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She sounds relaxed. Amused, even. And I settle back in my seat, enjoying her voice.
“Have you seen the picture?” I ask, putting the car in gear and backing out.
“I have. And even I had a hard time focusing on us past Boomer and his… friend?”
“Comparatively speaking, we’re pretty tame. And it was New Year’s.”
She hums her agreement. “I could have been some girl walking past that you happened to reel in for a kiss when the clock struck twelve.”
Unlikely, but for this conversation? “Sure.”
Her laughter bubbles through the speakers, making me grin.
“You don’t think they’d buy it as a random act of kissy celebration?”
“Not really my style.”
“No. You’re more the marrying kind.”
And this time I’m laughing back.
“So that’s how it’s going to be….”
* * *
I’m reconsideringmy stance on the friends thing. Not so much by choice— New Year’s we definitely crossed some lines that can’t be uncrossed —but because there seems to be something of an inevitability to a relationship between us.
I mean, Ihadto call her when I found out about the picture. And then from the road just to make sure nothing more had come up with it. And again, two days later, to see if the cable guy had fixed their signal. And one more time the day after… because we won, and I fucking wanted to.
So yeah. Inevitable. No sense fighting it.
Which is why, when we touched down this morning, instead of driving into the city, I drove to Hendricks & Hale Toy Company.
If I’d had any doubts about it being a family company, five minutes in the lobby listening to Amber and her sister Bea, who’s on break from “Receiving,” argue over whose turn it is to pick where they order lunch from is enough to rectify that.
The girls look like they’re in their early twenties, sound like they’re in their teens, and behave like they grew up playing in these halls. And something about their eyes and chin maybe, suggests a blood relation to my wife.
“Liam?”
I turn around and find Stormy crossing from the elevators, her eyes lighting up when they land on the coffees I brought.
“You are my very favorite human right now,” she says, taking one of the cups and bringing it up to her nose.
She’s wearing a winter blue skirt that ends neatly at her knees and a creamy silk blouse. Her heels are high, and I can’t help admiring the curve of her pretty legs.
Christ, it feels good to be close to her. “Bet you say that to all the guys who bring you flat whites with sweet cream.”
“She does,” Amber chimes in, standing to lean over the lobby desk as we pass.
Then Bea: “But bring one for me— a mocha —and I’ll only say it to you.”
I laugh and look back. “Next time. A mocha.”
“Two!”
We take the elevator up to three, and I follow as Stormy cuts past a handful of people whose heads all turn in unison as we pass on the way to her office.
“This is me,” she says, waving me through to a space that’s perfect for her.
