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“We still need to write proposals? But you’re saying yes already.”
“It’s a different process since we’re approaching the organization and not the other way around. But for the required documentation, we’ll need someone to create official proposals.” Gabriel smiles. “I can guide you through it.”
Laughter tickles my lungs. If this works out, the local theater community could be greatly impacted.
A half hour later, Navie is on Gabriel’s lap, her head against his shoulder, giving us long stares and blinks. “We’re going on a walk,” Gabriel whispers. “A long one.” He’s patting Navie’s back softly. “Tell Quinn and Mom to text me if they get back here before I do.”
“Quinn said they had an early morning flight, so I’m sure she’s tired.” Sebastian says to both of us.
I can’t stand the cuteness, and I put my hand against my heart as they walk out the door. “I’m not going to be able to get anything done while she’s around. She’s stolen my heart.”
Sebastian’s look is one of brief anguish, then covered by a mask of . . . what is it? A barrier, so that I don’t think he cares? No, it doesn’t have to do with me. It’s a barrier so that he doesn’t get hurt.
“Wish we could see her more often,” he says. Then he changes the subject. He tells me he wants me to coordinate more often with corporate headquarters in Denver.
“We’re hopeful we’ll have all twenty employees moved over here within two years, as we let them wait for kids to graduate and things like that. Then we can close that building and be in one central place, with the staff at each of our resorts reporting directly to our office here. It will streamline things.”
“You have so much going on. So much on your plate. Not to even mention your family. Now I feel sort of bad about bringing up the charitable stuff.”
“No, it’s important. It’s something I’ve been wanting to solidify for a long time. It’s a requirement for Deca Arete anyway. And I can hand it all over to Gabriel soon.”
I stand from the sofa and go over to his, sinking into the soft leather next to him. I rotate my body to face him, pulling my right leg up next to me. Thankfully, my wide-leg, high-waisted tan plaid slacks and ivory short-sleeved sweater are relaxed enough to sit in this position. I breathe in his musky scent.
“Why are you doing all of this, Sebastian? Why do you want to hit the Deca Arete?”
“To prove to myself that I can do it. It’s been my goal since I was a teen.”
I sense there’s a dam in his chest waiting to be released.
“Is there more, though? Why work yourself into the ground?”
He shakes his head, and at first, I think he’s not going to say anything more, but then he does, his voice gravelly and taut. “It’s urgent I make the list this year. I submitted the application in January. The ‘deca’ in the name of the award has to do with the ten-year business mark. Which is this year for us. And the ‘arete’ means ‘excellence.’ There are a lot of criteria that go into this.” He knits his brows together. “Not that we’ll even know for sure if we’ve made it until next Spring. But they’ll look at only this year’s numbers to compile the list.”
“I get it.” I smile and catch his gaze, hoping to communicate that it’s safe for him to continue to talk with me. “And can I say something? When we went out to the swing that day . . . you were different. Like the sun was . . . waking you up.” I know this sounds strange. But he has another side to him that he rarely shows others.
He reaches out a finger and glides it along the edge of my penny loafer, right next to where the arch of my foot is. I can practically feel the warmth of him through the fabric of my slacks.
“I’ll have some time in January to get outside again. I do want to do that.” He still won’t meet my gaze, staring instead at my foot.
“January?” I grunt a laugh. “But that’s months away. Your brain would be clearer and your work more efficient if we got outside every day, at least for a little while.” My gaze lands on his mouth. I wonder what his lips would feel like on mine.
“I do get outside on the weekends. And I’m not stopping you. You can take breaks outside a couple of times a day if you need to.”
Is he saying he doesn’t want to hang out with me outside? He’s been nothing but professional, never giving me any reason to believe he feels more for me than he’s letting on, than what he’s said.
So why do I feel that he does? And why is he touching my shoe?
It sounds so juvenile.Mo-om! Sebastian’s touching my shoe!But it’s not, because all sorts of grown-up things are happening inside of me. And if he moved his finger even a centimeter or two, he’d be touching my foot and my thinner-than-paper stockings.
He finally meets my gaze, the darkness of his eyes boring into me. “You’re right. I do need to get outside more. For my health. For my mind.”
I can’t control it, but my gaze darts down to his mouth again before I train them on his eyes. “For your family, too.”
At his quizzical look, I smile. “I can tell you want to take care of them—so much. You’re the quintessential oldest brother. You’re . . . like Ethan in that way.” I laugh and shake my head. “It’s clear you’d do anything for any of them. But what they really need is for you to find peace and health and to enjoy your life. That’s what will help them the most, Sebastian.”
He clears his throat, gives my shoe a light tap, and then removes his hand from it altogether. I reach out to touch the collar of his shirt, and I inadvertently brush my fingertip along his collarbone. A rush goes through my body.
“I like this no-tie look. It suits you.”
