Sweet Twins For My Brother's Best Friend: An Enemies To Lovers Romance (The Sweet Twins Collection)

Chapter Six

Christopher

The warmth of Hannah”s office envelops me like a comforting embrace, contrasting with the chilly reception I received moments ago.

I can”t shake off the awkwardness of our interaction, my mind replaying the exchange with Hannah over and over again. Her firm words cut through my attempt at casual banter, reminding me that, to her, I’m just another client.

As I feel Lucy’s warm breath on my thigh as she snoozes peacefully in my lap, I can”t help but feel a sense of envy for the connection they share. The ease with which Hannah interacts with her furry companion highlights the stark contrast to my own failed relationships.

Julie”s departure still stings, leaving behind unresolved questions and lingering doubts about my ability to connect with others.

Lost in thought, I catch myself tracing the outline of Lucy”s fur with my fingertips, marveling at the softness of her coat. She stirs slightly at my touch, her tail wagging in response, and I can”t help but smile at the sight.

In this quiet moment, surrounded by the comforting presence of Hannah and Lucy, I feel a sense of peace wash over me.

The passing couple of hours are sweet. It feels good to spend time with a woman I have no sexual relationship with.

Besides my mom, obviously, I do spend time with her.

Hannah feels familiar, too, like banana bread you only get on holidays when, the moment you bite into it, you remember the tire swing in your back yard.

Hannah tells me about the ins and outs of her job, including the needy Tom who emails her far too much for her discounted rate, in her opinion.

She has an easy way about her when she talks about work and then a somewhat less easy way when she talks about herself.

I like the confident Hannah, the one who knows her worth, whose shoulders fly back when she tells me about the work she puts in to make this business successful.

She seems less confident about herself as a person – or as a woman.

I sit in the chair, eating some string cheese she handed me so that I didn’t have to get up and wake Lucy. My legs are falling asleep under the big dog’s body, and every once in a while I stretch out my feet, spinning my ankles in circles.

I’m facing Hannah, away from the door, while she types away on her little laptop.

I study her delicate profile, the curve of her ear kissing the slope of her neck. I note the small smattering of freckles against her jaw line and wonder what it would feel like to press my lips to each one, to trace the path they make.

“…so basically, because of that reallocation, he’ll be able to retire ten years earlier and spend the rest of his years on a houseboat with his wife,” Hannah brags, her smile wide.

She throws herself back against her desk chair, rocking back and forth, and clasps her hands together behind her head.

“That’s incredible,” I tell her, stroking her ego, watching her smile spread even wider under my words.

“It was pretty simple. He had everythingng already in front of him. He just needed someone to show him how to do it.”

Her chest is puffed, her shoulders back. Her voice is thick with pride.

“When did you know this is what you wanted to do with your life?” I ask her, looking over her shoulder at the documents she feels comfortable showing me, that don’t have any identifying information. Lucy’s ear is warm in my hand, and I have a feeling that I belong right here.

Shrugging, she says shyly, “I guess I can’t really say when I knew, but I’ve always been good with numbers. I used to balance my mom’s checkbook.”

“That’s a lot for little Hannah,” I tell her, suddenly feeling protective over her as a child.

I want to scoop her up, pluck her out of her childhood, and make it so that she never has to worry about adult problems again. I wonder who she would be instead, what she would be doing instead. Her body language shows her walling herself up.

Worrying that I touched on something too much to acknowledge, I reach out and touch her knee.

When she turns back to her laptop in silent response, I lap up the string cheese with just my tongue and tell her, “You’re incredible.”

I see the color creep up her neck and into her face and she pretends not to hear me.

For a moment, I consider repeating it and forcing her to acknowledge the truth about herself, but instead I just look at her concentration face, at the slight pursing of her lips, almost a pout, and the way her eyebrows disappear under her bangs.

Her hair shines in the sun like a penny on the sidewalk, and I can practically feel the warmth of the top of her head just looking at it. My hand aches to reach out and stroke it.

What is going on with me? You cannot have a crush on little Hannah Jackson.

Even if I did, I’m not sure I could allow myself to open up to Hannah, to let go of the past and embrace the possibility of something new. The fear of rejection claws at my chest, threatening to suffocate the fragile hope blooming within me.I sit on my hands and look around.

“So, what have you got in that kitchen?”

“Pretty much nothing,” she shrugs, grateful for the tone switch.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, I don’t really cook. And it’s really not much of a kitchen.”

“Why don’t you cook?”

“I just don’t. Why do you care?” she snaps at me, her eyes turning into slits as she swivels her head to look at me with bitter annoyance.

Her green eyes, a still and calming bed of clover just a moment ago, flash with anger.

Where did that come from?

“Whoa, I don’t care. I was just asking.” I put my hands up like I’m fending off an attack, and Lucy shifts a little on my lap.

“Well, don’t.” Her tone is still laced in venom that I don’t understand. I feel blindsided by it.

“I’m just hungry, you little turd,” I snap back, lashing at her the way I used to when she was just a youngster, full of angst and insults. “I’m not asking for an inventory of your kitchen.”

“Good.” Hannah turns back around, her wide mouth set in a look of defiant anger, and I relax my hands back onto Lucy’s soft fur, twisting the short hair between my fingers.

“Good.”

I’m embarrassed that I reacted like a frat boy bully instead of asking what was wrong. I consider broaching the subject now but fear the moment’s passed.

“Well, I guess I should leave you to it. You seem like you have a lot going on here, and I’m intruding.”

“Are you sure?” Hannah asks, her voice slightly warmer than before despite her not looking at me.

Although I feel slightly confused by the back and forth, I know she’s younger than me by about ten years.

Sometimes I try and remember what I was like ten years ago, the ball of anxiety that being 25 can be.

I imagine how I was back then, starting a business and trying to understand what it means to be a good man all at the same time.

All the hormones and the frustrations, the growing pains.

I see the little girl in Hannah, the one that wants me to sit back down and ask her what’s wrong. But I’ve also learned in those ten years the value of letting things simmer a while and not pushing boundaries.

“Yeah, you know, if we’re going to be working together, I’ll have to learn to avoid Lucy’s siren call.”

I flop one of her jet-black ears and try to lower her to the ground without waking her. She’s roughly the weight of a 3rd grader, and my arms strain at the odd angle mixed with the weight.

“I still haven’t figured that out, so good luck.” She smiles weakly and looks back at her screen.

“All right.” I stand awkwardly, not sure how to end the day. I reach out and pat her shoulder twice with a flat hand, and I swear I see a smirk flicker across her face before disappearing.

“Well, I’ll see you later.”

Her earlier invitation to stay echoes in my mind, tempting me to cross the threshold into uncharted territory.

My body is screaming at me to pick her up and sit her on her desk, but my mind is screaming at me to walk out the door before I do something I can’t take back. I listen to my mind and walk toward the front door.

“Bye, Chris,” she says as the bell rings above my head. “Don’t forget to make an appointment next time.”

I don’t say anything in return, the dismissal stinging.