Page 44 of Keeping It Professional

“Sophie?”

She didn’t stir. I should go. Or I shouldn’t. She was warm and open, gentle and kind. Everything I’d never let myself be. It hadn’t hurt her, being that way. Or maybe it had, but she’d pushed through.

She smiled in her sleep and wrinkled her nose. I stretched out beside her and stroked one hand down her back. She squirmed away at first, then she rolled over. Laid her head on my chest. Threw one arm around me.

“Heart’s pounding,” she said.

“Whose, mine or yours?”

“Yours.” She pressed her cheek to it and let out a long breath. “You’re leaving already?”

“In a minute. Not yet.”

She hugged me tighter, still sleepy, and I lay in her arms. Her body was warm and strong next to mine. I felt my pulse slow and my breath loosen up, and the knots in my stomach dissolve one by one. Run from her, no. Not now. Not today. Being with her was good, content at her side. Even if it was only for now, not forever.

Nothing lasted forever, but I could have this a while.

CHAPTER 17

MILES

Our second date was breakfast, coming off a night shift. Sophie suggested the diner, but I shot her down.

“We can do better.”

“But it’sright there. Come on, I’m starving.”

I motioned for her to do up her seat belt. “We could do that. Or you could come home with me. It’s up to you: stale diner hash browns? Or my delicious eggnog French toast?”

She melted back in her seat. “How far is your place?”

“Five minutes from here.”

Sophie cast one more ravenous glance at the diner. Then she fastened her seat belt. “All right. Let’s go.”

We ate in my kitchen while the world woke up, the sun turning the fresh snow first pink, then gold. Next door, a fight broke out, my neighbors’ four kids. One of them peeled off to pound the piano. Another let their dog out in the backyard. The dog set up yapping, wanting back in. Music blared, then switched off, then came on again.

“They’ll be gone soon,” I said, pouring Sophie some coffee. “It’s like this every morning: the kids charge around. Then their dad comes and yells at them to get in for breakfast, then five minutes later, they’re out the front door.”

The shout came on cue —Okay, kids! Breakfast!— then five minutes’ quiet, then the rush for the door. Sophie smiled.

“You know what we should do?”

I mopped up the last of my syrup. “The dishes?”

“No. After that, we should build a snowman.” Sophie stood up and went to the back window. She looked out at the yard with its fresh fall of snow. “This could be the last big snow of the year. We should make the most of it before it’s gone.”

I couldn’t tell if she was serious. “Really? A snowman?”

“Or a snowball fight.”

“What are we, eight?”

“What are you, chicken?” Sophie made a bawk-bawk sound. I gathered the dishes. She set to work rinsing them, and I nuzzled her neck.

“All right,” I said. “We can play in the snow. Let me just take the trash out, then we can go.” I left Sophie to the dishes and took out the trash. Then I snuck round the side yard and packed a big snowball, the clumpy, fat, loose kind that powdered on impact. I was just adding one last handful of snow, planning how I’d sneak up and ambush Sophie, when the neighbors’ dog let loose a volley of yaps. I turned on instinct to see what was up, and Sophie’s snowball hit me smack in the face.

“Damn it! You cheated!” I shook snow from my hair.

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