Page 13 of One Golden Ring
But it’s Mr. Lockwood—Derek!—who turns away first, the corner of his mouth tugging up again in that way that tells me he finds something funny.
Finally, the heat of shame melts my frozen feet and I flee from the window.
How dare he laugh at me? He’s the one out there setting a thirst trap for his innocent assistant.
But I know that’s not actually true. The poor man was just chopping wood to keep us both from freezing to death. He didn’t go out there to be ogled like a new laptop.
A new laptop?
Ugh. Even my fantasies are boring.
I decide to check some emails to get my mind off my embarrassment.
Unsurprisingly, there are about a million messages for Derek—was that so hard?—even though we were clear with everyone that he would be unreachable up here for the weekend.
I quickly start laying out a rundown for him of the few that might be a priority, though I doubt anything is going to take him back to the city before the weekend is over. I know he doesn’t want to say it, and neither do I,but this might be all the time he has left with his grandfather.
I swallow over the lump in my throat, and I’m just finishing the rundown when I hear the front door open.
“Got us some wood,” he says as he steps in, his deep voice booming in the cold air of the cabin. “Coffee smells good.”
I watch in silence as he carries over an armload of firewood and opens up the stove.
Clearly he’s not going to tease me for staring at him, so that’s good. I pour coffee for both of us, putting a little of the powdered creamer and sugar from the canisters in the cupboard in mine, and leaving his black, how he likes it.
That black coffee used to stress me out. Without cream and sugar to hide it, he always notices any inconsistency in the brew. But I know exactly how he wants it done now, and I measure out the grounds like a scientist so it’s the perfect blend to make him groan in satisfaction over the first sip every time.
He straightens up and meets me at the counter just as I set down his mug.
He scowls at it suspiciously for a moment before picking it up and taking a swig.
I can’t help staring at him as I wait, and when he lets out that little groan of pleasure at the taste I know I’ve nailed it and I feel the same moment of perfect satisfaction he’s feeling.
“Hey,” he says, his dark eyes flashing to mine. “How’d you do that?”
“I brought your coffee from the office,” I tell him, secretly pleased that he noticed.
“You think of everything,” he tells me approvingly before taking another swig.
It’s probably pathetic that I take so much pride in pleasing this man with a good cup of coffee. I went to business school. I once dreamed of handling the organization of a big corporation.
The phone rings and the jangling sound of it almost makes me drop my own coffee mug. It’s not the usual sound of one of our cell phones. It’s the landline with an actual rotary dial installed on the kitchen wall that I figured was just a relic of earlier days.
And it’s about as loud as a fire alarm.
Out of instinct, I rush over and pick it up, even though I can’t imagine it’s actually for us. We didn’t give this number out to anyone. I didn’t even know it existed.
“Derek Lockwood’s, uh, cabin,” I say, wishing I’d decided how to respondbeforeI picked up.
“It’s Michael,” a distraught female voice says. “He just collapsed.”
My stomach drops and I look to my boss.
“Where is he?” I ask.
“The lodge,” she says. “Please tell Derek.”
“We’ll be right there,” I tell her.
