Page 32 of The Thought of You

She flicks the light switch on and jabs a finger into my chest. “What are you doing? You can’t spew rumors about my personal life in front of half the town, especially not with our bosses present.”

“I thought—wait. Rumor?”

Oh, fuck. Bond said he’s going to ask her out, didn’t he? As in, he has not yet done so, and I have made a complete ass of myself.

What is wrong with me tonight?

My skin crawls like she dumped a bottle of whatever chemicals are in here on me. I shift, as if it’s possible to escape the feeling, and my shoulder bumps into a shelf. When I shift again, I nudge a mop from its resting place by the door. It nearly falls, and we reach for it at the same time.

Our hands are clasped around each other.

Our eyes lock, and my face does that weird fucking heating thing again akin to blushing.

Her hand is soft over mine.

If I turned it over, gluing our palms together, my hand would engulf hers like a baseball in a mitt. I have the faintest thought that she’d even appreciate the safety of my firm hold, but that would be insane. As a matter of fact, it would be crazier than a bear and a kangaroo sharing a beer.

Addie’s made it clear she doesn’t like me in any sense of the word.

She’s the first to break our eye contact, with a strangled clearing of her throat.

I stiffen, careful not to knock over anything else, but it’s hard not to when the space is so cramped. I’m too large for this closet. “Did you bring me in here to kill me?” I ask her, and I’m only halfway kidding.

“I brought you in here for the same reason politicians take great measures to hide their personal lives from the public—to ensure their reputations are free of scandals before they win elections.”

“You’re running for president? I didn’t know. That’s amazing. You’ve got my vote.” I smack her shoulder and give it a squeeze. “My life will be so much easier once you move to the White House. Huzzah!”

Her sigh of exasperation echoes between us like she’s using a megaphone, and I glimpse the adorable lip twitch.

Until she shrugs me off and snaps, “I want to be principal someday, you buffoon. And I can’t risk a stain on my impeccable reputation, which includes dating random guys who live in Atlanta.”

A wave of confusion washes over me, and I’m officially lost on this train to Looneyville. What the hell is she talking about?

As if she reads my mind, she explains, “Dating someone from out of town implies I might leave Sapphire Creek, and that’ll never happen. I can’t risk a rumor floating around that it might be the case, which it isn’t.”

“Okay?” I blink.

“No scandals.”

“I’m going to stop you right there because dating Bond Nicholas would not be scandalous. It would be as boring as watching grass grow.”

“Bond is perfectly nice and wholesome and respectful. If he lived in town, I might even consider him, if he were to even ask me out.”

I stick my finger in my open mouth and make a gagging sound.

“Of course, such sentiments are lost on oafs like yourself.”

I drop my hands as annoyance pinches my nerves. “You know what? You and Bond would be great together. You can compete for the title of the world’s most boring people. Congratu—fucking—lations.”

“Boring is better than being irresponsible and careless.”

I lean in until her heaving chest brushes against mine. “Guess it wouldn’t bode well for your reputation to be caught in a supply closet with your buffoon-ish co-worker, then, would it?”

I’m sure a haughty comeback is on the tip of her tongue, but I don’t get to hear it.

Her full and pouty lips fall into the shape of an O, and her eyes clear as if my loaded question doused the fire in them.

But she doesn’t move. Instead of fleeing from here and away from me, she stands tall with her mouth zipped into a firm line. Our labored breaths fall into sync, and thick tension fills the empty crevices around us, making my fucking head spin.

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