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I pop up out of my seat. “I gotta go for a run.”
He remains seated. “Look, I know the Jess thing was tough, and you got hurt. But, Jackie, that doesn’t mean…”
He might still be talking.
I don’t know because now I’m halfway across the restaurant.
I’ll pick up this conversation with him later. I don’t want to be rude or hurt his feelings, and I do appreciate his time and effort in giving me some good advice.
But that can’t be the right thing to do.
Get to know Hazel Thorpe…?
No way.
Sounds like a terrible idea.
She annoys me, I work with her, and—okay, yes, the intensity of our connection yesterday did scare me a little.
That mix of feelings doesn’t settle well. Since I can’t rip around on my dirt bike, I better go for a run. Maybe that’ll ease some of this inner conflict squirming in me. I promised to keep an eye on Ophelia and Jasmine from nine o’clock to ten, so if I’m going to get this jog in, I better hurry up and get after it.
As I pass the restaurant’s self-serve coffee station, I catch a glimpse of black and then a too-familiar sun-kissed shoulder.
Her slender arm, the graceful curve of her neck. She’s wearing her hair swept up today. Her back is to me.
I just want to get out of here.
I’ll face this mess later, after I get a run in. Once this inner storm passes.
My intention is to pass by the coffee station without being seen. However, there’s a squeeze point. I have to walk through the four-foot gap between an empty table and the counter where the coffee carafe and mugs are lined up.
Hazel’s standing in that gap.
I move at a brisk pace. So, when she spins around abruptly, she has to stop short, so we don’t collide.
Her eyes widen as coffee sloshes out of her mug, onto her wrist.
Once she gets over the shock, she seems to get annoyed. At least, her eyes narrow down to two slivers. She flicks the drips off her hand. “Jack.”
No smile. No lingering look. No warmth.
Yep, she’s definitely upset with me. Not just about the spilled coffee, either.
“Hazel. Good morning.”
She backs up as if standing too close to me will contaminate her. “Good morning. Hm. I thought maybe I could grab a coffee before I—before we—” She chokes up.
“Well, it’s not like I turned up at your door. This is a restaurant.”
“It is, I know, I know. I should have guessed. Okay, let me just…” She slurps down a long sip of coffee.
Clearly, she’s not ready to discuss our after-dark activities.
She’s stalling.
I don’t want to talk about what happened, either.
Not yet.
