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“Send me the address. I’ll check with him.”
“Done.” I lean over so my computer bag doesn’t flop forward off my shoulder, and manage to scrawl a quick note on a spare sheet of paper. I’ll add the item to my official, typed to-do list later. “Thanks, Claire,” I tell her. “You’re doing a great job. How’s everything at the office?”
“Smooth sailing, but we miss you. Teagan’s moving to that new apartment, so we’re all going to her place after work to help her pack. Mark won’t stop talking about some new video game he bought, and—Oops, hang on. He actually just walked in.”
As a muffled conversation takes place on the other end of the line, I slip the note I wrote myself into my pocket. Then, careful to stay quiet, I make my way toward the cabin’s front door.
I have coffee, my computer, and a relatively Parker-free headspace. That’s everything I need for this trip to central Vermont to see Mortimer.
And seeing Mortimer should swipe the last remnants of Saturday out of my head altogether.
Once me and Mortimer talk, maybe I’ll be able to face Parker without saying one single stupid, bumbling thing about how I’m so eager to make the same mistake he wants to make.
It really would be a mistake, touching him and kissing him.
I wassoclose to that trap, Saturday night. We’re talking millimeters away.
He caressed my face and sparklers lit up in my core. I reached for him and almost,almost, let my fingertips move up into that warm space between his t-shirt sleeve and upper arm. I started to touch him like we were together. I wanted to fit my body against his, and let our lips fuse like they used to.
But we’re not together, and letting myself give in to these feelings would just be asking for trouble.
I’m in Vermont because Mitch sent me to find Parker a life partner.
I have work to do.
Professional work as a therapist and business owner. And if I do my job right, I could secure a half million dollars in funding.
I can’t let myself get distracted.
I can’t let myself feelall the feelingsfor Parker again.
What good is that dazzling, can’t-think, can’t-breathe sensation?
The one where you feel dizzy and weak, and your heart feels like a warm ball of mush?
Feelings like that don’t last.
My track record with Parker already proved that.
As I reach the entryway and go about slipping my feet into my boots, I hear Claire’s voice in my ear again. “Gemma, you still there?”
“I’m here.”
“That was Mark, actually. He says he checked on that profile for Parker Manning, like you asked him to. Hang on, I’m going to let Mark tell you himself.”
A second later, my Software Development Specialist is on the line, his voice so boyish I can picture his chubby cheeks and red-framed glasses. “Yo, Gem? I looked into the specifics of the Manning profile. His personality typing looks fairly solid. Not rock solid, but good enough, I think. You must have done okay with fudging the answers. Things are a little wonky with the Attachment Style coding, but I think it’s good enough, too. That’s what you said, right? Doesn’t have to be perfect?”
“Right. I took educated guesses and that’s all we have to work with.”
“His profile would be a lot more accurate if he’d sit for the interview process.”
Down the hall, I hear the soft thud of a door closing.
Shoot. He’s up.
“He won’t,” I whisper.
Queenie, who’s been following me around all morning, brushes up against my ankles. I rub her ears and mentally send her my loving goodbye. Then I open the door a couple inches and slip out without letting her follow me.
