She ignored him and studied the document, scrolling down the pages, and mentally walking through the event in her head as she’d learned to do. But it wasn’t easy to concentrate with Aaron hanging over her shoulder, his warmth making her overheat, and his peppermint breath pleasantly distracting. “It looks good to me.”
“That’s what you said the last two times I had you look it over. Not that I’m blaming you,” he added quickly. He patted her on the shoulder, his hand lingering there a fraction of a second too long.
Aaron was a flirt. Not the obnoxious kind, but maybe the kind that wouldn’t be so fun to be married to. In the past few weeks he’d definitely been turning on the charm when she was around. She hadn’t done anything to encourage him. At least she didn’t think so. But it was hard to work as closely as the two of them did and not become . . . friendly.
She scooted the chair back, forcing him to step aside. “If I were you, I’d just remind them that they pay us by the hour. That usually does the trick.”
“Will do.” He cleared his throat and glanced at his watch. “Hey, are you hungry? You wouldn’t want to go get something to eat, would you?”
She cringed inwardly. Maybe his invitation meant nothing more than two coworkers grabbing a bite to eat after work. They’d never done that in the past, and it wasn’t like him to act so nervous around her. It definitely seemed like there was a lot riding on her answer.
“Sorry, I’ve got plans already. But thanks.” She liked Aaron. Maybe more than she wanted to admit. She did consider him a friend. But she wasn’t ready for more than casual friendship. With Aaron, or with anybody else of the male persuasion. Besides, it would be way too complicated to become involved with a coworker. To become involved with anyone.
“How about this weekend? Wasn’t there a movie you wanted to see? We could—”
“Aaron . . .” She closed her eyes, scrambling for words that would let him down easy, realizing at the same time that she wanted to leave her options open. But that wasn’t fair to him. Either she was interested or she wasn’t. “I don’t think I’m quite ready.”
“Ready for what?”
Her face grew warm. “Maybe I’m misreading you. It . . . sounded like you were asking me on a date.”
“And if I was?”
She rose and pushed the chair back up to his desk, stepping toward the doorway. “I don’t think so. But I’m flattered you asked. I really am.”
He leaned against the desk, palms flat on the surface behind him, watching her with a sly smile. “And if I was just asking as a friend? Just popcorn and a movie with a friend from work?”
Why did he have to be so stinkin’ good-looking? She felt reckless, and a little out of control. But really, what harm could it do? He said just as friends. She blew out a sigh. “Sure. I’d love to go to the movies with my friend Aaron.”
He grinned. “Great! Just pick a day.”
“Saturday?”
“It’s a date.”
She gave him a look. “No. It’s not.”
“My bad.” He held his hands up like a shield, still grinning. “Poor choice of words. An early show, okay? We can do a matinee if you’d rather.”
“Oh. That’d be good.” Far less like a date. “I’ll meet you at the theater, okay?” Even less like a date.
“Okay. I’ll check movie times and text you, and we can decide which movie. Does it matter which showing?”
“I’m free all afternoon.” She was free the rest of her life. But she didn’t want to talk about that with him.
Not yet. She turned and walked back to her cubicle, shut down her computer, and gathered her things. It wasn’t until she was getting in her car that it hit her. She had a date Saturday.
No, Whitman. It’s not a date. You’re going to the movies with a friend.
Then why did she feel that same shivery anticipation she’d felt before her first real date with Tim?
***
There was a line at the bakery, and by the time she got the rolls and headed out to the inn, she was already fifteen minutes late and drenched in perspiration. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she frowned at her reflection. She’d gathered her stick-straight hair into a ponytail earlier, securing it with a rubber band she found in her glove compartment. She looked a mess, but Missouri in July was not conducive to any other hairstyle.
She looked at the clock and notched the cruise control up. Her in-laws knew not to hold supper for her. In-laws. Bree refused to think of them as her former in-laws, though technically, that’s what Grant and Audrey were—now that Tim was gone.
Too often, she got off work late in the day, and she’d convinced Tim’s family to never wait on her. The youngest grandkids couldn’t be held off too long, and besides, the Whitmans’ Tuesday night dinners were informal affairs. Potlucks or picnics whenever the weather was nice enough, with everyone just hanging out together, enjoying each other’s company.
Now that Grant and Audrey had eight grandkids, things were usually geared around the little ones. And their bedtimes. She missed the early days when she and Tim would stay up with his brother and sisters—and later, their spouses—and play board games and card games around the kitchen table. In the old house—before it had become the Chicory Inn.
The refurbished bed and breakfast was gorgeous. Elegant, yet cozy with its cream-painted woodwork and contemporary rugs and textiles. But sometimes she missed the house as it had been—where Tim had first introduced her to his down-to-earth family. Or maybe it was just Tim she missed. He’d been gone by the time the restoration was finished on the inn. It seemed strange to think that Tim had never even seen the house where she spent so much time now.
In some ways, she knew his family better than he had. There were seven nieces and nephews he’d never even met. And changes. His parents were older, his grandmother was aging and—
CeeCee! She gasped and hit the brakes. She was supposed to pick up Tim’s grandmother on her way out to the inn! She’d totally forgotten, and now she’d have to go back for CeeCee and be even later than she already was. Good grief! Had Aaron’s little invitation flustered her that much?
She turned the Taurus around at the first field entrance she came to. The ditches were deep on both sides of the narrow county lane, and recent rains had washed the road out on either side of the culvert. She managed to make the turn, and as soon as she was back on the road, she called CeeCee’s home phone. She hadn’t yet figured out how to use the hands-free feature of her new car. Well, new to her anyway. The car was six years old, but it was the newest car she’d ever owned—and the first vehicle she’d bought on her own.
She vowed to get the Bluetooth set up before the weekend. There was rarely much traffic on this state highway, but neither did she want to add an accident to her list of screw-ups tonight.
CeeCee’s answering machine finally picked up on the sixth ring. Oh dear. She was probably sitting out on the front porch
