Chapter 12
When was the last time Julien had held a woman’s hand like this?
Was it a major red flag that he was forty-six and had never been married?
Fear of commitment, poor work-life balance, and any number of negative personality traits would flit through a woman’s mind as the reason, he was sure.
They’d be wrong on the first count, probably too close to the truth for comfort on the second, and he figured it was all based off perspective on the third.
The truth was, he hadn’t consciously ended up single while approaching the corner to fifty.
After a failed engagement in his twenties, he’d comforted himself that he was still young and had plenty of time to find a woman to spend the rest of his life with.
In the meantime, he’d focus on his career and establish himself.
Be a man who could provide for a wife and family.
But the years got away from him, and proving himself to his father seemed ever within his reach but never within his grasp.
Martha’s fingers tightened around his. He looked down at their clasped hands. Her nails were a blush shade of pink and fit snuggly in between his knuckles, while the pads of his own fingers were cradled in the cutest, tiniest dimples he’d ever seen on the back of a hand.
It was nice, this connection to another person.
Physical contact. He hadn’t fully realized how much he missed and craved the simplicity of touch.
Would it feel this nice and fulfilling if he were holding any woman’s hand, or was the warmth spreading up his arm and through his body unique to being this close to Martha herself?
Now that they were up in the air and she seemed a little bit calmer, the right thing to do would be to pull away.
It was one thing to offer comfort when someone was on the verge of a panic attack, but continuing to touch a coworker in such an intimate, albeit innocent, way went against his carved-in-stone ethics regarding what was appropriate behavior between employers and employees.
Although Martha was more of an old family acquaintance, and that trumped a temporary contract, didn’t it?
Besides, the way she was clinging to him said she hadn’t quite conquered her fear yet.
And what kind of gentleman would deny a lady the support of his strength?
Keep fooling yourself, King.
He was making excuses. Yes, he’d initially taken her hand to offer comfort and hopefully stave off any sort of panic, but he’d quickly realized the act wasn’t entirely selfless. He was enjoying the feel of her hand in his way too much for that.
Over the course of the last couple of weeks, whenever he saw Martha or they conversed via email or texts, he’d experienced the same hyper awareness, the same chemical charge to his system that he’d had that day she’d walked into his office with her donation request. Same with the other day on Signal Mountain, first flirting with her at the pond and then later at the viewpoint, when it had felt so natural to open up to her, to share the burden that had been weighing him down so heavily lately.
He kept telling himself the physical attraction he felt toward her would dull and fade with time and exposure, but the opposite was happening.
The more time he spent with her and the more conversations they had, the more he appreciated her easy smile and tender heart.
She was passionate and intelligent and witty and kind, and despite how much of a bad idea it was to allow himself to feel anything beyond strict professionalism while there was a contract between them, he seemed powerless to extinguish the spark that ignited whenever they interacted.
The timing, however, couldn’t have been worse. He needed to stay single-mindedly focused on saving Squire and, in tandem, his father. He had spent so many years putting off any type of romantic relationship for this exact moment. He couldn’t jeopardize all he’d worked for now.
But after all was said and done? When he’d either proven his worth and capabilities to take over King Publishing or convinced his father to listen to reason, maybe then he could divide his energies and make room in his life for something else.
Someone else. Someone who’d be back to working in a library and not tied up in his own career.
“Julien?” Martha’s voice sounded small, jolting him out of his introspection.
He wasn’t sure if she was speaking quietly on purpose so as not to bother the sleeping passenger on the other side of him or because her fear wasn’t letting her talk any louder.
“Yeah?”
“This is going to sound silly, but would you tell me a story, please?” Her gaze flicked up to his, her long lashes skimming the arch of her brows.
“I need a distraction so my brain will stop visualizing this gravity-defying machine plummeting to the ground and exploding into a pile of twisted metal and flames.”
The guy beside him snorted. Not totally asleep, then.
“That’s some vivid imagery.” Julien kept the wry smile off his lips and out of his voice.
She agreed with a solemn nod of her head. “The dark side of imagination.”
He paused so he could think. “What kind of story?”
“I don’t care. Real or made-up, it doesn’t matter.”
He’d never been good at improv, but he’d give it a shot. “Once upon a time . . .” His voice trailed off as his mind blanked. If he was a storyteller, he could save Squire himself and save them all this trip. What came after once upon a time? Right. “Long, long ago . . .”
Martha waited, but when he couldn’t come up with anything to follow long, long ago, she glanced over at him. “You’re not very good at this, are you?”
“In my defense, I’m better at selling other people’s stories than creating my own.”
“Fair.” She lowered her gaze, and it seemed as if she was taking a turn at studying their clasped hands. She rotated her wrist, placing his on top. With her other hand, she fingered the stack of thin leather bracelets that circled his wrist. “What about these? Is there a story here?”
His chin jerked back in surprise. “My bracelets?”
“Yeah. I noticed them that first day in your office when they were trying to peek out from the cuff of your suit jacket. They seem like a very unique fashion choice to wear with business attire. Which makes me think there might be a story behind them.”
He thought a moment. He’d been wearing the strips of leather for so long that he had to stop to consider when he’d first started. A memory came to mind, sweet as the first bite of a ripe summer peach, and with it, he smiled.
“Once upon a time, long, long ago . . .”
The grin she threw him was cheeky. “Oh, we’re attempting this again?”
He playfully squeezed his fingers together in retribution for her teasing.
“As I was saying. Once upon a time, long, long ago, there was a little girl who lived in a little cottage. She wore her curly hair in braided pigtails and she liked to skip around and make up stories that featured a pink plastic pony and a troll with crazy purple hair and a gem for a belly button.”
Martha blinked, her eyes widening. “Wait. Are you talking about Sunsparkle and Norfin?”
One shoulder hitched. “I don’t know. Were those their names?”
“Oh my gosh, I haven’t thought of those toys in decades.” She let out a small laugh.
“That troll was creepy. I’m surprised it doesn’t haunt your nightmares.”
“He was not.” She checked him with her shoulder. “He was cute.”
Julien fake shuddered. “If you say so. Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted . . .” He cleared his throat dramatically. “There was this adorable little girl.” He looked down at her with his brows raised, daring her to interrupt again.
She rolled her eyes at his description of her, but her cheeks pinkened as well.
Julien grinned. “She made up enchanting stories about a magic horse and a creepy troll. One day, she was lost in her own make-believe world when she skipped right into a real-life troll. A very grumpy one, at that.”
One of her pale pink nails tapped at her lips as she tried to remember what incident Julien could be referring to.
He bent down, as if whispering a secret into her ear. “Spoiler alert, I was the troll.”
Her face scrunched up even more. “I don’t remember you being grumpy as a kid.”
“I was probably around eighteen at the time, so not technically a kid anymore. I guess that would’ve made you about ten?
I’d been in a foul mood that day because Dad had just told me I wasn’t allowed to go with my friends on this big trip we’d planned for the summer after graduation.
He expected me to do an official internship at the publishing house instead.
Anyway, I was upset, and I think I said something about how he didn’t want me to have any friends and his wish was going to come true because all of mine were going to have fun without me and forget about me. ”
“Wait. I think I remember this.”
“You pulled a friendship bracelet out of your pocket that you’d made by weaving different colored threads together and gave it to me.”
“I told you I’d be your BFF.” She twirled one of the bracelets around on his wrist. “That’s when you started wearing bracelets?”
He nodded. “Dad hated the thing. He’s not big on men’s jewelry anyway, but he definitely didn’t think a brightly colored friendship bracelet belonged in the conference room.
I was mad at him, so the fact he hated it made me want to wear it even more.
But I found I really liked the look of them too.
I’ve been wearing bracelets ever since.”
She studied his wrist, then raised her gaze and met his eyes. She seemed to be considering his story, but he couldn’t tell what she thought of it. Did it hit her in any sort of way like it did him?
It was weird. He’d never really given much thought to how their history might have shaped either of them as time went on.
He’d been practically carrying around a piece of her for most of his life, and he’d never even realized it.
Had he had any similar sort of impact on her from his albeit minimal influence in her formative years?
Slowly, her fingers flexed, and she disentangled her hand from his. The smile she gave him was small and guarded. “Thanks. You sufficiently distracted me from my spiraling doomsdaying. I think I’m good now.”
Julien glanced down at his now-empty hand. There were perfect pink circles on the back where her fingers had been. Now that her touch was no longer there, blood was rushing back, bringing with it a tingling sensation.
He lifted his gaze back up to Martha. He wasn’t wrong, was he? She had let go of his hand rather all of a sudden? Had he said something wrong? “You sure?”
She nodded, then pointed to the open window in the row in front of them. “Besides, I think we’re going to be landing soon.”
As soon as she said that, the pilot came on over the speakers and announced their final descent into Orlando, asking all passengers to return to their seats and informing them that the seat-belt sign was on and the flight attendants were going to make a final sweep of the cabin.
Julien faced forward, his spine pushing firmly into the back of his chair.
He tried to piece out the last few moments, but all he was left with was a sense of confusion.
His lack of experience with women wasn’t doing him any favors at the moment.
Somewhere along the line of his trip down memory lane with Martha, he must have upset her.
But when? And why? For him, that day had left a taste of sweet nostalgia on his lips. Was it not the same for her?
He glanced over at her. She was leaning her body away from him, supporting her opposite elbow on the armrest near the window, her gaze straight ahead. He thought about broaching the subject and simply asking her what was wrong, but after a second of consideration, he thought better of it.
He should just let it go. Things were probably better this way.
At least for now. All the reasons why he needed to ignore the chemistry he felt for her and keep his priorities firmly in place were still present.
His dad’s very life could be at stake if he lost focus now, and what could be a better reason than that?
Besides, in less than a month, their contract would be fulfilled.
He could wait until things in his professional life were settled.
However, this flight had made him realize a thing or two. One, he had a bit less self-control than he liked or cared to admit when it came to resisting Martha. Two, it didn’t seem like she had the same affliction.