Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
THEO
Isprint to my room and slam the door behind me, flinching at the unintended sound.
Everything is out of my control. Wrong. Everything is wrong.
This is wrong. I’m wrong… and the soup. That’s wrong, too.
It’s ready. It’s probably bubbling over, and I need to turn it off, but all I can do is shut myself away.
Five minutes. I need five minutes to gather my thoughts.
That isn’t what happens.
Collecting myself turns into pacing the room, and five minutes turns into half an hour. I can’t avoid Evie forever. We work together. Right now, we’re living together. No, avoiding isn’t an option. This is precisely why I don’t get involved with the people I work with.
Going back and kissing her until we’re breathless isn’t an option either, even if it’s what I want to do.
The more time I spend away from her—blocked from her sugary smile and sweet laughter—the surer I am of what I must say. This happened because we avoided our feelings instead of setting boundaries, but we’re adults. We can do better.
I force myself to leave the room. Every step feels like I’m stuck in Jello, slow and graceless.
If I hide from her, I don’t have to talk about my feelings—the feelings I’m not allowed to have.
How I feel for her makes me a bad boss and friend, and I don’t want to be either of those things. I’m better than that—aren’t I?
Evie stands by the stovetop, wooden spoon in hand, looking at me with wide eyes. It’s like she didn’t expect me to come out at all.
“I think it’s done,” she murmurs.
“It is.” I keep my head ducked low as I move closer.
How embarrassing. I can’t even look her in the eye. It’s like I’ve never kissed someone before—and I’ll admit, it’s been a while, but it hasn’t been so long that I should act like this.
The kiss isn’t the problem. That’s not what makes my skin crawl. All the reasons we can’t kiss again—and how badly I want to—drive me wild. I don’t know how to address it. Maybe she doesn’t, either.
Evie shuffles away. The kitchen is clean now, and her dough is nowhere to be seen, so she’s found a way to keep busy. Lucky her. I haven’t. All I’ve been able to do is think about her soft lips and how her hips felt under my touch.
“I’ll get you a bowl.” It’s the least I can do. “Want to continue watching our movie?”
“Sure. I’ll put it on.”
We’ve been taking turns picking entertainment, but we’ve been stuck on my choice for the last few nights—a ridiculously long documentary. Hopefully, we can finish it tonight, but that’s not why I asked her to stay with me.
We have to talk.
I carry our bowls to the living room and set them on the coffee table. Instead of sitting on the couch, like I usually do, I get comfortable in the rocking chair—as much as I can be in a wooden chair.
Evie sits in the middle of the couch, looking lost. She stares into the depths of the soup, and I stare at the TV screen.
“I’m sorry.” Eventually, my apology breaks the silence.
“Don’t—“
“I am. I’m sorry—and I’m sorry that I’m sorry.” It’s like I’m fighting to get the words out, my throat closing up with each sentence I utter.
“But it’s fine.” Her voice goes soft. “I wanted it. I wanted to kiss you, Theo.”
That should make it better, but it doesn’t. I finally meet her gaze, and my heart splinters. Guilt and need shatter me. The pieces fly in different directions, pulling me two ways. I don’t know how to feel. She wanted to kiss me, and there’s a good chance she still wants it. I do, too.
Her soft lips on mine are all I can think about. They’re tugged into a frown now, and I want to do anything to make her smile again.
“It was unprofessional,” I intone. “Professionalism is important, considering our situation. What happened in the kitchen… it can’t happen again. Don’t you agree?”
Hell, I hardly agree with myself. I clutch my spoon tighter, waiting for her confirmation. That will make it easier to hold myself back.
“You’re right. It can’t happen again.” She looks down at her bowl, pushing vegetables around with her spoon. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”
I groan, rubbing a hand over my face. How am I supposed to eat when she’s saying things like that? My stomach twists and turns like I’m on a boat. I set my bowl aside, abandoning the idea of dinner completely.
“You can tell anyone you want,” I say. “We can tell HR if that makes you more comfortable. This isn’t supposed to be a… a dirty secret.”
It’s not a secret—it was a mistake, but saying it aloud will only make her feel worse. The thought splinters off and settles next to the torn-up pieces of my heart.
“But I don’t want that.” She shakes her head. “I like my job.”
“You won’t lose your job. I can have you relocated. You can work for someone else or in another part of the office. Maybe for Christine. You like her, right?”
“I guess.” Her face screws up like she may cry, and the boat in my stomach rocks harder.
“It’s just for the summer, right?” I murmur.
“Right.” Her shoulders slump. “But I don’t want to leave…”
“Then what do you want to do?”
“It’s a summer job, like you said.” She exhales. “We can forget it and be professional for one season. Right?”
I was the one to mention professionalism, but she says it now—like a challenge—and I doubt myself. I doubt us. How are we supposed to pretend nothing ever happened? I would kiss her again if she asked, professionalism be damned.
“Right,” I say, without feeling the words.
That’s that, I guess.
We finally finish the documentary—without saying another word. The silence between us is no longer the comfortable quiet I’m used to. It’s thick, with each of us tiptoeing around the broken pieces of desire I’ve left on the ground.
But I didn’t leave my need for her behind at all, did I? It’s still with me, more prominent than ever, when we crawl off to separate beds. I can’t find any relief. She’s still all that’s on my mind.
EVIE
This is my happy face. I’m so happy it hurts. It really, really hurts.
I spend the morning on calls, he spends the morning in the forest, and I wear my happiest face. Everyone I have a call with can see me smiling ear-to-ear as if I’m not… if I’m not…
What is wrong with me?
In reality, nothing is happening, and I’m completely fine. This isn’t a breakup. It’s not a rejection. I don’t need to feel so down in the dumps, but I do. Wanting someone and knowing they want you, but being unable to have each other, has to be the worst feeling. I would rather be rejected.
I close my laptop, and the smile finally slides from my face. My gaze lands on the blank wall in front of me. Life would have been much easier if I had worked at my brother’s shop. Sure, my pockets would be lighter, but at least I wouldn’t be stuck with a man who doesn’t want me around.
Or maybe he does want me. I don’t know—I’m done pretending I understand the first thing about Theo Roche.
Either way, it’s complicated. He’s right. I like my job, and we have to keep it professional. Even if I were willing to give up the job, Theo would not want to be with me. Everett already told me exactly what kind of man he is. His work always comes first. He doesn’t even date.
This is so silly. I should have known better.
My finger hovers over my phone, right over Everett’s contact. We’ve only been talking over text since I arrived in Finland, but he’s not worried about me. Of course, he’s not—I’m here with his friend. There’s nothing to worry about.
The door opens, and I close my eyes, willing for it to be anyone else stomping inside. Be a murderer. Be one of my coworkers—well, not creepy Rod, but someone else.
No one else has the key, so it’s unsurprising when Theo is the one who speaks.
“Want to get lunch?” he asks. “My treat.”
I force another smile. “It’s always your treat.”
What excuse can I come up with? He knows my schedule—it’s connected to his schedule.
“Amy from accounting told me about a spot. Come on.”
The spot in question is a grill in the town center. It’s nothing special, but at this point, it comforts me—I don’t want anything special from Theo. The signals keep getting mixed up, and an ordinary lunch is exactly what I need.
I would have been happy to stay home and eat leftover soup.
There’s no indoor dining. The grill is a tiny hut, and we stand at the front of it, scanning the paper menus. They’re in Finnish, of course, but the pictures are helpful. It quickly becomes clear the restaurant is meant to appeal to Americans—or to Finnish people who enjoy American food.
“I can’t believe there’s a cheeseburger on the menu,” I whisper. “Isn’t that so… American?”
“The inspiration for hamburgers comes from Germany.” He lifts a brow. “Just listen to the name, Evie. Hamburg. I can’t believe I’m teaching you about food.”
“You aren’t teaching me anything.” I suppress a smile. “Everyone knows that.”
He leans over, his eyes twinkling as he nudges his shoulder against mine. “Either way, I wouldn’t recommend ordering the hamburger. The kebab is probably better, right?”
I force myself to look back down at the menu and clear my throat. “I don’t know. The fries and meatball option looks interesting.”
He wrinkles his nose. “Do you think Amy steered us wrong? Be honest.”
I lift a shoulder, smiling hesitantly. “We won’t know until we try.”
At least there’s nothing romantic about it. We sit at the little wooden tables in the frigid weather, bundled under several layers of jackets and sweaters. The french fry and meatball option is precisely what one would think. It’s a plate of… well, french fries and meatballs.
“It really is an interesting combination,” I mutter, spearing a bit of both onto my fork.
I tilt my head to the side as I chew, considering the flavors. There isn’t much going on aside from the saltiness of the fry, and there may be a hint of rosemary in the meatballs. Maybe a little sweetness. It’s just… fine.
“Well?” Theo asks.
After a moment of consideration, I grin. “It’s not bad. I’ve had worse.” I’ve had better, too, but the last thing I want is to complain and ruin the mood. “Let’s bring the combination to America.”
Theo has a plate of vegetables and kebabs, which seems more appropriate, but he eyes my lunch like a hawk.
“Let me see…” He leans, but stops halfway, his eyes lingering on mine.
Theo is too comfortable around me, and it’s too late to take it back. He remains frozen in mid-air. I swallow, hoping the tension will break.
“On second thought…” He sits back and eats a bite of his chicken kebab instead. “I’m not in the mood for meatballs.”
I click my tongue. “Then you’re tasteless. I should have known. The meatballs are the best part, hands down.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it.” He lifts a cup of water.
I do the same without thinking about it, desperate to keep my hands busy. I can’t quite meet his eye.
Will this be how the rest of the trip is? Now that I know how his lips taste and feel, I won’t be able to get my mind off him… and I won’t be able to stop thinking about it, stop wanting it.
“How did it go in the woods today?” I ask weakly, trying to focus on work. He wants me to be professional, and I swear I can do it. Why is this so hard?
I don’t join him in the woods every day. I’ve taken videos of him in the woods a few times, but there’s more for me to do around the cabin. Staying inside gives me more time to bake, too.
Another boss wouldn’t like me spending my working hours focusing on whether or not my dough is rising, but Theo has been supportive. He gets something from it, too. Who doesn’t like fresh bread?
“It went great,” he says. “Planted a little, the forester gave a great lecture, and I got to help cut a tree down.”
“You chopped those big trees?” My eyes widen. “That seems dangerous.”
“It’s not.” He chuckles. “I’ve done it before, a few times. Why? Are you worried about me?”
I narrow my eyes, covering up how the question makes me feel—flustered, palms sweaty, heart racing. “Of course, I’m worried about you. You’re the one who signs my paycheck, aren’t you?”
He roars with laughter. “That’s all I’m good for, huh?”
“Yes.” I smile to myself and cut a meatball in half. “It is.”
“As I suspected. What’s on your agenda for the rest of the day?”
“You mean our agenda?” I lift a brow. “We have a phone call after this. I hope you didn’t forget.”
“How could I?”
I tilt my head to the side. “Well… I think you would forget your head if I weren’t around to remind you about it.”
“What about tomorrow, then?” He seems to be pressing me with his words, his eyes sparkling as he leans in. “I want you to come into the woods again.”
“Do you?”
I only went into the forest with him on the first day. Between mosquitoes and a lack of cell phone service, it’s not the ideal place for me. I have plenty of work to attend to back at the cabin.
He nods. “You haven’t planted your first tree.”
“Is that a requirement?”
“Well… no.” He frowns. “But I would like to allow you to do it. There’s no better feeling than giving back to the earth.”
I don’t know why I’m so nervous about the idea. I’ve seen him plant a tree, and the others have done it, too—even people who are new on the job, like me. It seems easy enough. They all work together, and I know I won’t be alone.
Still, my heart races like there’s a spotlight on me. He wants to make sure I get the chance to help give life to a new tree, and for some strange reason, I want to make him proud.
“All right,” I say. “I can free up our schedule for tomorrow.”
“Good.” He grins and leans back, accepting the answer. “Because I’m putting you to work in the forest. You’re getting your hands filthy.”
My jaw drops. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves!”
“Oh, you’ll love it.”
“I guess we’ll see.”