Page 102 of All's Well that Friends Well

“But?” I say after a brief silence, because the hesitance is growing, and he’s shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Disappointment wars with hope as I wait for his answer.

He sighs, pulling his glasses off. “But there’s something I need to do first,” he says as he rubs one hand down his face. “If I’m going to take you on a date, or hold your hand, or kiss you again…there’s something I need to do first.”

Ah. Some sort of closure with Maura’s family, I think, although I’m not going to ask. Not right now. So I nod. “Then do it.” I pause and then add, “And if you need ideas on where to take me?—”

But his snort cuts me off, and his twitching lips return. “I already know exactly where I’m taking you, Miss Marigold.”

I couldn’t stop my smile if I tried. “Been thinking about it?”

The color creeping up his neck is answer enough. He clears his throat, straightening up, and puts his glasses back on; when he speaks, his voice is businesslike once more.

“Your end of the bargain, please,” he says, looking expectantly at me. “The list.”

I hop off the desk and grab my phone from my pink bag, pulling the list up. “Here,” I say, passing the phone to him. I try to keep my hand steady despite the sudden nervous, jittery energy running through me.

But it’s hitting me right now, how much of myself I’ve shown this man—how much of myself I continue to show him. He was right; I make myself vulnerable.

What will he think of this list?

At first it’s hard to tell. I watch him as I settle myself back on the edge of his desk, the same place I sat when we kissed. His expression is blank, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses as he reads out loud.

“Proximity,” he says under his breath, his gaze darting only briefly to mine before looking back at the phone again. “You’ve nailed that one down, I think. Let’s see…”

His eyebrows jumping is the first sign of surprise I see. “Friendship?” he says, tilting his face up toward mine.

I shrug as heat rushes into my cheeks. It’s ridiculous to be embarrassed now, about this, when I’ve said and done so many other embarrassing things. The feeling persists all the same, so I just shrug. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

His features shift with skepticism. “Are we?” he says, raising an eyebrow at me. “You’ve been shamelessly chasing after me, Juliet.” It’s not an accusation; if anything, he sounds amused. “You’ve kissed me and dressed in my shirt. Is that how you treat all your friends? Because if it is, I’d like to know now, before this goes any further?—”

“It’s not,” I say, cutting him off, and I can’t quite stop my little smile. I can feel the exact color of my face right now, pinkish-red, but I swallow my blush. “It’s not how I treat all my friends. Maybe we could say we’re friends…” I tilt my head as I look down at him, searching for the right words. “We’re friends, but we’re notonlyfriends. Better?”

His eyes narrow on me. “I suppose,” he murmurs, so low I almost don’t hear it, and the words send shivers up and down my spine. It’s a giddy, intoxicating sensation, one I want to dive into and swim in until I grow gills and learn how to breathe underwater.

“Be careful, Mr. Slater,” I breathe, allowing myself to lean in further. “We’re getting dangerously close to flirtation.”

Luca hums as his dark gaze skates over me. “And you’re dangerously good at it, Miss Marigold.”

“I could get better.”

His lips hook into a rare grin, laughter in his eyes. “I have no doubt.”

The curve of his mouth makes me smile too, and I nod at the phone he’s still holding. “Flirtation is on my list, you know. Proximity, flirtation, friendship, attractiveness”—Luca snorts—“and there’s one about making myself useful. Prove myself an asset.”

To my surprise, though, Luca doesn’t look at my phone.He just hands it to me, shaking his head. “I don’t think you would have needed all that to begin with.”

I shrug, letting my legs swing. “I wasn’t sure what kind of woman you liked, and aside from being pretty, I didn’t have a lot to offer?—”

But I’m startled into silence when Luca leans forward, surging closer and stopping my words with one finger on my lips. My eyes widen, my brows lifting in surprise as his face approaches mine.

“I probably shouldn’t be touching you like this,” he says, his voice low now. “Considering…”

“Considering?” I say when he doesn’t go on. It’s a strange sensation, my lips moving against his finger, and he must think so too, because his gaze drops to my mouth.

A second later, though, his eyes narrow and come back to mine. “Considering,” he says again, his voice even, and he doesn’t elaborate. “But I’m worried that if I let go, you’re going to continue saying absurd things.”

I blink at him. “What?”

And my heart shouldn’t be pounding the way it is. I’ve kissed this man. I’ve breathed his breath. All he’s doing right now is looking at me. But as his finger drops and he takes me by the shoulders, my pulse thuds in my veins as hard as it ever has—aswoosh-swoosh-swooshsound in my ears, louder and louder as he stands up and then tugs me off the desk and to my feet.

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