Page 62 of For the Win
“I suppose being a coach who loves sports as much as he does, it makes sense that he’d be so fit.” She points down a long row of stainless steel prep tables running parallel to a half dozen oven ranges. “I asked them to put the stool there for you to sit on, so you can stay off your feet while you help Mr. Demir.”
I give her my biggest smile. “You are so thoughtful, Veronica.”
“Why thank you, Win. I’m just so glad you’re okay and that I finally get to meet you. Connor talks about you all the time.”
“I was worried,” Connor mutters.
Aw. “He’s a good friend. Very loyal. A little bit of a clean freak,” I lie through my teeth. “But there’s nothing wrong with that, am I right, Veronica?”
The woman now has hearts in her eyes. “No, there isn’t. I think it’s wonderful.”
I get a look from Connor as he quickly steers his new ladylove out the door. “We’ll leave you to it. Text me when you’re done.”
When they’re gone, I find Michael staring at me with an enigmatic expression on his face. “The funniest part about that is that itsoundedlike innuendo, but I believe she actually spent her lunch break teaching him how to ski. And heisathletic. I also have a feeling he’ll start doing his own laundry soon.”
His huff of laughter loosens a few of the knots remaining in my stomach.
“So, you’re shy,” I tell him.
“I’m not.”
“You are. And not just a little bit, either. You really don’t like talking to people, do you?”
He shrugs. “I talk when I have something to say.”
“I’ll accept that for now. Especially since I know you don’t need an assistant. I was there when you made everything but the caramel in advance. So why did you ask me to help out?”
“I do need you.” He sets the containers down and plants his hands on the metal counter in front of him. “I know you’ve got things to do now that you’re back, but if you could just… Will you sit down on that stool and stay with me? Talk to me? Just for a little while?”
He’s anxious.
“I can do that.” I can be an adult about this. We had sex. It might be over now, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still enjoy each other’s company. That I can’t be here to help him through his social anxiety. Is that what this is?
Forget about that. Why do you think it’s over?
Because we’re here and it is.I lean the crutches against a corner wall, out of the way, and walk to the stool.
“So what’s going on with you?” I ask as I take a seat. “I thought that conversation with your brother went pretty well. Did something change on the way here?”
He searches under the counter for a few trays, then opens his containers and starts lining up the pastries in front of us. “It went better than I was expecting. Thanks to you.”
“Personally, I think it’s thanks to your whole secret-blackmail-file reveal,” I tell him wryly. “That was very Tanaka of you, Michael. I was impressed.”
And maybe a little turned on.
“That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.” He hands me a tapered plastic bag filled with that crème-whatever-it’s-called and then picks up his own. “You need to hold the piping bag like this, push the metal tip into the pastry and fill each one.”
“So, I’m on filling holes? That feels appropriate.”
He doesn’t take the opening or smile. “This job is for both of us. There are four hundred, remember?”
“For two towers. I haven’t forgotten.”
Not what he told me, and not what he did to me after that. What we did to each other.
“I met the woman once at a cocktail party,” Michael says abruptly.
I squirt a little cream into the air, thankfully missing the tray of flawless pastries, and look up at him in surprise. “What woman are we talking about?”
