll pay you well.”
The whole time he spoke, I stood there watching his mouth move. Being near him, working with him, seeing him every day—I wanted that. Watching him with Tracina and the baby, feeling the ongoing pain of being on the outside looking in on his family life, I didn’t want that.
“I can’t think of anyone else but you for the job,” he added, taking a step closer to me.
“Does Tracina know?”
“I haven’t run it past her yet, no. Cassie, we’re not … we’re not partners. Not like it would have been with … you.”
We both felt the weight of his words fill the unfinished room. I reached forward, caressing his forearm with my fingers, electrifying us both. I meant it as a thank-you gesture, to punctuate this great opportunity he had just offered me, one that I would still need time to think about. But then my hand started to move, almost of its own accord, traveling up his arm, under the sleeve of his T-shirt where a new muscle had formed, the one that twitched when he punched in numbers at the cash register or rolled a layer of paint on a wall. My hand moved slowly over his chest, lingering above his heart, which sped up beneath my touch, sending a vibration through my arm. He grabbed me by the elbow and tugged me against him, placing a hand under my chin to tilt my face up so I was staring into his eyes.
“Do you understand how much I want you?” His voice was strained, hoarse.
I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but the words were stuck in my throat. And then I felt it, his mouth on t
he base of my neck, kissing me there. When our lips met, it was like they had missed each other for ages.
“Cassie …” He said my name between kisses, biting, nibbling my lips, one arm around my back, holding me against him, his other hand diving under my T-shirt, cupping my breasts lovingly, greedily. I felt him stiffen as I buried my head in his shoulder and shut my eyes. I wanted to freeze this moment with the only man I really wanted, holding me, wanting me …
“I won’t stop, unless you tell me to stop,” he whispered, his hand sliding down the back of my jeans, squeezing.
I didn’t want him to stop, and if I hadn’t spotted my flushed, guilty face in the mirror over the bar, I wouldn’t have made him stop.
“We can’t,” I said, prying myself out of his embrace and taking a step back. He recoiled too, not from me, but from his own actions.
“We were friends for years, Will,” I said. “Good friends.”
“I don’t want another friend. I want you.”
“Believe me. In a few months, you’re gonna need friends,” I said, tucking my T-shirt back into my jeans and straightening my apron.
“I’m sorry, Cassie. It’s actually pretty shitty of me to offer you a promotion and then turn around and fall all over you like that.”
“I won’t lodge a complaint … if you promise not to do it again.”
“I’m not making any more promises I can’t keep. But can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
