in front of Cynthia’s desk and dropped off the documents. “Can you have the copies ready by the time I get back?”
“Of course.”
“Also, do you remember the charity thing you mentioned a few weeks ago? Something for kids?” I tried to remember where it was going to be held, but I couldn’t come up with the name. “It was on the tenth, I think. I’m not sure.”
“Yes, I remember. What about it?”
“I want to donate, so I’m going to attend with my wife. Can you take care of everything?”
“You’re going to attend a charity dinner?” Her voice got thinner with each word as her brows rose higher.
“Try not to look so surprised. Can you handle it?”
She shook herself out of her disbelief. “Of course I can. I’ll give you the info you need when you get back.”
“Okay. Thank you, Cynthia. I’ll see you later.”
I managed to take a few steps away from her desk before her voice stopped me.
“Jack?”
I turned back and waited. She played with her glasses and looked away from me.
“I’m going to be late. What do you want?”
“Jack…it’s not my place, and I know that, so don’t bite my head off for saying this, but…” I knew nothing that started with those words could be something I’d want to hear.
“I don’t bite your head off.”
She smiled, relaxing in her seat. “Only every day.”
“Surely not every day,” I said seriously, but her smile grew, and then she slowly went back to being serious.
“You have to tell her, Jack.”
“I have to tell who what? Samantha?”
She pinned me with her stare. “No. Not Samantha. I’ve known you for years now—don’t try to act stupid with me. You have to tell her. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter.”
I opened my mouth, but she lifted her finger and stopped me. “You have to tell her.”
It finally dawned on me what the hell she was talking about. Of course she was talking about Rose. If there was one person whose crap I’d tolerate, it was Cynthia, and even with her, I had a limit, yet I didn’t respond the way I would’ve responded if it was anyone but her. “It’s not the right time,” I forced out through my gritted teeth.
“It’s never going to be the right time, Jack.”
As if I didn’t already know that. As if I didn’t know I was doomed.
I left before she could say anything else.
Not exactly sure what I would face—because it always seemed to be a surprise when it came to Rose—I walked through the door. The day before, it had smelled like vanilla; it now smelled of cinnamon and fragrant coffee. With the bell’s noise, Rose glanced my way while still attending to a customer. Her smile faltered, but she didn’t lose it completely. Instead of heading over to her, I picked the table next to her little library and got comfortable. My seat was facing her, so I looked around and noticed, out of the twelve tables, nine were occupied. For her second day, she was doing amazingly well. Even the bar seats had a couple customers deep in conversation as they looked out on the street, drinking their coffees. Two new customers walked in and I settled down to wait. Taking out my phone, I started to catch up on emails.
The few times I glanced up to see if she was avoiding me or was simply busy, my eyes lingered on her, causing me to lose my train of thought. She always looked so lively, so vivacious and confident. In between customers, her eyes slid my way. I held her gaze to see what she’d do, but she managed to act as if I wasn’t even there.
Holding back a smile, I waited. A few minutes turned into ten, and then finally she stood over me, waiting. I raised an eyebrow and lowered my phone.
“I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”
“I didn’t expect to see you here. Can I get you anything?”
“Why are you always so surprised to see me?” I asked, genuinely curious to hear her answer. Her expression didn’t change, which told me she was still annoyed with me—not that I could understand her reasoning. Her leg had been hurt, so I’d helped her, end of story. Why did it matter what other people she’d probably never see again in her life or even remember if she saw them thought? I’d always been under the impression that women found it romantic when guys carried them. Apparently not this