Page 10 of Kissing the Boss
"I felt it the minute I drove in. Even with my car breaking down, it felt right somehow." I laugh softly. "Is that crazy?"
"No." He shifts closer, so subtly I almost miss it. "Not crazy at all."
I'm achingly aware of him, the warmth radiating from his body, the slight roughness of his breathing, the way his eyes keep dropping to my lips. If I took one step forward, we'd be touching. If I tilted my face up just slightly...
"Well, well! Cox and his pretty new bookkeeper, cozy by the fire!"
The shout comes from somewhere behind us, loud enough to carry over the music. Jonathan jerks back as if burned, his expression shuttering instantly.
"Mike," he mutters, nodding toward a clearly tipsy man waving from near the cider station. "My mechanic."
"I remember." My voice sounds hollow, even to my own ears.
"I should—" Jonathan clears his throat. "It's not appropriate for us to—"
"Right." I step back, humiliation burning in my cheeks. "Because you're my boss."
"Cassandra—"
"It's fine." I force a smile that feels brittle. "Really. I understand professional boundaries."
I don't wait for his response. Can't bear to watch his walls rebuild in real time, erasing that moment of connection. Instead, I turn and weave through the crowd, away from the fire, away from him, away from the foolish hope that's been building since the moment we met.
The lantern-lit path blurs through unshed tears. I blink them back furiously. I will not cry over a man I've known for two days, no matter how much his retreat stings.
Chapter 4 – Jonathan
The wrench slips in my hand, and I bang my knuckles against the engine block.
"Son of a—" I bite back the curse, sucking at the scraped skin. It's the third time I've hurt myself this morning, and it's barely nine o'clock.
All because I can't stop thinking about Cassandra. About her standing in the firelight at the bonfire last night. About the hurt in her eyes when I pulled away. About the fact that even now, with my hand throbbing, what really aches is the memory of her walking away.
The bell over the front door chimes. I ignore it, knowing Dale can handle whoever's walking in. But then I catch that cinnamon scent and my head jerks up of its own accord.
Cassandra weaves through the garage, a paper bag from The Enchanted Bean clutched in one hand, a tray of coffees in the other. She's wearing a deep blue sweater today that hugs her curves in a way that makes my mouth go dry. Her curls are half-tamed in some kind of twist, with rebellious strands escaping around her face.
She's beautiful. And I'm staring.
I duck back under the hood, trying to look busy when she pauses beside my workbench.
"Brought breakfast," she says, her voice deliberately casual. "Eliza said the pumpkin muffins are your favorite."
I straighten slowly, wiping my hands on the rag. "You didn't have to do that."
"I know." She sets the bag down, still not quite meeting my eyes. "Consider it a peace offering after last night."
"You've got nothing to apologize for." My voice comes out rougher than intended. "I'm the one who—"
"Can we just pretend it never happened?" Her smile is too bright, too forced. "You're right about the boundaries. I respect that."
No, you don't understand. The boundaries aren't for you. They're for me. Because I can barely look at you without wanting to—
"Sure." I take the coffee she offers, careful not to let our fingers brush. "Thanks."
She nods, professional distance firmly in place, and heads toward the office. I watch her go, hating myself for the way my eyes track the swing of her hips, the way my body tightens in response.
This is why the boundaries matter. Because every time she's near, I forget I'm her boss. Forget I'm too old, too rough, too set in my ways. Forget every reason why this can't happen.
