Page 57 of Dropping the Ball

I move to the next button. “What?”

“Katie.” It’s an order, but a gentle one. “Look at me.”

“Hang on, I’m almost done.”

His glass clinks on the counter, and he walks over as I’m moving to the middle button. He puts a hand over mine and gives it a light squeeze.

I stop unbuttoning, but I don’t let go. I do put on a neutral face before I look up to meet his eyes.

“Katie, I need to tell you something.”

The words everyone wants to hear, especially from a guy they keep suffering humiliations in front of. At least I’m the only one who knows my explanation of the art in my office was another light pole moment.

“I’m listening.” My voice is calm and cool. Boss mode. Good job, me.

He sighs and draws me into his arms, holding me until I relax against him enough for him to rest his chin on my head. I can’t help it. I’m wound tight as a ballerina bun when I’m around this man until he touches me. Then I’m something offensively basic and malleable, like putty. I hate being a cliche.

“I need to tell you something,” he repeats, and the words rumble in his chest against my ear. “But for reasons that I promise to explain later, right now I need to watch a movie. A loud movie. A movie with a very, very simple plot. Can we do that?”

My pride is trying very hard to step away, fake a yawn, and tell him sorry but I’ll try to find time to drop by the warehouse sometime next week. But my curiosity will choke me if I let pride win. What does he need to tell me? Why does he need a two-hour distraction first?

I do step back. Micah doesn’t fight me, but he also lets his hands slide alllll the way down my arms to close around my wrists, and his stupid shirt is no protection at all from the heat of that touch.

“Zombie Lakeis that movie?”

He gives a choked-sounding laugh. “I really hope so.”

“Fine.” I slip my wrists free, pull his shirt over my head, leaving me in my trusty white Calvin Klein cotton tee, and shove it into his chest. “But keep your shirt.”

He squeezes his eyes shut for a second like he’s in pain. “Thank you.”

“You are being weird,” I inform him.

“No argument.” He goes back for more water, and I walk into the living room and fish the remote from a basket. The big “painting” over the fireplace is actually the TV, but the screen resolution is so high that when you use the art screensaver option, it looks like actual canvas. When I turn it on, the painting dissolves to reveal the screen. I’ve only used it a couple times, and it’s always like a magic trick.

This time, I barely notice because I’m much more focused on what will happen when it goes off again.

What exactly is Micah planning to reveal?

Chapter Nineteen

Kaitlyn

I find the movieand the “Play” prompt appears as Micah joins me, but instead of sitting down, he pauses and studies me, my booted feet propped up on an ottoman.

“That’s one of my pieces,” he says.

It’s more of a stool with an upholstered cushion sitting on top of curved iron legs. “It’s cool. What’s it made from?”

“Frame is from a restaurant renovation. They tore out the Western kitchen vibe, so lots of decorative iron. Eva welded that for me. And the top is woven from the curtains in a conference room from a business park demo.”

I drop my feet so I can tug the stool to the couch to study it closer. I can definitely see that the muted seagrass upholstered top is made from an already-woven fabric. Like a rag rug, but far more intricate. “This used to be a curtain?”

“This lady who lives at the end of my street does handweaving stuff. Baskets. Things like that. I asked her if she could turn it into a cushion cover, and this is what she gave back.”

I run a finger over it. I can’t begin to guess how she did it. It all lies flat, but the closer I look, the more the pattern emerges. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yes.”

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