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“You’ve been fired? For what?” She brings her fork to her lips and delicately removes the tiny bite of coconut filling and crust. This is followed by a careful patting of her napkin on her lips.
She’s adorable.
“Well, once it was when I was nineteen,” I tell her. “I worked at this fro-yo place and was supposed to close at night. I was really into kickboxing at the time. So, I’d rush through all my close-down duties and then go out back and practice kickboxing the recycled cardboard boxes.”
She giggles. “Seriously?”
I nod, then laugh, too. “I told you I wasn’t made for med school.”
Even though she’s patting her lips again, I can tell by the fine lines near her eyes that she’s silently laughing.
I love making her laugh.
“Then, I was a couple of years older the second time I was fired. Believe it or not, I got caught kickboxing the cardboard again.”
Now, her laugh becomes audible.
The giggles make her bend forward. She sets her plate aside and turns a little to face me. “You are making this up. There is no way you were fired twice for the same weird thing. “
“I don’t know… there’s just something about breaking down boxes, I guess. It makes me want to throw some roundhouse kicks. And getting rowdy is way more fun than working.”
She rolls her eyes. “You are ridiculous.”
“Handsome, though. You said that, not me.”
“Handsome and ridiculous,” she agrees before holding out her plate. “Trade.”
We swap plates, and I test out the coconut.
Beside me, I hear her moan.
“Right?” I ask, gesturing with my fork. “Crazy good.”
“This is the best key lime pie I have ever tasted, bar none.”
“I want that one back.”
She hugs it closer to her. “Nope, it’s mine now.”
“Good thing this one is a close runner-up. Second place isn’t bad. It still makes the podium.”
I wait for her to chime in with some witty response. She’s good at those.
Instead, she falls silent, like she’s getting lost in thought.
Ah… right. This CEO business. I steal a sideways glance at her and wonder if it’s okay to bring it up again.
She’s frowning at her dessert plate, so I decide to jump in. After all, if she’s already worrying, it’s not like steering us back to it will make things worse.
“You want to talk about the email you got?” I ask.
“I do, but it’s sensitive. Given—er—what’s going on with us. How we’re both up for that promotion…”
“Okay, well…” I lower the plate to my lap and set the fork down.
My priority is Hazel.
Not work.
