For the first fifteen minutes of my being there, neither one of us had said a word.
“More coffee?” he asked¸ breaking the silence with an offer I couldn’t refuse.
I nodded and he rounded the couch to pour more medium roast into my mug as I held it up for him. His shoes hit the hardwood floor and with every step, I felt my nerves ratchet up another notch.
I stared at my computer screen, all the while trying to concentrate on where he was in proximity to me. He was busying himself with something behind me and I tried to think of what our normal working life was like. Normally, I’d have turned around and asked him about his weekend, how his Sunday had gone, but there was no way I’d open up that line of discussion.
“You’re quiet this morning,” he said as he stepped back around the couch and took a seat across from me.
My stomach fluttered.
“Am I?” I asked, not meeting his eye.
I could see him smirk out of the corner of my eye.
“I’m just thinking about work things,” I muttered.
He nodded, studying me in a way that made chills creep down my spine.
“So are we going to talk about—”
“Julian.” I held up my hand to cut him off before he could utter another word. “Let’s just concentrate on work and we can talk about this another time, maybe when I’m not on the clock.”
His smirk slipped away. Clearly, he hadn’t expected that response.
“So even though you and I almost—”
I clenched my jaw and gripped the edges of my laptop. “Julian, please. It’s complicated.”
His calm eyes, the eyes that had greeted me at the door fifteen minutes earlier were gone, replaced with a brewing storm behind dark brows.
I thought he’d push the subject, draw up memories that I was intent on pushing aside for the next eight hours, but he didn’t. He opened his laptop in silence and we got to work. For hours, we fired off emails and read through contracts for the space we wanted to rent. I began calling architecture firms around town, explaining our project and scheduling initial design meetings.
We didn’t utter a word to each other unless it was directly work related. His tone was distant and cold. I could hardly meet his eye, even if he was only firing off the names of firms he wanted me to get in contact with. I hated every minute of it, but it was the way it had to be.
After lunch, I settled back into my seat and pulled up the email I’d started to draft before running down for a sandwich.
“The other night, I went to this ice cream shop down the street from my hotel,” Julian began, pulling my attention from my computer.
“What?” I asked, confused.
“Do you ever really crave ice cream?” he asked, a hint of a smile covering his lips.
What the hell is he talking about?
“Uh, sure, I guess.”
“Well, I really wanted some the other night, so I went down to this shop and stood in line. It took forever to get to the front to order. It almost felt like I’d been waiting there for weeks.”
I arched a brow. “Sounds like you should have just picked up some ice cream from 7-Eleven.”
He smiled. “I couldn’t. It had to be this ice cream.”
I narrowed my eyes in confusion but held my tongue.
“So anyway,” he continued, “I got to the front of the line and I asked to sample the flavor I’d been eyeing—y’know, just to get a little taste.”
“Mmm,” I hummed. “You’re going into way too much detail about ice cream.”
He ignored me.
“And after I’d had that tiny sample, I knew I wanted more. It tasted amazing, just like I’d known it would. So I asked for two perfectly round scoops in a waffle cone.”
“Okay. That’s the weirdest way I’ve ever heard someone describe—”
“But you know what happened right after I paid and walked out of the shop?”
“You realized you were being really weird about ice cream?” I joked.
He laughed. “No. I leaned in to take my first bite, tripped, and the entire ice cream cone fell to the ground. Can you believe that? Right before I really got to enjoy it.”
I stared at him, mouth in a thin line, annoyance building within me.
“I know what you’re doing,” I said.
“Has that ever happened to you before?” His gaze held mine as he teased me. “Have you ever been so close to getting something you’ve been craving, only to have it ripped right out from under you before you can really savor it?”
I stood up and carried my laptop toward the bathroom. “I asked you not to talk about it, Julian. Not during work. I have to take this job seriously. Do you?”
“Jo—”
“This job means everything to me. Can’t you see that?”
Before he could answer, I continued.
“I can’t blame you for being confused about my priorities. We’ve both crossed the line from the very beginning. I assumed I could have my cake and eat it too, but now that the choices are right in front of me, I know I have to choose my job over you. I can’t afford to be fired.”
The image of moving home and working at the town Dairy Queen was enough of a reality check to set me straight. No more fooling around.
He stood and held up his hands. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry. I’ve got to run some errands anyway, so don’t stuff yourself in the bathroom. You can stay right where you are. I promise that when I get back I’ll be on my best behavior.”