Chapter 6 #2
But maybe Annie’s too worn out for evasive maneuvers. Maybe she’s reached that point where keeping it all inside costs more than saying it.
“My desk had been touched,” she says finally. “This morning.”
I let the grin go. “What do you mean?”
She stares down into her coffee. “Drawer open. Pen cup moved, papers shifted. Tiny stuff.” Her mouth twists. “Tiny enough that I almost convinced myself I was imagining it.”
“And you weren’t.”
“No.” She swallows. “Then I checked my camera bag.” I don’t interrupt. Just wait. “One of my SD cards is gone.”
Cold moves through me. “From your camera?”
“Yeah. It had old photos on it,” she says. “From other jobs, trips, family stuff. Things I don’t…” She exhales deeply. “Things I don’t keep anywhere else.”
I push away from the dresser and sit in the leather chair across from her, elbows on knees. “Back up. Why wouldn’t you keep copies?”
A humorless laugh slips out of her. “I do. Usually. Just… not all of them. Not neatly.” She rubs one hand over her face.
“I move a lot. I get behind. Sometimes I tell myself I’ll sort everything later, and then later turns into six months and a contract extension, and another town, another room, and apparently one day I die under a pile of poorly organized external storage. ”
I should smile at that.
I don’t.
Because now I’m irritated at whoever thought it was a good idea to go through her things.
“At first I thought maybe I lost it,” she says. “Maybe I dropped it. Maybe I switched cards and forgot.” She gives me a brittle shrug. “But I didn’t.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell Silas?” I ask.
Her laugh this time is immediate and disbelieving. “Oh, hell no.”
“Why not?”
She gives me a look over the rim of her glass. “Because your brother has all the warmth of a locked office.”
“Yeah,” I muse. “You might be right about that.”
Her mouth twitches.
“And Cody?” I try.
“Cody is already watching me like a hawk. I don’t think he’d appreciate a slip-up like this.”
“I don’t think you need to worry quite so much.”
She leans back against my headboard and stares up at the ceiling.
“I’ve been here a week, Duke. I already found weird vendor charges.
I’m the new outsider in a town that apparently runs on gossip and casseroles.
The last thing I need is to be the woman who loses things and starts making accusations. ”
I rise and cross to the dresser, mostly so I can move this irritation somewhere useful. I cut a lemon bar with more force than necessary and hand it over.
She blinks. “What’s this for?”
“Emergency dessert.”
“That’s not a real category.”
“It absolutely is. Ask anybody who’s survived this family.”
She takes it despite herself, and I watch the smallest bit of tension ease from her mouth when she bites in.
Good.
I take the chair again
“I hate that this upset me so much,” she says, the words a dagger to my heart.
“Why?”
“Because it’s embarrassing.”
I bark out a laugh. “Honey, half this town nearly fistfights over pie auctions and seed prices. Nothing about being human is dignified.”
“That’s a terrible comfort.”
“It’s what I’ve got.”
She smiles through the threat of tears, and that right there nearly finishes me.
Because it’s the bravest thing I’ve seen all day, that little smile while hurting.
I set my plate down on the floor and stand before I think too hard about it. Cross to the bed to sit beside her. Close enough that if she wants comfort, she won’t have to reach far.
She watches me come, eyes wide and wary and more underneath.
“Duke…”
“You don’t have to say anything else,” I tell her. “You can just sit here a minute.”
She swallows. Nods once.
We do.
The record crackles softly through the next song. A slow one. Of course.
Somewhere downstairs a door shuts, footsteps pass, life keeps happening beyond this room.
But in here, it feels suspended.
Her shoulder is maybe two inches from mine. Her perfume… vanilla, rain, coffee gone cold. Every instinct in me wants to close the distance.
Every instinct in her body seems to mirror that tension, subtle and fragile, as if the room itself is holding its breath.
I should probably move. But I don’t.
Instead, because apparently I’m a fool, I say, “I’ve been trying not to think about kissing you since Tuesday.”
She turns so fast the blanket slips from one shoulder. “What?”
I could laugh it off, turn it into a joke. Pretend I didn’t just throw a lit match into dry grass.
I don’t.
“I said,” I answer, “I’ve been trying not to think about kissing you since Tuesday.”
Her lips part.
“Why Tuesday?” she asks, and help me, she sounds breathless.
“Because Monday you were new and I was being respectful. Tuesday you looked at me in the kitchen like you were trying to decide if I was trouble, and I’ve been doomed ever since.”
A flush rises under her freckles. She doesn’t pull away.
I can feel my pulse in my hands.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispers.
“Probably.”
“You’re my boss.”
“One of them.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“I know.”
“And your brothers—”
“Will have opinions no matter what I do.” I tip my head, trying to catch her gaze fully. “What matters right now is what you want.”
For one long second, neither of us moves.
Then her eyes drop to my mouth.
That’s it.
That’s all it takes.
I lift one hand slowly. Slow enough for her to stop me, turn away, laugh. To throw the lemon bar at my head.
I touch the edge of the blanket near her shoulder first, not her skin. Giving her room. Giving her the choice.
When she doesn’t pull back, my fingers slide lightly to the side of her neck.
She shivers.
“Annie,” I say, because I need to hear “no” if it’s there.
Instead she whispers, “You talk too much.”
I grin helplessly. “You like that about me.”
“Maybe.”
And then she leans in first.
I kiss her.
And hell.
I knew there was chemistry. I’m not blind. I’ve been carrying the suspicion around for days, hot and bright and inconvenient as sin. But suspicion has nothing on the reality of her mouth on mine.
She tastes of cold coffee, sugar, and restraint finally snapping.
She makes this tiny sound low in her throat, and my whole body goes hot and tight at once. I shift closer without thinking, one hand sliding around to the back of her neck, the other catching at her waist through the blanket.
She turns toward me fully, one hand fisting in my shirt. She’s decided I’m either anchor or problem and hasn’t chosen which yet.
Maybe both.
Definitely both.