Page 48 of Cream & Sugar
I straighten up, my cheeks burning as he lifts a hand. My heart’s pounding so hard, there’s no way he can’t hear it.
“Freddie?”
Freddie’s eyelids flutter. Slowly, his lips part into a salacious grin.
“I need the cocoa powder. It’s on the shelf behind you.”
I follow the invisible line from his fingers to tub of cocoa powder behind my head.
“Oh!” I exclaim, slapping myself on the forehead. “You want the… Right. Of course.”
Humiliation pours through me like petrol as I pass Freddie the tub, igniting my burning skin into an inferno.
Fuck, I’m such an idiot!
Freddie takes the cocoa powder and starts weighing it out. Meanwhile, my soul is being pulled apart. Suddenly I’m aware the lights in here are way too bright. The appliances buzz with electricity, too loud to tune out. My world is falling off its axis.
Too late. Here it comes. Abort, abort, abort.
“Be right back!” I stammer, turning towards the door. Before Freddie can say anything, I flee the kitchen, bolt across the café and lock myself in the bathroom.
Fuck.
There’s a roaring in my ears now. In the mirror, I look like I’ve just run a marathon. My face is strawberry red and sweaty. It’s too late to stop the meltdown, I just have to ride it out as anxiety takes the reins. Pins and needles prickle my hands, which tremble as I struggle to slow my breathing down.
In and out. In… and out.
I feel like I’m twelve again, getting overwhelmed at a school dance and running off to the toilets to hide. Guess there are some things we never grow out of.
For a split-second there, I was so sure he was going to grab me, pull me into him, and plant his gorgeous lips on mine. In that moment, I knew I wouldn’t have stopped him. I would have kissed him back.
Shit, what is happening to me? It's like my willpower has evaporated in a cloud of steam. I'm so weak around him.
I turn on the tap and stick my hands under the cold water—a technique I picked up from therapy years ago. The change in temperature is sobering and my senses start to trickle back to normal. Of course, the second they do, I burst into tears.
As I sob, an overwhelmed mess of a man stares back at me in the mirror.
What the hell am I doing? Entertaining this crush was a stupid idea. I should’ve nipped it in the bud like I did with Freddie’s flirting, been harder on myself. Instead, I’m three wanks in and one inappropriate comment away from a sexual harassment lawsuit. Not that I think Freddie would actually do that to me, but at this rate, it might be the reality check I need. I’m such a hypocrite.
Hiring Freddie was supposed to make life easier! How have I let things get this messy so quickly?
Maybe I should put in the final nail and just tell him how I feel?
Yeah right.
“Gah!”
I hear Freddie shouting through the walls. My stomach drops.
Dabbing my eyes on my sleeve, I fling open the bathroom door and stride towards the kitchen. Please say he hasn’t burned himself or chopped a finger off; that would really tip me over the edge.
“Freddie, are you okay?”
“No. Don’t come in.”
He’s not screaming in pain so that’s a good sign. My hand hovers above the door handle.
“I heard you yelling—”
