Page 7 of Kissing the Boss
"It's not—this isn't—" I struggle for words. "It's just lunch. Between employer and employee."
"Of course." But her eyes say something different. Something that matches the heat unfurling in my chest.
I escape to the storage room, where Tucker's waiting with a knowing smirk.
"Employer and employee, huh?"
"Shut up."
"That's why you looked ready to break my hand when I touched hers?"
"I didn't—"
"You did." He leans against the wall. "Want some advice?"
"No."
"Too bad. That woman is interested. Very interested. And if you're too stubborn to do something about it—"
"She works for me." The words come out hard. "That's a line I won't cross."
Tucker studies me. "Even if she's the one?"
"There's no such thing as 'the one.' This is real life, not a fairy tale."
"Maybe." He heads for the door, then pauses. "But you should see your face when you look at her, Jon. That's not nothing."
He leaves me standing in the storage room, fists clenched, trying to convince myself he's wrong.
But when five o'clock comes and Cassandra gathers her things to leave, I watch from the garage. The setting sun turns Emberstone Avenue golden, and the Fall Festival lights are just starting to glow in the distance. She pauses at the door, glancing back like she's looking for something. For someone.
For me.
Our eyes meet through the glass. Hold. Then she's gone, taking all the warmth with her.
I lean against the workbench, head down, breathing in the familiar scents of my shop. Trying to ground myself in what I know, what's safe.
I force myself to stand straighter, falling back on the military bearing that got me through two tours overseas. Distance. Discipline. Control.
"You're already in trouble, old man," I mutter to myself.
Chapter 3 – Cassandra
"You have to come to the bonfire tonight."
I glance up from my half-unpacked suitcase to find Abigail Robinson leaning in my doorway, looking like autumn incarnate in her rust-colored sweater and gold scarf. I met her yesterday at The Enchanted Bean, another recent transplant to Whitetail Falls who happened to arrive just a month before me. When she overheard me asking about available apartments, she immediately mentioned the vacant unit next to hers.
"I don't know," I hedge, folding a sweater that doesn't need folding. "I've only been here forty-eight hours. I'll barely know anyone."
"That's exactly why you need to go," Abigail insists, stepping into my apartment with the easy confidence of someone who's determined to make friends. "The Fall Festival Bonfire is where the town claims you as one of its own. At least, that's what everyone keeps telling me."
"That sounds vaguely cultish."
She laughs, the sound as warm as the cider she brought me yesterday. "Only in the best way. Look, there's music, dancing, the most incredible apple cider donuts you've ever tasted, and everyone's a little softer at the bonfire. A little more open."
Everyone. Including a certain gruff mechanic who's spent the day avoiding me after our loaded lunch conversation?
"I don't have anything to wear," I try.
