Love in the Time of Conversation Hearts (Holidays in Heartsong #1)

WHAT R WE?

I’m running late for work, which I never do. But it was either that or show up in the same dress I wore on our date last night.

After our slightly delayed dinner and a frigid stroll through the lakeside park, Adam and I retreated to his surprisingly humble cottage on the outskirts of town. We were just supposed to share a glass of wine. But then one turned into two, and Adam’s cozy sectional turned into his California king. By the time we’d come up for air, dawn was breaking. Nothing like being driven home after a night in bed and passing the school drop-off line.

Short bursts of breath spring from my lungs and cloud the air as I hustle up the sidewalk, careful to dodge freshly melted patches of snow. A light dusting fell in the middle of the night, turning the world a crisp white come morning. Now, with the sun beating down, thinner patches form muddy puddles just waiting to drench the hem of my beige trousers. The red and pink heart decorations on the buildings pop against the white that’s left, and I can’t help but feel all warm and fuzzy, thinking this Valentine’s Day might be one I get to share with someone special.

I make it into the building with nary a hair out of place, which is shocking considering I practically sprinted all the way to work. Still, I pause in front of the decorative mirror outside my office and take a moment to smooth my waves and reapply a coat of tinted lip balm.

“Well, don’t you just look fresh as a daisy.”

A glance in his direction tells me Adam is one to talk. Not that the sight of him clean-shaven in slacks and a sweater could compare to the man who stood before me this morning, shirtless with boxer briefs slung low on his hips and stubble for days, as he prepared a latte for me in his fancy espresso machine. It’s hardly been an hour, and I realize with a start that I’ve missed him. That, despite the location, I want nothing more than for him to sweep me into his arms and kiss me with all the passion I can see burning in his gaze as he takes me in.

“You don’t look half bad yourself,” I say.

He winks and reaches for my office door, gesturing for me to enter and then following me inside when I do. “Personally, I liked you better with bedhead.”

I feel my cheeks turn the color of the red paper hearts that line my desk, though the door has snicked shut behind him and there’s no one around to hear. It’s then that he decides to brandish the coffee he’d been hiding behind his back, holding it out like an offering.

“Wow, two days in a row?” I ask breathlessly.

“Told you we could make it a thing.” His smile is easygoing, without a hint of the nervousness I feel. When he realizes I’m not making a move to collect the cup from his outstretched hand, he steps past me, where I’ve remained awkwardly stationed in the middle of the room, and sets it on the coaster I leave out to avoid drink rings on my wooden desk. “Everything okay, Cora?”

“Yes,” I answer too quickly. He lifts a brow, and I sigh. “I’m okay. I promise. I am just not usually the type to do this. I don’t spend the night after a first date. Don’t show up late to work. Don’t…” I let my voice trail off, because what I was about to say was, I don’t date coworkers. But is that even what we’re doing? Is that what he wants?

He steps toward me slowly, like I might bolt if there are any sudden movements. When I don’t, he loops his arms around my waist and pulls me flush against his hard chest. The scent of spiced cologne warms me from the inside out. Our gazes meet. “Just because you’ve never done it before, doesn’t mean you can’t start now,” he says wickedly, then he kisses the cold right off my lips.

He’s right. And that realization leads to another one: This is what I want. Not just because of the sex, which is admittedly a perk. This giddiness, this disorganization… it’s terrifying because it’s different. But it’s also amazing for the same reason. He brings that out in me. For once, I’m not the Cora who always has the right answers and does everything perfectly. I’m the Cora who has sex in her driveway and then spends the evening talking about our childhoods over fancy cheeses. Who shows up late to work, completely frazzled, and yet still earns a gaze from Adam Sullivan that tells me he finds me absolutely irresistible.

I could get used to this Cora.

The knob on the door rattles. We burst apart just in time for Sturgeon to march into my office. Behind his bifocals, shrewd eyes dance from me to Adam. I’m praying he doesn’t notice my heaving chest, or the way we are standing a mere foot apart in the center of the room.

He does, of course. But I also have a reputation that precedes me. Thanks, other Cora.

“Did I interrupt another argument?” Sturgeon huffs. He’s a slight man with a frail build that he makes up for with his stern presence. Though barely an inch taller, he still manages to look down at me when he adds, “You know, Cora, if you and Sullivan could put aside your differences, I’ll bet you’d actually make an excellent team.”

I cover a snort with a cough.

“Actually, Sturge–” Adam starts, one hand pushed into his thick head of hair.

Shock reverberates through me as I realize what’s about to happen. And what’s even more shocking? I’m fucking flattered.

We’re going to give this thing a real shot. And he’s so serious about it, that he’s going to disclose it to our boss.

“You’re working from the rec center the next two days to prep for the event, yes?” Sturgeon interjects, turning to me as though Adam hadn’t even spoken.

“Uh, yes,” I offer.

He folds his hands behind his back and tilts his head to peer at me through the top half of his bifocals. “Perfect. How is it looking? Everything ready to go?”

It takes a massive effort to reroute my brain from the path it was on just two minutes ago to now mentally running through the checklist I was poring over yesterday. Even though it’s not technically part of my job responsibilities, the Valentine’s fundraiser is a massive community event. And Sturge, for all his curmudgeonly antics, is a huge supporter. Dare I say, he even looks forward to it.

I’m about to assure him all is good when the email that hit my inbox right at closing time yesterday pops into my brain.

“Well, mostly ready. Gareth from recreation dropped out of the date auction. Said he has the flu.” I sigh heavily. Poor guy is always coming down with something. “That leaves us with only one man in the auction. And it’s Doug, from the hardware store.”

Adam grimaces at the same time Sturgeon says, “Doug is older than I am.”

I nod. “We were supposed to have one of the volunteer firefighters, but they’re all married save for Lucas Bridger, and he said it’s not his scene.”

The man would’ve been perfect. There’s a reason Aubrey goes all googly-eyed over her neighbor. With a build like a superhero and the shaggy blond hair and beard to match, all he’s missing is a giant hammer.

Sturgeon purses his lips in thought. “Well, surely it won’t be that—”

“I can do it,” Adam offers.

“You will?” Sturgeon asks incredulously at the same time I grit out, “ You can? ” At least our boss’s disbelief drowns out the hurt in my tone. Or I’m hoping it does.

Uncertainty passes over Adam’s face as he scans mine. When he speaks again, it’s with decidedly less enthusiasm. “I mean, if Cora wants me to.”

The words buzz at the tip of my tongue: Over my dead body do I want you to. But I can’t say that. Not when all my boss sees is a perfectly eligible bachelor who is going to solve the problem I presented. Case closed, as far as he’s concerned.

I try to sound as pleasant as possible when I answer, “Sure. That’d be great. Thanks, Adam.”

He winces when he hears the way I say his name, which sounds unpleasant even to my ears.

Sturgeon claps his hands once, sharply, then glances at his gold wristwatch. “That’s settled, then. Anything else?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“Perfect.” My boss turns toward the door, unaware or uncaring about the tension that has suddenly made the air in the room too thin to breathe. Halfway over the threshold, he glances back at me to add, “Oh, and Cora, I trust you’ll be able to deliver a full report detailing your action plan for the beautification to my office by this time next week, then? I will need time to clean up the presentation for the council, of course, but I want your input since I’m sure you have lots to add following your little research trip.”

That’s not my job has never been in my vocabulary, but I’d be lying if I said the words didn’t threaten to slip out. Instead, I press my lips into a firm line and nod.

“Good. Play nice you two.”

With that, he’s gone. Adam and I are left to stare at each other, neither of us speaking. The silence grows from uncomfortable to unbearable. Finally, I pivot and march around the desk, giving Adam a wide berth, then take a seat and crack open my laptop. “If that’s all, I’ve got some work to do.”

Adam leans forward, bracing his hands on my desk. I wish I could say it did nothing for me, but I’d be lying. His broad shoulders strain against the light blue fabric of his sweater. His eyes are wrinkled at the corners, something like a grimace overtaking his otherwise flawless features.

“I don’t have to do it, Cora.”

I drop my gaze to the loading screen on the computer. Easier to resist him this way. It was my fault, anyway. I let myself catch feelings for him without thinking through what it would do to our working relationship, or what it might look like to our boss. “What’s done is done,” I say tersely. “You already volunteered. He’ll be expecting you to.”

I sense more than see his shoulders slump. His fingers curl into fists against the dark oak desk. “I was just trying to help.”

Regret laces the edges of his voice, but I’d do well to remember I haven’t made it this far by not protecting my own heart. “If there’s nothing else, I’m really busy, Adam. Lots to prepare for.” I drum nonsense into the keyboard, grateful he can’t watch it appear on the search bar of my otherwise blank screen.

He clicks his tongue, but accepts his defeat, slowly backing away from my desk. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

I shake my head but don’t look up. “You heard Sturge. I’ll be getting everything together.”

“Need help?”

“Nope.”

He sighs as he turns the doorknob. “Friday then?”

“Guess so.”

“Great.” Somehow, the word is filled with warmth, despite the cold shoulder I’m giving in return. “Enjoy your coffee, Cora.”

The door shuts behind him with a soft thud, leaving me cocooned in my own irritated silence. I stare at the screen for a ridiculous amount of time. At the cup from Sugar on Top for even longer.

But eventually, my resolve breaks. After a spin in the employee microwave, I do enjoy my coffee. Begrudgingly.