Page 8 of That Kiss

“You and Noah, huh?” I ask Izzy once the guys shut the door behind them, leaving our office.

“Oh my God, he’s sooo cuuuute,” she whines, spinning around in her chair. “He invited me to hang out with him and his friends this weekend. They’re going to see some local band.”

“Are you going to go?”

“Yeah, but I kind of wish he would have just asked me to do something one-on-one.”

“Maybe he’s not sure where you stand and wants to test the waters to see if you guys have a connection?” I shrug, pulling a quarter of the papers in front of me. I tell myself I can’t get up for another cup of coffee until I get through these first.

“How are you so wise for 22?” She eyes me suspiciously and I laugh, although sometimes it’s funny to remember Izzy and I are less than two years apart. We went to school together, but due to being a few grades apart, we never hung out. Then again, maybe at 21, I was a lot more naive and innocent than I am now. Moving out on my own a few hours away really made me grow up quickly. I realized that while my parents would do anything to help me, when it came to getting myself in and out of situations, it was up to me.

“Seriously, though, at some point, we need to have a woman-to-woman talk, because I want to be taken seriously like you are. I know I’m still young but I also know what I want in life . . . I just don’t know how to present myself like you do.”

“I get it, and honestly, Izzy, don’t be too hard on yourself. We’re only girls once, so enjoy it while you can still be carefree. I asked for all this,” I say, motioning around the office. “I was just ready for a change and more responsibility. You’ll know when you’re ready for all of that, but as for how you want people to perceive you,” I shrug, reminding myself of this same fact, “that’s not in your control, and honestly, who cares as long as you’re happy with who you are?”

I mean what I’m saying, but at the same time, it feels like I’m talking to myself. I know exactly how she’s feeling, and maybe that’s what helped spur me to take over the family business. If I could go back to 21-year-old me, I’d tell her not to get her heart so set on one person that it screws her up for everyone else . . . but somehow, I have a feeling I still wouldn’t have listened to myself.

“Good morning, Riley Automotive and Farm Equipment.” Izzy’s cheerful voice pauses. “Let me double-check our schedule really quick to see if we can fit you in. Please hold.” I’m focused on the paperwork in front of me when Izzy says my name. “Juniper?”

“Hmm?” I don’t look up from my desk.

“Our schedule is pretty tight today, but I have Mr. Slade on the phone wondering if he can drop his truck off?”

“Yeah, tell him it’ll be first on the schedule tomorrow morning, so he’s free to drop it off today.”

“Sorry about the wait, sir. You can bring it by today and we’ll have the mechanics work on it first thing tomorrow morning. Does that work?” She nods. “Okay, great. We’ll be here till 6 p.m. Have a good afternoon, Deck.”

This time my head flies up when she says his name. She places the receiver back on its base and turns to her computer when her eyes catch mine.

“What?” She wipes at her face. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No,” I blink slowly, “you said ‘Deck.’”

“Yeah?”

“As in Decker Slade?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, “I think so.”

“Are you sure he said ‘Decker’?” She nods again. “He didn’t maybe say ‘Ranger’?”

She squints. “Oh, maybe. Yeah,” she nods, “I think you might be right. Oops! You know how it is with twins.” She giggles and spins in her chair to face her computer.

I don’t say anything more about it, realizing that what she said about twins is true. Besides, under any other circumstances, it wouldn’t be weird to hear someone around here say his name. But the fact that my brain is permanently burned with the image of him kissing me is starting to make me hallucinate.

By the time lunch rolls around, I’m so lost in my own thoughts about the endless tasks I need to get to for the business before month’s end, I almost walk straight into Ranger in the parking lot.

“Oh, shit. My bad, Juney.” He jumps to the side when I don’t look up from my phone screen.

“No, I’m sorry.” I reach out toward him with an apologetic gesture. “Just too focused on work.” I smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Dropping the truck off,” he chuckles, thumbing over his shoulder, and I pretend to smack my head.

“Right!” I laugh as well. “Anyway, sorry I’m in such a rush. Need to run a few errands on my lunch break.” I wave at him as I quicken my pace toward my car. I yank the door open, sliding my phone into my purse as I sit down and reach for my seatbelt.

I pause when I look back up, my hand reaching for the steering wheel, when I realize the truck Ranger is dropping off is Decker’s truck after all.

“Guess I see why she said ‘Deck.’”

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