Page 23 of Come Home to Me

I hold up my hand. “There’s no need for you to apologize. She seems like one of the special ones.”

Frank cracks the lid off his water bottle. “Oh, she’s special alright.” He leans against the wall. “Any news on your car?” Somehow, he makes the question sound deeply personal.

“They called this afternoon and want me to come in on Saturday.” I explain my new, humble living accommodations and the bus ride into and out of the city.

“I’ll be happy to drive you to the mechanic. I hate the thought of you on a bus.”

“It’s not bad, as long as you don’t mind the smell of old soup.” Frank looks at me like I’m crazy and I wave the statement away. “But if you truly don’t mind, I’d really appreciate having someone there with me. The only thing I know about car repair is that the people who are good at it seem to like to charge women extra when they’re alone.”

“I’ll be happy to be your anti-price-gouging agent.”

Frank gets the address to my hotel and we make plans for Saturday. His proximity has me barely able to think properly and I’ve run out of ways to flirt while not actually flirting. “Well, I should probably go. It’s a long-ass bus ride home for me.”

Frank glances around. “I can drive you.”

And I know without a doubt that I won’t be able to keep my hands off him. If he’s trying to keep things cool here at work, then I need to honor that. Or at least try to. “Thank you,” I say. “But I need to get used to the routes and everything.” It’s a weak excuse, but it’s all I have, and if I don’t leave now, I won’t be strong enough to follow through.

I sling my purse over my shoulder and a thought strikes me. I dig past my folded-up drawing for the note he left at my desk grab a pen. Feeling like a giddy little girl, I make a careful x in the box next to YES, and hand the note to him with an apologetic smile.

I know I’m being a total dork, but hey. He’s the one who wrote the note in the first place.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Wilde,” I say as he opens the paper and gives me the goofiest grin I’ve ever seen.

“Have a lovely evening,” he replies, the heat in his gaze juxtaposing the careful neutrality in his words. I nod once and turn around, suddenly aware of the eye-daggers Bree has apparently been lodging in my back. I smile sweetly while she glares at me, then saunter away, pleased with the evening.

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