“Yes, ma'am.” He brushes a finger against my cheek, then leaves.
My lungs fill up with air once again.
“Thanks again, Tasha. The kids will be delighted to have some treats.” Monica smiles.
“No problem. So, hey. Hayden volunteers here?”
“Mr. Frost?” She giggles. I don’t blame her. The guy is hot and definitely giggle-worthy. “He set up the foundation. Bought the building and funded everything we have. And, yes, He volunteers here every week.”
With my hand frozen mid-air, I’m rendered speechless. Will he ever stop surprising me? And why would he downplay his own involvement with this place? I don’t get it.
“Cool,” I say and finish unpacking.
On the way back to my car, I’m silent. My thoughts are a whirlwind of emotions I can’t quite tidy up.
“You okay?” he asks, his eyes searching mine.
I look away, unsure of how I should act in front of him. What are we? Are we friends? He hasn’t made a move to kiss me since the night we baked his cookies, and that’s been two weeks ago. Unless you count mouth-corner kisses. Which I don’t. They’re dumb and made to leave me wanting and unsatisfied.
“Peachy.”
“Mmmm.” He stops me from opening the car door. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t get you,” I huff.
“What don’t you get, Natasha? I’m trying to be an open book with you. You already know more about me than most of the people in my life.”
“Exactly this.” My arms fly up in exasperation. “What is this? You tell me your secrets, walk me to my car almost every evening, ask me how my day was, listen to my answers, and yet…”
“And yet what?” The half smile makes an appearance again. His eyes look hopeful.
“You said you were going to woo me.” And you’re acting like my best friend.
“Yes.”
“Why haven’t you tried to kiss me again?” I finally choke out.
“Is that what you want, Natasha?”
Is it? God, yes.
But also God, no.
“I—I don’t know,” I say in a small voice.
“Exactly.”
“Exactly what?”
“I’m not going to kiss you until you are sure you want me to. Until you beg me for it.”
“How is that wooing?” I huff.
“How is that not?”
Gah, I hate it when he’s right. Like an annoying mosquito, he’s been buzzing around the subject until I’m so frustrated I’m either going to smack him or cut myself just so that he can lap up my blood. Figuratively speaking. Because blood, ew.
ChapterNine