Page 37 of He Falls First

“Great,” I say, and I can’t help but feel like I’ve just won some kind of victory—like I’ve convinced a wild, beautiful bird not to fly away just yet. “Your perspective could be what convinces the board to take the leap.”

“Really?” With the excitement in her voice, I swear it feels like she’s reaching across the desk and squeezing my heart in her hand.

“Really. I could use someone who can talk tech without putting a room to sleep.” The corner of my mouth ticks up, the closest thing I get to a full-blown smile.

“Consider me on board, Captain,” she says with a salute that’s more adorable than it has any right to be.

As she talks more about her ideas, diving into details with an ease that impresses the hell out of me, I wonder what it means—that every time I turn around, there she is, getting tangled up in every facet of my world. In my work, in my home, now in my dreams. Every area of my existence seems to have an Elizabeth-shaped mark on it.

But not family. No, that’s one area where I draw the line, where I keep the doors locked and the windows barred. The reasons for that are my own—a dark little secret kept tucked away in the silent spaces between our heartbeats.

Chapter 15

Hendrix

The clang of pots and pans joins the symphony of sizzle and pop that fills the air of the local culinary school’s kitchen. Elizabeth and I are here for our pretend date, a cooking class. This is part of our arrangement: couples’ activities together, both for the sake of appearances and for practice with Elizabeth’s dating lessons.

If it were up to me, we’d be at home in my kitchen, along with a private chef and my state-of-the-art appliances. But Elizabeth insisted on having an “ordinary” experience, more like what she’d expect from other men.

She’s got a point. After our time together, the men she’ll date likely won’t have personal chefs or smartphone-controlled ovens.

“Ordinary can be fun. You’ll see,” she’d said as we walked in this evening.

I don’t know about ordinary, but I’ve started to believe I can have fun in any setting, as long as Elizabeth’s with me.

“Okay, I’ve officially decided,” she announces beside me with flour powdering her cheeks, “that playing with food is just as thrilling as eating it.”

“Thrilling?” I quirk an eyebrow, watching her dive hands-first into the dough like a kid in a sandbox. “That’s one word for it.”

Her laugh rises over the kitchen’s cacophony. We’re kneading bread, which is more like wrestling it into submission, and quite frankly, I’m losing. This thing has a mind of its own.

“Come on, Hendrix,” she chides, glancing over at my dough, which stubbornly refuses to shape up, “you can negotiate multimillion-dollar deals, but you’re bested by baked goods?”

“Negotiations,” I retort, “usually involve adversaries that aren’t so sticky.”

“Look!” she says, picking up a piece of produce that looks like a spiky green grenade. “What on earth do we do with this?” She holds the unfamiliar ingredient between us with curiosity dancing deep in her eyes.

“Is that... kohlrabi?” I guess, squinting at the oddity.

“Koala-who?”

“Rabi. Kohlrabi. And honestly, I have no idea.” My voice is a dry husk, but there’s a smirk tugging at my lips. This is ridiculous. We’re ridiculous.

She leans close, her shoulder brushing mine as we both stare down at the kohlrabi with question marks on our faces. Her warmth seeps into me—a gentle nudge against the armor I usually wear around others.

“Hey, did you measure the flour?” I ask as my hands finally find rhythm with the dough.

“Measure?” Elizabeth repeats with mock horror, then grins. “Oh, right, because Mr. Precision would never eyeball it.”

“Precision is key in all things, Ms. Summers.” But I’m chuckling now, the sound surprising even to me—it rumbles deep from somewhere unused.

“Of course,” she teases, her tone lilting, “because spontaneity might lead to unexpected fun, and we can’t have that, can we?”

“Let’s just get through this class without setting anything on fire,” I say, but it’s a weak deflection. Because everything around me already feels ablaze—with her nearness, her laughter, the shared silliness of this moment—and I wonder if I’m the one who’s really getting burned.

I glance at her, trying to hold on to the playful banter instead of letting my mind wander back to what we did in my office two nights ago. Elizabeth playfully bumps her hip against mine when I critique her sloppy knife skills. The ease between us surprises me. With most people, I feel the need to maintain my guard. But Elizabeth puts me at ease.

For a moment, I let myself pretend this is real—that I could have moments like this with her beyond our temporary arrangement. But the fantasy twists my gut. When these six short weeks are over, she’ll be dating other men. And I’ll be alone again.

---