leisurely gander around her living room before stopping on her face. She shifted on her feet but refused to look away. “We have a few minutes,” he said. “You sure about that tour?”
Ten minutes later they were in the limousine on their way to Columbus. “I don’t get it,” Shane said. He sat in the seat facing her, his back to the privacy panel shutting out the driver.
“What don’t you get?” Crickitt wrung her hands. What comment would he have about her hodgepodge apartment? Her decorating style ranged from contemporary to country, the embodiment of a patchwork quilt. There was a charcoal sketch of a bowl of fruit in her kitchen, an oversize black-and-white James Dean poster in her bathroom, and her guest bedroom was a homage to wicker furniture. She’d bet he couldn’t choose which room to be most appalled by.
“You get a soy milk latte with whipped cream,” he said.
“Yes,” she said, taking a moment to shift gears. “I do.”
“Why do you do that?”
“I don’t like milk, unless it’s whipped cream.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, I got a strange glance from the barista this morning.”
She blinked at the cup in her hand. “ You picked up the coffee?”
“Yeees.”
“I thought you had people to do that for you.” Isn’t that what rich people did? Hire others to run their errands?
“People?” he asked, bemused. “Well, every once in a while I stoop to do my own bidding.”
Great. Now she’d offended him. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”
“Relax, Crickitt, I know you didn’t.” He watched her for a beat, lips twitching, before he popped open his briefcase and extracted a pile of paperwork.
They lapsed into comfortable silence, Crickitt watching out of the tinted windows as Shane worked. Every once in a while he’d make a deep sound in his throat. It usually paired with him pinching his eyebrows together. Then he’d make a few scratches on the paper in front of him and continue to read, his thumb and finger pressed on either side of his bottom lip.
Watching him made the ride worthwhile. How often could she stare at him without worrying a co-worker might catch her ogling? Not often enough. He lifted his head and she flicked her eyes away.
Busted.
Fidgeting with the strap on her bag, she watched the buildings and cars pass by her window.
“You’re making me feel self-conscious,” he said. “Am I doing something strange?”
Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“Weren’t you just looking at me?”
She shook her head. “No, not at all.”
“You’d tell me if I had any weird habits, right?”
“Uh…”
The limo came to a stop, and Shane ducked his head to look out the window. “We’re here.”
After a small-town-diner-worthy breakfast and more coffee, Shane reviewed the details for their first meeting. “We don’t have to go over the file here if it’s too distracting. We can get a coffee to go, read it in the car if you like.”
“Can’t,” she said.
“You can’t what, read?” he joked.
“Not in the car,” she said.
“Ah. Well, in that case, let’s hang out and make the waitress’s day.”
At first she thought he was being facetious. “Hanging out” would clog up the young girl’s table. She’d miss tips from new customers. Crickitt opened her mouth to tell him so, when the waitress stopped to refill their coffee mugs.
“Excuse me, Debbie, is it?” Shane asked her.
“Yes,” Debbie said, pointing at her name tag.
Shane made small talk, asking Debbie about her job, how long she’d worked there, if she liked it. Crickitt watched as the young waitress succumbed to his charm. By the time Debbie had divulged that her full-time job made it harder to be a good mom to her three-year-old, Crickitt could see he’d won her over. Debbie couldn’t be more than twenty, twenty-one, tops. And while Crickitt guessed single motherhood was difficult at any age, she couldn’t imagine going it alone that young.
“Bear with
Ten minutes later they were in the limousine on their way to Columbus. “I don’t get it,” Shane said. He sat in the seat facing her, his back to the privacy panel shutting out the driver.
“What don’t you get?” Crickitt wrung her hands. What comment would he have about her hodgepodge apartment? Her decorating style ranged from contemporary to country, the embodiment of a patchwork quilt. There was a charcoal sketch of a bowl of fruit in her kitchen, an oversize black-and-white James Dean poster in her bathroom, and her guest bedroom was a homage to wicker furniture. She’d bet he couldn’t choose which room to be most appalled by.
“You get a soy milk latte with whipped cream,” he said.
“Yes,” she said, taking a moment to shift gears. “I do.”
“Why do you do that?”
“I don’t like milk, unless it’s whipped cream.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, I got a strange glance from the barista this morning.”
She blinked at the cup in her hand. “ You picked up the coffee?”
“Yeees.”
“I thought you had people to do that for you.” Isn’t that what rich people did? Hire others to run their errands?
“People?” he asked, bemused. “Well, every once in a while I stoop to do my own bidding.”
Great. Now she’d offended him. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”
“Relax, Crickitt, I know you didn’t.” He watched her for a beat, lips twitching, before he popped open his briefcase and extracted a pile of paperwork.
They lapsed into comfortable silence, Crickitt watching out of the tinted windows as Shane worked. Every once in a while he’d make a deep sound in his throat. It usually paired with him pinching his eyebrows together. Then he’d make a few scratches on the paper in front of him and continue to read, his thumb and finger pressed on either side of his bottom lip.
Watching him made the ride worthwhile. How often could she stare at him without worrying a co-worker might catch her ogling? Not often enough. He lifted his head and she flicked her eyes away.
Busted.
Fidgeting with the strap on her bag, she watched the buildings and cars pass by her window.
“You’re making me feel self-conscious,” he said. “Am I doing something strange?”
Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“Weren’t you just looking at me?”
She shook her head. “No, not at all.”
“You’d tell me if I had any weird habits, right?”
“Uh…”
The limo came to a stop, and Shane ducked his head to look out the window. “We’re here.”
After a small-town-diner-worthy breakfast and more coffee, Shane reviewed the details for their first meeting. “We don’t have to go over the file here if it’s too distracting. We can get a coffee to go, read it in the car if you like.”
“Can’t,” she said.
“You can’t what, read?” he joked.
“Not in the car,” she said.
“Ah. Well, in that case, let’s hang out and make the waitress’s day.”
At first she thought he was being facetious. “Hanging out” would clog up the young girl’s table. She’d miss tips from new customers. Crickitt opened her mouth to tell him so, when the waitress stopped to refill their coffee mugs.
“Excuse me, Debbie, is it?” Shane asked her.
“Yes,” Debbie said, pointing at her name tag.
Shane made small talk, asking Debbie about her job, how long she’d worked there, if she liked it. Crickitt watched as the young waitress succumbed to his charm. By the time Debbie had divulged that her full-time job made it harder to be a good mom to her three-year-old, Crickitt could see he’d won her over. Debbie couldn’t be more than twenty, twenty-one, tops. And while Crickitt guessed single motherhood was difficult at any age, she couldn’t imagine going it alone that young.
“Bear with
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