“Christopher, it’s just some vegetarian sandwiches and soups. All your assistant had to do was place the order I’d lined up with the café and spend a little of all that money you bathe in every night. What’s the big deal?”
“First of all, I don’t bathe in money. But nice to know you’re thinking about me bathing. At night.”
She rolls her eyes. “Am I that transparent? Yes, Christopher. It’s all I think about.”
“Second of all,” I tell her, ignoring her dripping sarcasm, “I’m not talking about the catered lunch—well, not predominantly the catered lunch. I’m talking about you showing up, acting like today is photo day, sending Curtis into a tailspin.”
Her eyes widen. She blinks at me. “I . . .” Glancing away, down at her camera bag, she fiddles with its straps. I watch her shoulders set, her jaw harden. I’ve never been so aware of watching Kate slip on her armor.
And I’ve never been so aware of how hard I’m used to being on her. I assumed she showed up on the wrong day intentionally and tore into her for it, but what if she didn’t? What if she got her dates mixed up?
It’s been over a decade since I’ve spent enough time around Kate to observe her executive function when it comes to time management, but I remember when she was younger it was hard for her.
I feel a sucker punch of guilt. Kate hides her struggles that come with ADHD so well, I forget she has them. I shouldn’t. I, more than most people, know that hiding your struggles doesn’t make them disappear—it just makes them less visible to others. I know how lonely it gets when no one knows why I canceled plans or left early, when I’m a last-minute no-show at game night or I cut a meeting abruptly short because my brain’s decided it’s a great time to incapacitate me with a migraine.
“You didn’t mean to show up on the wrong day, did you?” I ask her.
She throws a sharp glance my way, her eyes flashing. “I . . .” Her jaw works, like she’s searching for words.
Stepping closer, I slip my hand around her elbow. “Katydid—”
“Stop calling me that, Topher Gopher.”
I grin faintly, remembering that nickname from a long time ago, when I hadn’t quite grown into my front teeth. “I’m sorry I assumed you pulled a prank. How about I make it up to you with that fancy catered lunch you had Curtis order?”
“Just have him cancel it,” she mutters.
“Nah. We can afford a catered lunch here and there.”
She still won’t look at me, but the furrow in her brow softens as she gently steps out of my grip, fiddling more with her camera bag. “Good. I woke up craving those roasted eggplant and red pepper pesto sandwiches.”
After a beat of silence, watching her, I tell her, “You rely heavily on your calendar to organize your commitments and keep you on time, I bet.”
Kate throws me another sharp glance, all pricked pride and fire. “Yes. Which is generally the reason one has a calendar. It just bites me in the ass when I rely on something I’ve entered inaccurately, but that’s my brain for you. I’m sorry about today, okay?”
“Kate, it’s all right.”
She stares up at me, searching my eyes, quiet for a long, drawn-out minute.
“What is it?” I’m starting to get uneasy with the intensity of her examination.
She sighs bleakly. “I’m finding it hard to despise you right now, and I resent that.”
I smile, wide and genuine. “Well, I am supremely likable.”
Rolling her eyes, she drags her camera bag higher on her shoulder. “The moment’s passed. You killed it real quick.”
A soft laugh leaves me, earning her attention. Kate meets my eyes, a faint uptick at the corner of her mouth—the closest I’ve come to earning her smile.
She steps away from the conference table, backtracking steadily. I can’t stop my gaze from finally raking down her body.
Jesus. H. Christ.
Her jumpsuit has wide legs, soft, fluttery sleeves, a fabric belt cinched tight at her waist. Shoulders, hips, and legs for miles.
Heat rushes through me as the memory of last night’s dream floods my mind’s eye—long legs straddling my waist, lean, strong arms outstretched, hands planted on my chest, hips riding me hard and fast—
I clench my teeth and beg my brain to recall with vivid detail the photo on my desk featuring middle school Kate in her orthodontic headgear, hoping it’s enough to douse the fire coursing through me.