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Miranda laughed. “True. I’ve always wondered how male dancers manage it without losing something valuable down there.”
“Just not natural,” he repeated with a shake of his head and a grin. “Now, a woman who can do the splits...”
“Hey now,” she warned, and when he laughed his handsome face changed into boyishly cute, something she’d never noticed before. “You should show your sense of humor more often. It’s a good look on you,” she said.
“I have to give my employees something to complain about,” he joked, then turned it around on her. “The same goes for you. You could show your lighter side now and then. You have a stellar smile.”
Even though the compliment was benign, she blushed. She caught herself and rubbed at her cheeks as if she could rub away the evidence that his comment had flustered her. “I’m sure you say that about all the girls,” she said.
“No. Not really.” And just like that the conversation turned serious. It was as if there were two threads running parallel to one another—one was surface playfulness; the other was the deeper meaning behind the words they couldn’t say. “You’re hard on yourself. In the short time I’ve known you, you haven’t given yourself an inch of slack. You work long hours—you probably work on your own time, too, so as not to burden the OT budget—and you’re passionate about the things most people simply don’t have the energy to tackle, which shows that you’re driven by something. Who is Miranda when she’s not a federal employee?”
Miranda paused, a pithy answer on her tongue. Who was she? Good question. “When I figure that out, I’ll let you know,” she answered.
“I know you don’t go home to anyone,” he said, pressing a little harder. “What are your hobbies? What do you do for fun?”
“I do go home to someone,” she contradicted him. “My son.”
“Right, of course,” he said, forcing a smile. Miranda sensed his immediate withdrawal even before she saw his gaze shutter and slam shut. “It’s hard for me to switch gears and see you as a mother,” he said quietly.
“Why?”
“Selfish reasons,” he admitted, looking away.
“Do you have something against kids?”
“No.” But he seemed to choke on the words. “Kids are a blessing.”
Miranda suffered the distinct impression Jeremiah was only feigning interest but she didn’t want to insult him by stating as such on the off chance that she was wrong. “I never would’ve believed that until Talen came into my life. I know I’ve done a lot of screwed up things in my life, but when I look at my son, I know he’s the one thing I did perfectly right.”
“How old is he?”
“Eight. And the love of my life. He’s the biggest reason I don’t allow anyone to get too close. He doesn’t deserve a parade of different men in and out of his life as I try and get my life together.”
“Admirable.” He forced a smile. “If only all single mothers were so accommodating of their children’s feelings and well-being.”
What was wrong with Jeremiah? He was suddenly colder than a polar bear’s paw. In fact, it might be warmer outside than sitting beside the glacial chill coming off Jeremiah. “You don’t like kids,” she said flatly, unable to hold back her disappointment.
He looked at her sharply, yet his gaze was distant. “I like kids just fine,” he said, glancing at his watch. “What’s taking that plow so long?”
“It should be here soon. Wow. Talk about running hot and cold,” she groused. “You’re worse than a PMS-ing woman. One minute you’re all laughter and jokes, and the next, you’re just a jerk.”
“Our conversation was probably getting too familiar as it was. It’s good to remember that we’re colleagues, not friends.”
“Well, we’re sure as hell not friends with benefits, because it’ll be a cold day in hell before I let you into my private life again.” She crossed her arms, angry. No, not angry—insulted. And strangely hurt for Talen’s sake. He didn’t even know her son and yet he was acting as if she’d just told him that she’d caught a disease and it might be contagious. “What is your problem?”
“Nothing. Drop it.”
“No. I’m not going to drop it. You’re being rude.”
“So be it. I’m rude and I’m also your boss, so drop it.”
“You’re my boss, but not the boss of me, so stick it up your keister.” If she didn’t think he might freeze to death, she’d kick him out of her car to wait for the plow. The idea of staying another minute in a confined space with the man seemed a fate worse than death. Or at the very least plain annoying. “Just when I was beginning to think you were different...”
