Chapter Eighteen
The next morning, both Jacqueline and Saoirse slept through breakfast, so it was just Ana and Ransom at the table.
Their suite had a dining room adjacent to the living room, and room service had brought up platters of eggs Benedict with a side of roasted potatoes for each of them and a bowl of steel-cut oats with currants and coconut for Saoirse, which currently sat covered and untouched.
Ana sat next to Ransom, who was seated at the head of the table, a cup of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in the other.
Ana was glad for the paper—it was a nice distraction, something for Ransom to pay attention to that wasn’t her.
She didn’t know how to look at him after last night, how to talk to him when she had made such a fool of herself.
Her mind replayed the scene in vivid detail—how she had closed her eyes and leaned in—how obvious she had made it that she had thought he was about to kiss her.
And in response, he had gotten up and moved away from her.
It was mortifying. She didn’t know how she was supposed to endure a whole four-hour car ride with him back to Cliffhaven without spontaneously combusting from embarrassment.
“Are you all right?” Ransom asked as he set the paper down. “You seem a little off this morning.”
“I’m fine,” Ana said, keeping her eyes trained on her breakfast tray and spearing a cube of potato.
Ransom glanced at his watch. “We should get on the road soon,” he said. “I suppose I shall have to go wake them.”
“Did they get in late?” Ana asked.
“You didn’t hear them? It was like the storming of the Bastille at two in the morning.”
“Two in the morning?” Ana said. “The play was that long?”
“No,” Ransom said. “They seemed to have enjoyed themselves after the play was over. And if either of them regurgitates any of last night’s enjoyment in my car today, I will be cross indeed. I’ve just had the upholstery cleaned.”
Ana didn’t say anything and took another bite of her eggs Benedict. She could feel Ransom surveying her, and her face felt suddenly warm.
“Have I done something to offend you?” Ransom asked after a moment.
“No,” Ana said. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She busied herself with her napkin instead. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because you’ve barely made eye contact with me all morning,” Ransom said.
Ana sighed and forced herself to look at him. “You’re imagining things.”
“Ana, kindly, don’t insult my intelligence,” Ransom said. “Just tell me what I’ve done to upset you.”
“It’s nothing,” Ana said. “It’s just—I feel a little weird around you after last night and the . . . the kiss.”
“What kiss?” Ransom asked, looking confused.
“Well, it wasn’t an actual kiss,” Ana corrected herself.
“It was more of an almost kiss.” She felt even more insane and silly saying this all out loud.
“Last night, in the other room, on the couch. See?” She nodded toward the aforementioned couch, which sat in perfect view of their table, just through a set of open French doors.
The couch existed, and therefore the kiss—or the almost kiss—had too.
“We were talking,” Ana went on, “and I thought you were going to—you know—but then you didn’t. ”
Ana stared down at her plate. She desperately wished for a shovel so she could dig a hole through the floor and escape from his gaze. She could feel his eyes focused so intently on her, and her cheeks flamed. Why did she open her mouth? Why had she started talking at all?
“But I did want to kiss you,” Ransom said matter-of-factly. “That’s why I got up and walked away.”
Ana looked up at him. “See, that’s not usually what someone does when they want to kiss someone.”
“I wanted to, but I didn’t think I should,” Ransom said. “I’m your employer. And I’m older than you.”
“Not so much older,” Ana said quickly.
“Yes, well, still your employer,” Ransom said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to get romantically involved.”
“Oh, yes, I’m in complete agreement there,” Ana said heartily.
“You are?”
“Absolutely,” Ana said. “I’m not in love with you, Ransom. It was a momentary attraction thing. And I’m very happy for it never to happen again.”
“Good,” Ransom said. He was quiet for a moment. “At the same time,” Ransom went on, “I don’t think we need to avoid each other completely. I like spending time with you. I enjoy your company.”
“You do?” Ana asked.
“Is that so hard to believe?”
“Kind of,” Ana said. “You so rarely look like you enjoy anything.”
Ransom laughed.
“So where does that leave us, then?” Ana asked.
“Well, I don’t see why we can’t be friends,” Ransom said.
“Friends,” Ana said, as if it were a foreign word she was trying on for the first time. “Yes, all right. Friends.”
Ransom reached out his hand.
“What are you doing?” Ana asked.
“Shaking on it,” Ransom said.
“Is a verbal agreement not enough?”
“Don’t be so contrary, Ana,” Ransom said. “People have been using handshakes to solidify deals and alliances for centuries. Medieval knights would shake hands to show they weren’t carrying any weapons.”
“Fine,” Ana said, rolling her eyes but extending her hand all the same. “I’m just saying, I have a lot of friends, and we’ve never shaken on it. Things have turned out fine so far.”
Ransom took her hand in his. His hand was so much bigger than hers. It was warm and steady, and the way he held on to her made her stomach do a not-unpleasant twist.
Ana swallowed. “Is there anything else we need to do?” she asked. “Exchange blood oaths, perhaps? Do some sort of chant?”
Ransom smiled but let her hand go. She immediately missed the weight of his hand on hers, his warmth.
“No, that will suffice,” Ransom said.
“Good,” Ana said.
She drew her hand back into her lap under the table. As she absently traced the lines of her palm with her left thumb, she sent up a silent prayer that the promise they’d both made wouldn’t be so hard to keep.