Page 65 of All's Well that Friends Well
I nod slowly, but my fingers don’t move over the keyboard.
“A greeting,” Juliet says with a sigh, closer to me now. She’s leaning over my shoulder, so near I can taste strawberry shortcake. If her hair were down, it would be tickling my face. “Come on,” she prompts. “A greeting.Dear employees.”
“JustEmployees,” I say gruffly, typing the word.
“Fine,” she says. “Do that, and then just thank them.”
And once again, it’s an incredibly strange feeling, typing with someone dictating over my shoulder. Especially because she’s saying things I feel, more or less; I just wouldn’t have thought to vocalize them.
I am grateful that people are listening to me. And I do hope we continue to work well together.
“Mention the lunch breaks specifically,” Juliet adds, and I press delete a few times to change my wording. “And less abrupt.”
“It’s not abrupt,” I grumble.
“It’s abrupt,” she says. “Come on. Oh, and thank them for coming to the breakfast, too.” She gives my shoulder a little nudge, and with reluctant fingers I continue typing.
“Better?” I say, not bothering to keep my annoyance out of my voice.
“Much.” She’s silent for a second, and I get the sense she’s reading the final product. Then she speaks again. “Yes,” she says, and as she stands up, her warmth evaporates from around me. My neck is suddenly cold, a feeling I firmly embrace rather than trying to linger in the heat. “That looks good.”
I nod but don’t speak, pressing send on the email that now readsEmployees—I’d like to commend you on your response to my previous memo regarding lunch breaks. This is the sort of efficiency that will allow this office to run smoothly, so I appreciate your efforts. I hope we continue to work well together. Thanks again, and thanks for your participation in our weekend breakfast. Mr. Slater.
“I really think you could just call yourself Luca,” Juliet says, but my voice is dry when I respond.
“I draw the line at a first-name basis with my employees. Not when they’re having so much trouble keeping things professional already.”
“Hmm,” she says, and even in that simple sound there’s a hint of something I don’t like—something teasing, pleased. “But you don’t complain whenIcall you Luca.”
She’s right; I don’t. I hadn’t realized. “That’s different,” I say shortly.
“Why?” she says quickly, a smile in her voice. Sure enough, when I turn around and stand up, she’s beaming at me. “Because you like me?”
“No,” I say, skirting past her and heading to the door so I can see her out. “Because we met first as Luca and Juliet, and it’s difficult to think of you differently.” When her smile doesn’t fade even the smallest bit, I add, “Don’t get the wrong idea.”
She adopts a straight face and nods solemnly. “I won’t,” she says, the words serious. “I definitely won’t.”
“I kind of feel like you are, though,” I say. “Just don’t?—”
But I break off as we reach for the door handle at the same time, my hand wrapping around hers by accident.
And I do it without thinking—about how it will look or how she’ll take it. I trail my hand over hers, wrap my fingers firmly around her slim wrist, and tug until she lets go of the handle.
Her head whips up toward mine, and our gazes clash. There’s pure surprise written in her features, her lips parted into a little ‘o’ and her gorgeous blue eyes wide.
Wide, yes—but they’ve got dark circles underneath them, I notice for the first time. Mostly hidden by makeup but definitely there. Is she tired today?
“You’re touching me,” she breathes after a second of silence—silence because my mind is fuzzy and preoccupied by details I shouldn’t notice. “Do you like it?”
My jaw snaps shut as I let go like I’ve been burned. “What?” I say.
I once heard that when people answer your question with another question, especially asking you to repeat what you’ve said, it’s because they’re stalling.
I am stalling. Just enough to get my head on straight.
“Touching me,” she says earnestly, still looking up at me with wide eyes. “Do you like it? Does it give you butterflies in your stomach?”
“There are no butterflies,” I say hoarsely. “Stop overthinking things.”
