Fourteen #2
Can’t argue with baseball logic. “I’m happy you’re coming along today, experiment or not.”
“My lack of gardening skills might make me a liability.”
“Experience doesn’t matter,” I assure her. “Each year we get volunteers of all ages and abilities. Don’t worry, we’re not
going to give you a chainsaw and aim you at the nearest tree.”
“That would make a good scene for a rom-com,” she says. “Or a gruesome thriller, depending on which way you spin it.”
Her imagination is equal parts cool and terrifying. “Glad we’re going for the romance vibe. I don’t need to worry about you mistaking my arm for a tree limb.”
She laughs. “Speaking of romance...” Out of the corner of my eye, I notice she’s toying with the hem of her shorts nervously.
With effort, I refocus on the road. “There are going to be people around today. Let’s just stick to being ourselves. Role-play
will just make things trickier and I’m already out of my element.”
“Fine by me. I’m going to have my hands full already keeping you away from the power tools.” I’m glad we’re shedding the games.
If Mia reacts to me today, I won’t have to second-guess it. “You cool with a stop at my work? I need to pick up a few things
before we meet the crew at the site.”
“Sounds good, but can we grab some food?”
“Got it covered.” I turn into the parking lot of our favorite breakfast spot.
“My hero,” she says airily. Ha. The heroes she writes wouldn’t need a trope test to push them to make a move. Then again,
none of them have to worry about losing their best friend if they do.
I head inside but the order isn’t ready. By the time I get back to the idling truck, Mia’s dozing, mouth slack, sunglasses
askew. Adorable. For once, I don’t block the surge of affection, and my breath catches with a hitch of relief, like the cool
burst of lake water on bare skin at the height of summer.
But our pledge to not screw things up with romance hangs over my head, like always, compounded by the confines of the trope
test. I turn off the A/C and power down the windows to distract myself, letting in the comforting scents of sod and mulch
from the freshly landscaped median.
While I navigate the familiar route to work, it’s easy to feel like this is a typical day. But the moment we’re in my office,
everything changes.
Mia flops into my desk chair and spins in circles, gripping the armrests. “Maybe I had it wrong. Your office is ripe for a workplace romance.”
She’s got a look in her eye that tells me she’s up to something. “What do you mean?” I grab a clipboard and thread a pencil
through the top.
“Your desk is all tidy and organized. Practically begging you to sweep everything to the floor and do decidedly un-HR-approved
things to me.”
My mind goes there in an instant. Mia on the desk, me between her legs, slipping my hand under the flimsy hem of those shorts...
I glance at the closed door, a full body flush taking over. “What about getting caught?”
“That would only heighten the tension,” she says. “At some point our desires would reach the breaking point.” She says this
in a matter-of-fact way that shouldn’t have my mind racing after possibilities.
“We’d have to be quick.” And I’d want to take my time, knowing this might be our only chance.
“It would be messy.” Her words are a promise. “Spilled coffee, ink stains. Might even break your keyboard.”
“I’ve been wanting to replace it anyway.” My thighs bump the desk. Somehow I’ve moved closer, drawn by her voice.
She hasn’t moved, though. She’s holding herself very precisely. Both hands on the armrests of the swivel chair, fingers curled
tight, posture rigid. But her legs are splayed, lips parted. Almost controlled, but not quite.
And there it is again, the reckless urge to shatter her poise, pull her down with me to the place where desire clashes with
duty in tantalizing friction.
“With you on top of it, you think I’d worry about the state of my desk for even a second?” Hell no. “You’d command every ounce
of my attention.”
There. Subtle, but unmistakable. The moment she lets go, her gaze dips in a hungry sweep along my lips, neck, down my chest, making my abs clench, and the desk is low enough that—
The door swings open. I startle at the noise and my elbow bangs against the computer monitor, which topples over and knocks
my employee of the month plaque to the floor, like a Rube Goldberg machine gone haywire.
My boss stands in the doorway, surveying the chaos. “Thought you were volunteering today.” Her gaze lands on Mia, who froze
the moment the door opened. “Mia Brady.” The name is infused with all the warmth of an aunt greeting a long-lost niece she
hasn’t seen in years. “You’re even prettier than your author photo.”
Mia sits up straighter. “Um, thank you.”
Stooping to retrieve the framed award, I tell her, “This is my boss Faye.”
“One of them,” she says with a grin. “My husband’s a late riser. Never makes it in until afternoon.” She puts her hands on
her khaki-clad hips. “Come to think of it, why are you here this morning? Aren’t you supposed to be meeting the crew at that
vacant lot on Fifth Street?”
“Just picking up some supplies.”
“Well, get on with it. Don’t want people thinking our employees are slackers.” She winks at Mia.
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t shirk his duties.”
Faye laughs. “Wait until I tell the book club you stopped by. We’ve got tickets to that convention in Chicago in a couple
weeks and you’re the first booth we plan to stop at.”
“Awesome,” Mia says. “I’ll be sure to put together some extra goodies for your group. How many are there?”
“Well, aren’t you sweet,” Faye says. “There’s ten of us, counting my husband.” They tried to get me to join but I draw the
line at reading steamy books with my bosses. “Gavin, you ought to give her a quick tour since she’s here.”
“I thought you wanted us to hurry.”
She waves this off. “It’ll be another hour before they’re organized enough to get started.” Turning to Mia, she says, “Help
yourself to a free plant or two. Have Gavin show you the azaleas. You got a garden?”
I chuckle and usher Mia out. “It’s too early for your badgering, Faye.”
She huffs good-naturedly. “You’d better have made coffee, with that sass.”
“There’s a pot brewing, and I put a fresh carton of half-and-half in the fridge.” I push the exterior door open before she
bombards us with any more questions. Like what exactly we were doing in the office before she arrived. Because I’m pretty
sure the answer is verbal foreplay, and we’re not even in character today.
A quick tour turns into me troubleshooting the sprinkler system. Always something to fix around here. Cold water dripping
between my fingers, I stand up after turning on the tap and find Mia lowering a tomato plant to the concrete floor. “What
are you doing?”
In answer, she hops up on the table, scooching her butt around in a way that makes the wooden platform wobble. I take ahold
of the edge to steady it, and my thumb inadvertently brushes the silky skin of her thigh.
I adjust my grip, but don’t let go. Only because Faye would kill me if Mia took a tumble on my watch.
“Testing for stability.” She glances down at my hand but doesn’t move away. “How much weight do you think these tables can
hold?”
“Seriously, Mia?” My voice is gruff, frustrated at how easily I’m able to imagine the scene.
“Can’t pass up an opportunity for research.” She shimmies around in an alarmingly rhythmic way, and I do let go then, palming the back of my neck.
“Is your research always so... physical?” I’ve sure as hell never seen her do anything like that for research.
She slides down. “Never, actually. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” She sends me a coy look over her shoulder and it hits
me that she’s doing this on purpose. Flirting, toeing the line we’ve drawn. Maybe she’s more curious about this new electricity
between us than she lets on.
Whatever it is, the same feeling has me by the throat, pinned under a mixture of pleasure and the very real knowledge we’re
headed down a path we’ve vowed never to venture onto.
Maybe all this time spent learning about her process has kicked my own imagination into high gear. “If you’re looking for
romantic spots, I can do way better than a wobbly potting table.”
The humid warmth of the greenhouse sinks into my skin. Condensation slips down the fogged panes of glass in long, lazy drips.
The tang of soil reaches my nostrils, the hum of a box fan muted by the thick air. I inhale a breath of what feels like pure
oxygen, which must explain the heady feeling when I look down at Mia by my side.
“Gotta admit, I never got it until now.” She bends to sniff the delicate petals of a violet. “But I can see the vision of
a greenhouse hookup.”
“Oh, so is that a microtrope? Greenhouse sex?”
She grins at me over her shoulder. “Looks like someone did the assigned reading.”
“When have I ever not read something you recommended?”
“You’re a really cool guy, you know that, right?”
I shrug. “A decent one.”
“Never met a better one.” She says it so casually, but the compliment shimmers in the stillness, iridescent as a butterfly’s
wing.
I’m not sure what to say, or if I can even speak, because if that’s true, then what really is holding us back?
“I can see why you like working here,” she says, interrupting my thoughts. “It’s calming, and the view...” She turns in
a slow circle, taking in the rows of lush plants.
“Hard to beat,” I agree, watching her. “And Faye and Dale are like family.” Morris and Riley, too, though I’d never admit
it. “Can’t imagine working somewhere else.”
“Not even your family’s farm?”
Wondered when she’d bring it up. “I called my dad. He really is selling. He planned to tell me on my next visit and Scott
wasn’t supposed to say anything.”
She gives me a rueful smile. “Sounds like your brother.”
“Never doing as he’s told? Yeah.” I push my sleeves up to my elbows to combat the humid warmth. “I feel like there are things