Page 20 of The Swap After Hours

“Oh, that. Yes, I do. But…what do you mean you picked some things up?”

He walked in and with a grin, presented me with a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates he had hidden behind his back. My eyes darted from his face to the items and back again. “Why did you get these?”

His grin turned almost shy. “Well, I admittedly haven’t dated much, but I think it’s pretty universal date etiquette to show up with some flowers or candy. At least, that’s what I would do if I were wooing someone.”

“Wooing? Did I somehow end up in a time machine and go back to 1940?” I said dryly.

Trevor laughed and I found the sound much more appealing than I had a right to. “Okay, so maybe wooing isn’t the right word anymore, but the sentiment is the same. If you want to impress your special lady, you should bring her these.”

“Yes, well, this isn’t that kind of date,” I informed him as I began packing up my briefcase. I still had several hours of work left to do that night, but Trevor was right. I needed to get going if I didn’t want to be late. I’d work on the rest later at home.

“Oh? What kind—Oooooh! I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

I glanced up at him, confused. “What are you talking—wait! Did you think I was referring to some kind of hook up?”

His cheeks turned an alarming shade of red and he looked like he wasn’t sure how to answer that. “Well…yeah?”

“Jesus!” I muttered, rubbing a hand over my face. “Okay, let’s get a couple of things straight, shall we? First, if this was a hook up—which it most certainly is not—it would be completely inappropriate to discuss it with you given that I am your boss and you, my employee.”

Trevor nodded sagely. “Yes, Mr. Marshall.”

“As for the second thing. Not that it’s any of your business, but I’d like to avoid any future misunderstandings as far as these things go. The woman I’m having dinner with—the only woman in my life—is my mother.”

Understanding dawned across his features, followed by a look of horror. “I’m so sorry, sir. I never meant to insinuate…especially, about your mother…and you…Oh, God! I need to stop talking.”

His face registered shock as I suddenly barked out a laugh, but I couldn’t help myself. He was way too cute when he got flustered. “It’s okay. Like I said, I just didn’t want you making that mistake again.”

“Never, Mr. Marshall. Again, I apologize.”

I waved him off. “It’s fine. Plus, it’s not all for nothing. I’ll score some extra brownie points with my mom when I show up with these.” I gestured towards the items he still held in his hands.

He handed them over with a self-deprecating laugh. “At least I did something right.”

“You’ve done plenty right. You’re an asset to this company and to me.”

His smile was practically beaming. “Thank you. I really appreciate the opportunity and I want to do a good job for you.”

I scooted my chair back and stood up. “You’re doing fine. Now, I really do need to get going and I’m sure you’re anxious to start your weekend. I hope you have a good one.”

“Thank you, Mr. Marshall. You too.”

“Would you like some more chicken?” Mom asked hopefully.

I set my fork down and leaned back in my chair. “No, thank you. I’m full. It was delicious. Was that a new recipe?”

“Yes! Sharon told me about it. She makes it for her family, and they love it.”

Aunt Sharon was my mom’s best friend and my godmother. They’d worked together for years and even after they stopped working, remained pretty much inseparable.

Sharon and her husband, Clifford, and their children had been the closest thing I’d ever had to family outside of my mother, which was why I’d taken to calling her Aunt Sharon as a kid. She loved me like I was her own, a feeling which was completely mutual.

“Well, I do too. Feel free to make it for me anytime you want,” I joked.

“Noted.” Her eyes crinkled along the edges as she smiled, bringing a warm feeling to my chest.

At fifty-three, my mother was still a beauty with waist-length blonde hair, eyes the same color as mine, and a delightful dimple that appeared in her right cheek whenever she grinned.

Teenage fumbling in the back seat of her boyfriend’s car had led to my existence. Her boyfriend quickly denied he was the father and her parents; devout Catholics had insisted she give the baby up for adoption. When she refused, they kicked her out of the house.

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