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I turn to look at him.
“Is that so?” Mrs. Sweeney’s voice has a hint of amusement in it. “What a wonderful thing that is. My husband and I met on the job. Late husband. I still miss him.”
I shift my gaze to her face, but there’s no sorrow tainting her expression, just a soft smile.
“Is there an office romance brewing?” Mrs. Fields looks to Sean before her gaze jumps to me. “The chemistry between you two is at level two hundred on a scale of one to ten.”
A nervous laugh falls from my lips. “No. Nothing like that. No office romance here.”
Sean clears his throat, but I don’t turn to look at him.
“Why not?” Mr. Durkman jumps into the discussion. “You’re both young. You’re both available, aren’t you?”
“I am,” Sean says before I can answer.
I drop my gaze to the linen cloth covering the table. “My last relationship ended not long ago. I’m still dealing with some things related to that.”
“Understood,” Mrs. Sweeney interrupts. “I remember those days when I was nursing a broken heart. Surround yourself with friends, Calliope. You have all of us, and Sean too. He’s a great friend.”
Nodding, I finally turn to look at my boss.
“I can’t argue with that.” His gaze drifts from Mrs. Sweeney to me. “I’m a hell of a good friend.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sean
Mrs. Sweeneyjust dropkicked me into the friend zone with Champ.
Who knew that hanging out with people who are old enough to be my grandparents would result in a very unwanted cock block?
Calliope’s gaze drifts from my face back to the half-full wine glass on the table in front of her.
She’s been slowly sipping at it all night, leaving behind the imprint of her soft pink lipstick against the rim of the glass.
I’m so infatuated with her that I’m tempted to keep it as it is for a few days so I can stare at it.
Jesus. I’ve got it bad for her.
I haven’t crushed this hard on a woman in forever.
“I should call it a night.” Mrs. Sweeney plants her hands on the top of the table to gain leverage to help her get out of my oversized dining room chairs.
They were a housewarming gift from my mother. The listing for them on the website she purchased them from should have come with an ‘objects are much larger than their cited dimensions’because they’re as big as they are uncomfortable.
I would have sent all eight of the chairs back, but my mom insisted they fit the apartment’s aesthetic.
Whatever the fuck that means.
I’ll replace them soon with something more streamlined. I like simple and subtle when it comes to the interior of my home.
I’m out of my chair and heading over to Mrs. Sweeney in an instant.
I offer my hand. She takes it with a firm grip, using me as the leverage she needs to get to her feet.
“There wouldn’t happen to be any leftovers, would there?” she quizzes with a bounce of both of her graying brows.
“I already packed it all up for you,” I tell her. “I’ll grab it before I walk you home.”
