Dawn Atkins - At His Fingertips

“My friend Jill has a rescue shelter, but she ran out of space. So they’re with me until she finds them homes.”

“That’s generous of you.”

“Who could resist these guys?” She rested her cheek against Huffington’s neck, feeling Mitch’s eyes on her.

“I can see that.” He had to clear his throat. “Anyway, Dale’s supposed to stop by for a while. He’s got a gig, so I’m the designated note-taker.”

“It’s nice of you to help him out,” she said.

“It’s my only hope of getting him off my couch.” But she sensed the tenderness behind the sarcasm.

“What’s in the sack?” she asked.

“A thank you.” He handed it to her.

Inside the bag she found three star fruit. “How did you know? This is what’s missing from my fruit tray. My store was out.”

“The Asian market near my house always has exotic stuff.”

She sniffed one of the smooth, cool fruits. “Mmm.”

“Smells like pears?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She held it out, fingers trembling, and he bent to sniff, his dark eyes searching hers out, sexual sparks lighting their depths.

“Reminds me of that night,” he said softly.

“I know.” And the star shower would add to the memory. She wanted to kiss him now, just to see if it would feel the same. Was this their moment? Did he feel it, too?

“Can I help you?”

“Help me?” Yes, yes, oh, yes. She was lost in her fantasy.

He grinned. “Cut up the fruit? For the workshop? Hello?”

She gathered herself. “Oh. Yes. That would be great. Let me put the dogs away.”

He helped her up from the floor, as he’d done the afternoon before. She liked his firm grip, the way he took charge. Their eyes met again. She wished suddenly the workshop was over and they could go out back and watch the stars fly and she could tell him about the prediction and—

The man would run for the hills. He already thought she was a borderline kook. Slow down. Let things unfold as they will.

When she returned to the living room after putting the dogs away, Mitch was watching her. He seemed to have to drag his eyes away to look around the room. “You expecting a crowd?” He meant the extra chairs, loveseat, end tables and sofa.

“Just fifteen people. The extra furniture belongs to a friend. I’m keeping it until she’s sure living with her boyfriend will work out.”

“You’re a soft touch.”

“She’s a friend.” She shrugged. The Early American stuff clashed mightily with the simple designs and the magenta, lime and orange colors of the Pier 1 Imports decor Esmeralda had chosen.

“The extra art is hers?” He meant the framed pieces of art braced against all the walls.

“No. That’s my roommate’s. Annika Morris. She’s an art therapist.” Esmie had hung as many pieces as would fit among her own framed photos and the map collages she’d made with Jonathan. “She’s just here until her grant comes through or she gets a job. She’ll be at the workshop tonight.”

“You’ve got a lot going on. Roommates, foster pets, furniture storage, a new job—”

The phone rang, proving his point.

“I like to keep busy,” she said, rushing to answer it. It was Jill confirming the cats’ pick-up.

“Not a lot of peace and quiet, I take it,” he said when Esmie hung up.

“I do fine.” But coming home to a dozen phone messages every night had lately been wearying. Probably just adjusting to the new job. The phone rang again “Excuse me?” That one was a friend needing advice. She made a lunch date for a more in-depth conversation.

He gave her a look.

“What? So maybe it’s a little hectic at times.”

“That’s what phone machines are for. People take advantage if you let them.”

“The more you give, the more you have to give.”

“Some people take until you say no.”

“That’s quite the world view you have. I don’t know how I’d get up in the morning feeling that negative.”

“It’s not negative. It’s realistic. If you accept human nature, you don’t have misunderstandings and you don’t get disappointed.”

“Or you expect the best and people strive to meet your expectations.”

“I think I read that on the wall of your office.”

He made her idealism seem silly. She rarely had to defend herself, since everyone she knew respected her abilities. This man was like a blast of cold water in the middle of a hot shower. “I happen to believe it’s true.”

“I guess we see things differently.” The pity and judgment in his expression were like a brand on her skin.

“But you know you’re right, don’t you?” She was startled by how quickly her response to him had changed. She went from attraction to hope to irritation to anger with lightning speed.

“No more than you do.”

“You think that by helping others I neglect myself and what I really want? Is that what you think?”

He shrugged.

“I can assure you that’s not what’s happening.” She hated how defensive she sounded. She was usually calm and patient and balanced in her remarks.

“You would be in a position to know.”

“And I do know,” she snapped, then caught herself “Why am I arguing with you?” She sagged, frustrated and upset and so maddeningly hot for the man.

“I don’t know. Frankly, I’m in no position to criticize. My sofa’s got a permanent sag from my brother sleeping there, my remote is stained orange from his Cheetos, and I’m here doing his homework.”

She laughed lightly. “So, you’re a soft touch, too?”

“Just ask my secretary.”

“I don’t know why I’m so defensive,” she said. “Maybe it’s because I know you don’t approve of me.”

“Maybe I just don’t understand you.” He was being kind.

She appreciated the gesture, but couldn’t quite let it stand. “And what you do understand, you disagree with.”

“Not…exactly.” He rolled his shoulder. “We’ve got détente. Let’s leave it at that, why don’t we?”

“You’re right. After you cut up the star fruit, maybe you can help me arrange the furniture?” And during the meteor shower, maybe he’d sense their cosmic bond and they could get past butting heads.

Right, and maybe Huffington and Pistol would do a minuet on the kitchen table.

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