Page 19 of Hidden Hearts

It reminds me a lot of Pickle & Rye back in Suitor’s Crossing.

Dominic gestures in front of him. "Ladies first."

"You're no gentleman," I taunted but stepped in front of him and ordered. After refusing to let me pay for lunch—again—Dominic hands the empty cups to me. "I'll wait here. Go get our drinks and a table. I want Pepsi."

I playfully salute him and click my heels together. "Sir, yes, sir."

“Smart ass.” A reluctant smile transforms his stern features, and it’s a shame he doesn’t smile more.

Why do you care?

Right, I don’t.

Chastising my wayward thoughts, I scurry over to the drinks machine, reinforcing the walls I’ve built up between me and Dominic. We’ve done so well with keeping things professional. The hours spent with him today weren’t filled with our usual tension because he’d been fairly easygoing, which has lulled me into lowering my defenses. A tactical error on my part.

I can’t mess up now by fixating on how nice his smile is.

No matter how endearing I find it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

DOMINIC

After our browsing trip yesterday, I asked Avery to stop by my place today to start working on her vision board. Photo stacks of furniture, supplies, decorations, and whatever else Avery or I thought we needed rests on top of my dining table, waiting for her to work her magic. It’s a bit old-school, but I don’t mind.

Whatever works for Avery, works for me.

A knock on the door lets me know she’s here, and after showing her in, I motion to the photos. "That's everything from yesterday. I'm going to start lunch. Is mac and cheese alright with you?"

Avery nods and sets down a white poster board and tote bag stuffed with craft supplies. This looks more like an art project to me, but I’ll reserve judgment until I see the finished product. Especially since yesterday went surprisingly well. We didn't argue as much, and Avery was friendly.

Maybe I’m making headway with her.

And if that’s the case, I don’t want to fuck it up by dismissing her process, even if I don’t understand it.

Avery brings the large stack of pictures to the kitchen counter in front of where I’m boiling the water for noodles.

"Okay, I'm going to sort these by category. I think it'll be easiest to decide what to keep and toss by going through all the desks, chairs, etcetera together," she mumbles, almost as if she’s talking to herself, and I take the time to study her while she’s otherwise occupied.

Clearly, Avery didn't dress up for me. Oversized gray sweatpants balloon around her legs and have a hole in one pocket, while a plain pink V-neck tee shows fading in some places. The mass of curls crowning her head are pulled back into a bun again.

"Your water's boiling." Avery points to the pot on the stove that’s close to overflowing. Shaking myself out of my reverie, I quickly turn down the heat and pour in the noodles. That’s all I need—to burn down the house while making a basic boxed meal.

But my eyes can’t help being drawn to Avery. Even dressed as casually as possible, she’s still all beautiful curves and fiery personality.

A black marker appears as she starts writing labels on neon-colored index cards. "The basics—desk, computer, desk chair, some sort of filing system, lobby chairs, coffee table, wall décor, clock. I think that covers everything for now." She hops up and tapes the cards to the board where STONE PRECISION OFFICE is written across the top in neat block letters.

"Now, it's time to cut some things like the home improvement version of The Bachelor!"

"I've never seen that show, but I get the idea."

“First, Tangled and now The Bachelor? You are a sad, strange little man.”

“Toy Story. Finally, a reference I understand.” I feel inordinately proud of that one.

Avery rounds the counter and hugs me unexpectedly. It’s brief. Barely a few seconds of her arms wrapped around my waist, but it’s enough to send a shot of arousal straight to my dick. My hands rise to keep her there, but common-sense weasels to the forefront, and I let her go when she backs off.

Patience.

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