Henry and I share a few beats of silence that feel like a tightrope between comfortable and suspenseful. I like sitting here with him and not talking. I’m usually the one to fill the silence with so much chatter.
“Well, guess we’d better get back to work,” I say, standing. He stands as well but doesn’t make any move to leave the barn. I wonder what he’s thinking.
And then I get an idea of what he’s thinking when he takes a step closer to me. His eyes land on my mouth and I feel my breath catch in my throat. Without thinking I wet my lips. His face is close enough I can see his nostrils flare when I do that, which sparks a heat down deep in my midsection that shoots back up to my cheeks. My feelings, my brain, every chemical in my body ping pongs in all directions. His eyes travel over my face, and before I realize it, he’s so close he could grab me. His closeness and serious expression unsettle everything physiological inside me that is supposed to remain locked up and dormant for the sake of putting all my energy into Sarah.
I shouldn’t take notice of certain things that could distract me from my number one job of taking care of Sarah and providing a stable home life for her. I shouldn’t want to kiss him so badly. It’s unfair how attractive he is, and the way the sunlight streaming in from the open barn door glints off his golden lashes. I can’t stop myself from staring at and admiring the creases around his eyes that hint of someone who spends more time laughing and enjoying life than worrying.
See, Jane? He has no worries. Why can’t you just enjoy the moment?
I lean in, and he responds. And oh, my goodness. “Goodness” is the only word I can think of. His full lips feel soft and warm against mine, awakening every cell in my body. It feels like fireflies floating and bumping into each other down deep in my belly.
The kiss lasts maybe two seconds at most, but in those two seconds, I feel fully awake. I thought I’d already caffed up for the day, but this is a different kind of awake.
My conscience, which has issues with kissing my boss and all the ethical questions that go along with it, is not troubling me at the moment. The kiss is perfectly perfect. As sweet as I imagined it would be. And oh yes, I imagined it while I drifted off to sleep last night.
When we pull away from the kiss, Henry immediately apologizes.
“I’m so sorry. That’s not OK for me to do.”
With a hint of reluctance, he puts distance between the two of us by nearly sprinting away. At the barn door, he turns to face me, where I stand, still stunned awake by everything that’s happened in the last few seconds.
He can’t stop apologizing. “I’ll understand if you want to quit. I’ll pay you for a full day’s wages. A week, even.”
I shake my head. “That’s not necessary,” I say, trying to smile, trying to find the words to tell him I’m not going to sue him for sexual harassment. So just say it, then. But I don’t even want to say those words. I don’t want him to think that I think of him that way at all.
“Look,” he says, “I didn’t mean to imply that I was trying to pay you off to be silent for what I did, I just meant that if you need a week’s wages right now to tide you over until you find another job, you’ve got it. A month’s wages, even.”
Good gravy, this man is running himself out of town on a rail over…what? A mutually enjoyed kiss in a moment of very restrained passion? I gesture for a time-out. “Listen. Calm down. I’m not mad. It was just one kiss, and I think I initiated it.”
He nods, rubbing his chin nervously. “Still, I get it if you don’t want to work with me.”
“It’s starting to sound like you don’t want to work with me,” I joke, trying to break the tension.
“I do! I like you and I’d love it if you stayed.”
I smile. “I plan to.”
Turning around, I survey the merchandise on display in this gift shop space. As I look it over, I realize I want to help his business succeed, so I give him one important reason why I’m not leaving. “I’m staying because you need me. We need to rethink this entire display.”
“We do?” He looks relieved to change the subject.
“Very much so,” I reply. Waving my hand around a slapped-together display of decorative gourds sitting on top of a straw bale with a handwritten sign, I say, “First of all, we need to contain these things. And no more chicken scratch signage. Also, you need to think about your audience—it’s mostly moms and grandmas. Moms and grandmas most definitely hold the purse strings, so you need something pretty to appeal to them. I’m sure you can find somebody local who makes homemade soap, lip balms, jams, and jellies. Apart from that, you could print your logo on coffee mugs and sell them with cocoa mix. Next year, consider growing fresh flowers to sell in pre-made autumn-themed arrangements. The possibilities are endless.”
I turn to look at him. “Are you writing this down?”
His brow furrows. “I don’t have a logo.”
“Do you have a computer?”
“If you mean the machine up at the house that I use to pay bills and ignore email? Yeah.”
“I could maybe help with that.” I tap my lip and think about what kind of software I have on
