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She shakes her head, yawning again before she says, “No, all good. Morning, Ethan.”
“Big night?” I ask.
She laughs. “No, just not a morning person. And definitely not before caffeine,” she says, gesturing to the counter as we both take a step forward in the line. “Have you just got in or have you been here for ages already?” she now asks.
Chuckling, I shrug. “A while, yeah.”
“Oh, so you’re one of those people,” she says teasingly. I raise a brow in question, a smile tugging at my mouth as I wait for her to elaborate. “A morning person?” she adds, as if to clarify.
I shake my head. “No, definitely not. I’m a night owl, couldn’t sleep, so came into work.”
Her smile disappears as she asks, “Is everything okay?”
There it is again. Zoey asking me a question as though she cares, as though she’s genuinely interested or concerned. I notice the person in front of us has stepped forward and I automatically move my hand to her lower back, seconds away from touching her when I realize what I’m doing. Pausing, my hand hovering, I reply, “Yeah, everything’s good, Zoey.”
“How’d your call with Japan go?” she now asks.
Before I have a chance to answer her, there’s movement behind us and then someone bumps into us, knocking into Zoey and causing her to stumble a little. Without even thinking about it, my arm is around her waist and I’m pulling her close as I glance over my shoulder.
A couple of guys I don’t recognize and who are probably only a few years older than Zoey are laughing and shoving each other, clearly oblivious to the fact they’re being obnoxious and annoying.
“Do you mind?” I snap, but none of them hear me. “Hey,” I say again, just as I feel Zoey’s hand on my arm.
“It’s all good, Ethan,” she says. “I’m fine, seriously.”
I shake my head, still looking at these guys who I’m guessing are tourists and likely still drunk from last night. Hell, they look as if they haven’t even been to bed, and I can’t imagine the fucking carnage they’ll create if they attempt to ski in this condition. I make a mental note to let Elissa know so she can keep an eye out.
“Morning, Mr. Morrison, the usual?”
It takes me a second to realize that Marnie is asking me for my coffee order and two seconds for me to realize I’m still standing here with my arm wrapped around Zoey, her body pressed against mine.
And fuck me if it doesn’t feel amazing.
Swallowing hard, I reluctantly pull my arm from around her waist. “Coffee?” I ask.
Zoey blinks up at me as she licks her bottom lip, drawing my gaze to it. She’s still close, her body only inches from mine, that intoxicating perfume she wears invading my senses. “Um yeah…” she murmurs, not looking away.
Clearing my throat, I force myself to turn to Marnie as I say, “The usual, thanks and Zoey will have…” I trail off, waiting for Zoey to place her order. When she has, I add, “Throw in two of those cinnamon rolls too and put it on my tab, thanks.”
Marnie nods, giving me a smile as she taps away at the screen before smiling at the fuckwits behind us. With a hand on Zoey’s back, I steer her away from them and over to one of the couches by the window. “Should we sit?”
Chapter4
Zoey
Ipause, not answering his question right away. With his hand resting on the small of my back, the warmth of his touch, the pressure of it, has me a bit of a mess. This doesn’t usually happen to me with guys because most are only in it for the money when they hit on me. Not saying my boss is hitting on me.
He is so not hitting on you, Zoey!
But with Ethan, this isn’t about the money. He owns a fucking hotel, a thriving one at that, and I’m sure it’s not his only investment. We don’t get into great detail about his life outside of Badger Creek or his money. Him taking me on as my mentor means a lot to me and it’s an awesome experience, but that doesn’t mean I’m privy to his wealth or anything about his life, really.
“Sure,” I finally reply, sitting down on the couch in front of us.
Ethan waits through a heartbeat, looking at the spot next to me on the couch before his eyes dart over to the chair across from me. It’s almost like he’s waiting for me to tell him to sit down or that he’s struggling with whether he should sit next to me or not.
“You can sit wherever you want,” I tell him, patting the spot next to me and then motioning to the chair just as our coffee arrives.
“Thanks,” he replies, sitting down across from me, like he knows that’s the right decision. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want him to sit next to me, this strange crackling energy floating between us from the second he stepped up behind me in the line. It’s not like us to see each other outside of work.
