Wrong Place, Right Time - Elle Casey Page 0,36

before, trying to find out where I slipped up, but none of it makes sense. I don’t think I said anything rude. Is it just that he doesn’t want to get to know me any better? If that’s the case, what is he doing here having pizza and wine in my family room?

Instead of asking more questions and risking saying something even worse, I focus on finishing my crust. I keep my cup in front of my face, taking a sip after each bite in an effort to hide my expression. I’m afraid that too many of my feelings are showing.

“It’s too bad that you can’t do that freelance work for the team,” he says.

I blink a few times, realizing that he’s changing the subject and putting us back on the footing of being potential future coworkers. I don’t think a cold shower could’ve been more effective at calming whatever ardor might have been growing in my heart for him.

I put my cup and the pizza crust down on the table and stand. Brushing my hands off on my pants I look down at him. “You know what? I just realized I have a lot of work I need to get done.”

He looks up at me, his chewing slowing. He frowns a little but doesn’t answer right away.

I take a step toward my home office. “I’m just going to hook up my laptop while you gather your stuff together.” I gesture at the pizza boxes.

He nods. “Yeah, sure. Go ahead. Don’t mind me.”

I walk away toward the kitchen to retrieve my laptop, sad that something fell apart and I have no idea what the cause was, but glad to be getting back on regular footing again. Having a man in my house, sharing a meal with a cute guy . . . this is all too strange for me. I’m ready to get back to my normal, boring, lonely life, where my kids go away on rare weekends with their father and I catch up on work at home. I’m not even in the mood to pop popcorn and watch a chick flick anymore. This sucks.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I take my laptop into my home office, forcing myself not to glance at Dev still sitting in the family room as I walk by. I’m hoping he’ll take the hint, pack up his stuff, and leave. There’ve been too many awkward moments between us, and I’m worried that the longer he stays, the more I’m going to continue trying to find ulterior motives on his part for being here.

It’s a simple enough task to put my laptop down on the desk and plug in the cords that are waiting. I bring up the Internet and stare at a blank page. The search engine window is calling out to me, asking me what I want to do, where I want to go, and what I want to look for.

I’m trying to ignore the rustling sounds I hear in the other room, assuming it’s Dev getting the pizzas together so he can take them home. I should be happy that he’s following my instructions to leave, but I’m not. He’s such a nice guy, and he seems like a dedicated dad. Maybe even a good dad, a rare beast in my world. Like the amur leopard. One day I will do the dating thing again. It’s not going to happen with him, obviously, but it will happen. I don’t plan on dying an old maid.

The search window is staring at me. I could go on one of those dating websites. Check it out . . .

The minute the thought flows through my head, I can feel my face starting to burn. No, that would be silly. I’m not dating material right now. I’m too newly divorced. Too . . . mothery.

Instead, I go on one of the freelance sites I’ve heard about from my coworkers. Apparently I can put up a profile that lists all my skills, and anybody looking for a freelancer like me could find me.

I go to the website for a look but all it does is depress me. I already have so much stuff I have to get done at my current company, I can hardly keep up. Sammy was sick last week, and I missed an entire day of work because the daycare wouldn’t take him, so now I have to do all the things that I missed in half the time. They run a very short-staffed operation there, so