Page 63 of Never Let You Go

That’s where I’m at when she comes in, early, into the kitchen.

Her eyes downcast. Such a turn-on. She doesn’t even do it on purpose, I can tell. She’s genuinely struggling to look me in the eye after what happened last night.

I wish again she hadn’t been so far gone when she came onto me. I was this close to giving in, but in all consciousness, I couldn’t.

But hell, I’m holding onto the memory of her supple body nestled in my arms, her delicate hands lacing behind my neck, her throaty voice whispering in my ear.

Sweet.

Sexy.

So damn tempting.

Her eyelashes flutter, and she raises her gaze to meet mine. I chase away my lust-filled thoughts and focus instead on the fact that it’s ten minutes before six, and that I’m impressed.

Very impressed.

I didn’t expect to see her that early.

She’s holding the mug of coffee I made for her in one hand, and the alarm clock in the other. I didn’t want to try and mess with her phone, so I figured that would do.

“I have several things to say, and I want to say them without being interrupted,” she says.

“Okay.”

“First off, I am very, very sorry for getting drunk last night at Justin’s. I’m sure I broke all sorts of clauses in the apprenticeship contract. If you need to fire me, I understand.” She takes a breath, maybe expecting me to say something, and when I don’t, she continues. “Second, I’m so sorry you had to carry me upstairs. Third, don’t ever, ever stay with me when I am puking again. Ever. Fourth, thank you anyway for staying with me when I was puking. Fifth, thank you so much for the coffee. It was the best coffee ever, and I need to know your secret. Finally,” she takes a deep breath and her eyes lock with mine, “I believe I might have said certain things last night that weren’t exactly savory, and for that, too, I am sorry.”

“Not exactly savory?”

“Unsavory.”

Is she still drunk? “Define unsavory.”

She clears her throat and tucks her hair behind her ears. “Things you didn’t like.”

“There was nothing you said last night that I didn’t like,” I say without hesitation, and I see the shock registering in her.

“Really? ’Cause I’m pretty sure…” she frowns and licks her lips. “I think I remember… I said things to you.”

Yeah, you said things to me I’d wish you’d say again when you’re sober. “You said things to me that you were too drunk for me to take seriously.” My heart hammers really hard in my chest. I don’t like games. I don’t like lies. Just because I can’t be with her doesn’t mean I should lie to her. So I take the jump. “It doesn’t mean I didn’t like these things you said. It just wasn’t a good idea.”

She seems disappointed. “Right. Not a good idea.”

Maybe stupidly, I decide to keep that door from closing entirely. “At the time.”

“At the time?”

“You’d had too much to drink for any kind of decision.” I see her thinking through this. I can’t really make myself clearer. Surely she heard me. She understood me. Right?

“Right.” She sets the alarm clock on the table. “This device from the previous century is the work of the devil. I never want to see it again. Thank you but no thank you.” Then she sets the coffee mug next to it. “And this, I’ll say it again, is the best coffee I’ve ever had. I’d love another, or at least I’d love to know your secret.”

I take her change of topic for what it is. A diversion from a heavier conversation. I’ll let her draw her conclusions on what I said, and I’ll let her take the lead. It’s not like I’m in a position to make a move on her. I’m her boss.

But moreover, it’s not something I should want to invite in my life.

But I’d love to make her coffee every morning, just to see that look on her face. Content. Peaceful. Safe. “Maple syrup,” I say.

“Huh?”

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