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As she explained, she could see his brain whirring.
“That’s… a lot,” he said when she finished. “I think I’ll stick with ‘solar wind activity.’”
“Good call.” She leaned on the railing. “I like the legends better. Not surprising, being a writer. The local indigenous are—”
“—the Kwanlin Dün First Nation tribe,” he cut in. “I memorized that. It’s important.”
She smiled. “It is. This is their land. Now, I don’t know the Kwanlin Dün tradition regarding the northern lights, but the Tlingit one warns against looking up at the lights because they’re spirits trying to lure people away. Then there’s lore that says the lights are the spirits of stillborn children.”
“Oh,” he said, inhaling sharply. “That’s… Wow.”
He leaned on the railing beside her and sipped his cocoa. She did the same, gazing out at the moonlit lake as they enjoyed the night in silence.
CHAPTER SIX
Pros/Cons to Sleeping with Chris Ainsworth
Pros
1. He’s sorta sweet, when he wants to be. No, not “sorta”—he is sweet. Also funny and kind with bursts of… something.3
2. He’s hot.
3. So hot.
4. I haven’t had sex in… let’s not calculate, shall we?
5. Have you seen him? No, really. Have you seen him?
Cons
1. This is a professional relationship.
2. I don’t do casual sex.1
3. It takes two to tango, and he’s not exactly jumping me.2
4. This is a professional relationship. Employer-employee. Remember that.
FOOTNOTES
1 But I could, right? Maybe? First time for everything and all that?
2 Would I want him jumping me? No. In fact, the not-jumping-me part is a mark in his favor. He’s respectful. Unless he’s actually not interested. Uh, yeah, it’s entirely possible he’s just not interested, so maybe all this is a moot point?
3 And here’s the real issue, well, besides the fact I’m not sure he’s actually interested. Those bursts of “something.” Glimpses of a guy I could really fall for, and that would be bad. Bad, bad, bad.4
4 Why bad? I’m… not sure.
Conclusion: There will be no hooking up with the hired help. Geez, Daphne. Stop, just stop.
CHRIS
Chris lay in bed. Sun peeked out from the bottom of the blackout blind, where he hadn’t pulled it down far enough. His watch said it was 8:25. He’d originally set his alarm for eight, not wanting to laze in bed while Daphne made breakfast, but after their late night, he’d reset it for nine so he wouldn’t wake her by thumping around.
Last night…
When he’d first gone to bed, he hadn’t been able to sleep. The house was so quiet. Like, completely and eerily quiet. He’d spent the last eight years living in downtown Vancouver, where he slept with white noise to cover the traffic. Here, he’d almost been tempted to play the white noise to fill the silence. That had seemed sacrilegious, though, so he’d gotten up instead.
