This Changes Everything by Jennifer Ashley Page 0,22

“Hey, gotta love a guy who can get you that.”

We sit, gingerly. I’m on the edge of my seat as though I’ll tackle Zach if he tries to run out the door.

“Do you have your own office window, Zach?” I continue playing the enchanted ninny.

“I do. With a view of the parking lot. Very exciting. Gets a little hot on a summer’s day.”

“I’ll bet.” I drop the pose and lift my half-drunk glass of wine. “But at least you can see sunshine. The sky. Cars going in and out. People. I’m in the middle of the building. I mean the exact middle. If I want to see outside, I have to take a longer than usual break and hike about half a mile.”

“That’s why you’re jumping on Brent’s offer.”

“He hasn’t offered anything,” I say quickly. “Are you hungry? I guess I’m interrupting your dinner.”

Brent had ordered starters, which he’d downed most of, because I was too keyed up to eat. Zach took in the plates and my unused silverware and signaled a waitress.

“Hey, Zach,” the waitress says as she stops at our table. “Welcome back.” She casts me a glance of unbridled curiosity, and I can’t stop my blush. “Your usual?” She starts jotting a note even before Zach answers in the affirmative. “And for you?” she asks me.

Her smile is friendly. And again curious.

I order a chicken dish that looks nice. “Thanks,” I say. Why not a salad? Because 1) I’m not a rabbit, and 2) it’s very hard to daintily eat a salad in front of someone you want to impress. Stuffing recalcitrant lettuce into the corners of your mouth and chewing like a cow is not attractive.

“He hasn’t offered,” I repeat as the waitress strides to the kitchen. “Like I said, this was a preliminary interview. He’s been talking to several people while he’s in Phoenix.”

Zach takes a casual sip of his beer. “You’d be leaving town if you accept?”

Is he worried? Or only interested, as a friend?

A friend who ran those big, warm hands along my waist, cradled the weight of my breasts …

I clear my throat. “No, they have offices all over. There’s one in the Scottsdale Airpark. Most likely, I’d go there.”

“That wouldn’t suck.”

“No, it would be great.”

“We do a lot of business in Scottsdale,” Zach says.

He leaves it there. No maybe we could meet for lunch one day. Or after work for a drink. He says nothing at all.

I can’t think of a way to suggest a meet-up, so I ask him about his day. I don’t want to talk about mine, which sucked until I came here. I listen, interested, as Zach describes the house their charity is renovating for a family. Zach is enthusiastic, and I warm. He has a good heart.

The food comes and we mutually decide, without words, to enjoy the meal. It’s very, very good, which is why this restaurant, in an out-of-the-way strip mall, is full on a Monday night.

We linger over coffee. We don’t mention the wedding, what happened Saturday night, or when, if ever, we’ll get together again. We talk about what we like to do—he loves basketball, when it isn’t football season, though he hasn’t looked at the game on TV since we sat down. He and his brothers shoot hoops for fun on a Sunday at his folks’ house. The family has a boat they take to Lake Pleasant in the summer, and he waterskis and jet-skis.

I don’t do any of this. I work. In the summer I work, and I swim in my mom’s pool. He says waterskiing is great—maybe I’d like to join them one time this summer?

Summer is a few months away—official summer, I mean. It will be in the 100s here soon. I noncommittally say it sounds like fun.

The waitress brings over the check. Looks a question, and Zach reaches for it.

“On me,” he says. When I protest, he says, “To celebrate you maybe getting a window.”

It’s nice of him. I say so, and he waves it off. We dance around it, both of us doing anything to make sure this is not a date.

Once the bill is paid, Zach stands up with me. Then his face falls. “Crap. The only way Austin drove Brent to the airport is in my truck.”

I blink in surprise. “I never saw you give him the keys.”

“We all have keys to each other’s cars. In case.” Zach scans the restaurant. “I don’t notice him coming back for me, the shit. I’ll call him.