Page 46 of In Good Company

It was the best kiss of my life. Nothing has even come close to making me feel the way I did with his lips against mine. But I need to be careful when it comes to him. It’s not just the fact he’s my boss and my ex’s brother. There’s a more important reason why kissing Cal can’t happen again.

I have to return to Virginia at the end of this summer. There’s no way around it. I can’t have a reason to want to stay in the Hamptons. And something tells me if I feel the press of Cal’s lips against mine more than I already have, leaving when summer comes to an end will be almost impossible.

I can’t kiss Cal again. No matter how badly I might want to.

TWENTY-FOUR

CAL

I tell myself it’s totally normal for me to start my morning by working at the kitchen counter, even though it’s not something I typically do. If I need to work, I do it from my office.

Not today.

Today, I’m sitting at the counter with my laptop open in front of me, staring at the side door, just waiting for Lucy to walk through it.

She hasn’t said a word to me since Margo caught us kissing in the pool house. I tried speaking with her during the pool party, but it was clear she didn’t want to talk to me. She avoided me at all costs, and I didn’t want to make anything obvious by forcing her to speak to me.

But I can only handle the torture for so long. Today, we’re going to talk about what happened.

So I sit at the counter and wait.

And wait.

I try to work to pass the time, but I can’t concentrate. My mind is too full of Lucy.

I’m seconds away from losing the battle with myself and calling her to make sure she’s okay when she opens the door.

“Lucy.” Her name comes out strained as I push myself from the chair and walk to her.

“Morning,” she responds, her voice quiet and tight. It isn’t as cheerful as normal, making my stomach sink.

“Let me help you.” I close the distance between us and reach out to take the bags from her. Normally, she only walks in with one from the farm stand, but it seems like she has more of a haul today.

When she smiles at me, something loosens in my chest. The tenseness that’s been in my body since the moment she ran away from me in the pool house eases ever so slightly. “Thank you,” she mutters, not arguing as I take the bags to the counter. I set them down gently and try to help her by pulling out the contents.

“You really don’t have to do that,” Lucy protests. She steps closer and places her hand over mine to stop me.

I freeze, looking down at her hand over mine. My eyes close for a moment as I try to push away the memory of my lips against the hollow of her throat. It’s burned into my mind, the feel of her skin against mine, and once again, I do nothing to fight off the memory.

Lucy pulls her hand back quickly. It drops to her side as she takes a step back.

I hate the awkwardness in the air. It’s never felt like this with her. Even from her first day on the job, things felt natural between us. Right now, it feels strained, and I don’t know how to fix it.

I stand to the side, my jaw flexed and my body tight with worry, as Lucy unpacks the groceries for the day. It seems like she’s brought way more today than she normally does, but I resist the urge to point that out.

Maybe she’s making the most elaborate meals she can think of to keep herself busy and avoid me.

It’s silent in the kitchen for another minute or two as she finishes unpacking, lining everything up neatly on the counter.

I sigh, unable to deal with the silence any longer. I’m a direct person, never one to beat around the bush. I was hoping she would walk through the door and want to talk about what happened Saturday, and when she didn’t, I held my tongue.

But I can’t hold it in for another second.

“Lucy, we should?—”

“There were so many options at the stand today that I bought extra,” she cuts me off. “I was thinking, if you wanted to, you could host a dinner party tonight. What do you think?”

There’s a tightness in my chest at her determination to not have a conversation about what happened, but also because she won’t even meet my eyes.

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