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Like Tabitha, Johnny didn’t feel good about putting in Chrissy’s application. Tabitha had spent her fifteen-minute break going over the forms she’d filled out sometime between leaving him the night before and them leaving that morning because they’d been waiting for her down at the front desk where she’d emailed them for printing. Forms she’d filled out, even though she’d wanted to forego the Chrissy route and tell Mallory Harris the truth.
Hoping to enlist the daycare owner’s help.
Ethically and legally, helping them out could be a disaster for the Harris woman. Unless she had a lawyer watching her every move, protecting her against misadventure.
Tabitha reached above his head for a package of napkins early Tuesday evening, putting her breasts directly in his line of vision. Close enough that if he leaned forward and moved to the side, he could touch one with his lips.
Instantly engorged, Johnny moved, all right, directly forward, tucking the bulging evidence of his inappropriate erection under the prep board.
What the hell! She’d been reaching for napkins for months. In the same purple shirts.
So what was this about? Boredom with the task at hand? He’d never been passionate about the food truck business, but he’d been determined to see Angel’s dream through to fruition. He owed her that.
“I think we should hold off on Chrissy’s application,” he blurted, spraying and wiping the prep board. Tabitha, now back at the closed serving window, filled the napkin dispenser she’d set on the ledge for when they opened the next day.
He’d been reviewing her idea to tell Mallory Harris the truth and actually given it serious consideration. The kind he’d give if he was at work, doing the job he’d been trained to do.
A distraction from getting the hots for his life-quest partner?
For whatever reason, this time, this place, this daycare, seemed different from all the rest. Tabitha felt strongly enough about engaging the Harris woman’s help, being honest with her from the beginning, that she’d asked him for advice. Thoughtful, professional advice.
He really wanted to provide it.
A pile of napkins in hand, she held them above the open dispenser, watching him.
“What?” he asked. The concern creasing her brow, shadowing those golden-green eyes, struck his gut.
“You don’t want to apply with me?”
Had he said that? And why did kissing those lips seem like such a good move at the moment? It was wrong.
All wrong.
Pulling himself back to their current conversation, he said, “I think I’ve come up with a way to tell Mallory Harris the truth.”
Her brow cleared. Good.
“You think we can get her to help us rather than telling Mark we’re here?”
He nodded.
You don’t want to apply with me?
He hadn’t skipped past those words as easily as she had.
Finished with the napkins, she closed the dispenser and turned to him, eyes wide open. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”
You don’t want to apply with me?
“Why would you think I don’t want to apply with you?”
A direct, personal question. She should turn away. Or he should. She held his gaze. So he held hers, too. Waiting to see what would happen.
“It’s...a step we’ve never had to take before,” she said, her voice more hesitant than he was used to. Did the fact that he liked hearing more than her surface tone make him some kind of jerk?
“But it’s always been part of the plan,” he started. What had changed? Was he sending out bad vibes? Did she somehow sense that he was lusting after her, all of a sudden?
“Talking and doing are different sometimes,” she said, giving him her full attention. It would be rude of him to spray and wipe.
