28. Fia
Fia
I’ve never been so thankful for my daughter’s full diaper. The lawn is enormous and yet it still felt like I was pressed right up against him again. Will I ever not feel the heat from his chest, remember the smell of his cologne or the weight of his arm around me?
This is bad.
I have a full-blown crush on my very off-limits boss.
That’s why I whisper words of gratitude to my daughter as I dash barefoot back to the guesthouse—because if we stood there for another minute, making pleasant small talk while he looked like a sweaty professional athlete chiseled from the gods, I was going to say something stupid.
Like invite him over to split that last pint of ice cream in the freezer. Or make a joke about how all six feet something of him is better than my heated blanket.
Seriously, it’s a miracle I held it together.
This coming weekend marks halfway. Three more weeks until I’m back in my house, and Caden is here alone. Sure, if he invited me to eat dinner at his house again, or if he happened to be at the pool tonight, I wouldn’t be mad.
If anything, I’m dangerously curious. Every conversation, every interaction is like peeling back a layer. I wasn’t aware that getting to know someone could be downright addicting.
Daisy smacks the high-chair tray, happier now that she has a clean diaper.
Hamburger weaves under her seat like a dog, waiting for something to drop. She dropped a piece of salmon one time, and now Hamburger is there, every snack, every meal, hopeful.
“That’s it, we are out of blueberries until we get to the store this weekend. I’m sorry, baby.” I toss the rest of the cut berries onto Daisy’s tray.
“You excited to move back home soon?” I ask her while I stir cream into my second cup of coffee.
A pinch of guilt climbs like a vine up my chest until it rests in my throat as I glance around this little light-filled kitchen, admiring the pristine countertops and drawers that fully shut.
“Hmm,” I hum aloud, leaning my hip against the counter, dragging my finger over the brand-new dishwasher beside me.
I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that this place is starting to feel like home.
It’s all temporary though, I know that—I can’t live forever in a cottage in my boss’s yard.
If I did, eventually I’d probably end up telling him how I feel about him—that I’ve started watching through the windows for his Jeep to pull down the driveway, that I look forward to our daily interaction, no matter how miniscule.
A tiny part of me dangerously wonders if he has feelings for me, too.
Hamburger leaps onto the counter, snapping me out of the daydream. I pull out my phone and open up Halle’s text thread.
Fia: How’s it going today? Thanks for helping out with training.
Halle: These new girls aren’t you. I miss you. Give the little mushroom a kiss from me.
Fia: Will do! So, I think I may have an issue. I think I might have feelings for our boss.
Halle: It’s about freaking time you admit it. Did something happen?
Butterflies swarm my stomach, and I can’t fight back the grin on my face.
Fia: Other than me falling asleep on him last night, or him invading my every thought . . . no. But even IF he felt the same way, I can’t date right now.
Halle: WHAT!
Halle: You can’t just drop that on me with no explanation. I’m hiding in the supply closet right now screaming. I need details . . . and what do you mean you can’t date?
Fia: Look at my track record. I’ve had one boyfriend, and look how that turned out.
Halle: Fia, imagine I’m holding your head in my hands right now. Listen to me. Caden IS NOT brETT.
I bite my lip, bare foot bouncing on the cool wooden floors. There are empty tubs of ice cream on the counter and Daisy’s medication next to the kitchen sink.
Caden isn’t Brett, she’s right.
My mind knows this, but my heart has yet to get the memo.