After using her bathroom and pulling on his clothes from the night before—minus the thermals, which he dropped on the floor by her front door—he hit the power button on her brewer. The smell of coffee would probably wake her up, plus he really needed the caffeine boost.
He was putting milk and sugar in his coffee when he heard the bathroom door close. While stirring it, he wondered what he should do with it. He could put both mugs on the coffee table, implying they’d sit together on the couch. If he had to guess, he’d say her habit was to sit at her desk and fire up her computer while drinking her morning coffee, but he wasn’t sure. Finally, he left hers on the counter and took his to the window, where he looked out over Whitford.
When the door opened, he turned. She’d put on a pair of sweatpants and a long sweatshirt, and brushed her hair into a ponytail. It definitely wasn’t a hey, let’s have morning sex look.
“I made you a coffee,” he said.
“Thanks.”
He waited to see if she’d detour to the window and give him a good-morning kiss. Maybe he should have stayed near the counter, where he’d be right there in reach. It might have been his imagination, but he thought she hesitated for a second before heading straight to the mug.
“I wonder how many people ended up crashing at the lodge last night,” she said after she’d had a few sips of her coffee. She didn’t move to the couch or her desk. Instead she leaned against the counter, cradling her cup in her hands.
“More than a few, I’d say. Between beer and staying too late, there were probably some who opted to stay.”
“It was fun. Everybody had a good time and I’m sure they raised a lot of money for the ATV club.”
He nodded, dread forming a hard, heavy lump in his stomach. Tori didn’t sound like herself. She sounded...polite. Not that she was ever rude, but she sounded like she was talking to a stranger.
Sipping his coffee, he tried desperately to think of a way to make things better—to make her look at him the way she had last night—but she seemed so far away. Not just physically, but emotionally.
“Is there a football game on today?” she asked after a few minutes of heavy silence.
“Yeah. Big game. It’s the four o’clock game, too, which is good. Leaves more time open during the day.” He wondered if she had plans for today, but couldn’t bring himself to ask without it sounding as if he was presuming they’d spend the day together.
“I have so much work to catch up on it’s not even funny,” she said, which answered the question he hadn’t had the nerve to ask. “Nobody ever brings me Swedish meatballs, though.”
He laughed, then drank the remainder of the coffee in his cup. “I don’t have Swedish meatballs, but I’d be happy to buy you breakfast. Unless you’d rather get right to work.”
Her gaze fixed on his face for the first time, as if she was trying to figure him out. “I guess I should get right to work.”
It was a mistake, he realized too late, to give her the easy out. He should have stopped talking after offering to buy her breakfast. “I’ll get out of your way, then.”
He had to go by her to set his mug in the sink, then he paused. “So how does this work? Do I get to kiss you goodbye or not?”
Her smile didn’t have its usual brilliance, and she didn’t set her coffee down. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss to his mouth. It wasn’t enough and it left him even more unsettled than before.
“Enjoy the game,” she said.
“Thanks. I’ll...see you soon.”
He picked up his thermals on his way out the door, wishing he knew what he could have done differently. Or maybe this was how it was done. He’d never been in a situation like this before.
Once he was on the sidewalk, he realized he should have told her how much he’d enjoyed spending the night with her. Or something. Anything more personal than “I made you a coffee.” But it was too late now. The door had closed behind him and he wasn’t going to text her and ask her to let him back in.
Turning the corner toward where his car was parked, he cursed himself for a fool. He should have stayed in her bed and held on to her until she made him let her go.
*
Four scoops of ice cream—two chocolate, one coffee, one French vanilla—three pumps of chocolate syrup, a mountain of whipped cream, a ridiculous amount of jimmies, six cherries and one spoon.
Tori picked up the spoon and prepared to do battle with her emotions. They may have snuck up on her—all strong and messy and inevitably painful—but she was going to vanquish them or make herself sick as a dog trying.
“My cousins’ kids would call that an ice cream sundae of doom.”
She looked up at Liz, who’d said nothing while Tori had gone around the counter and made her own dessert. One of the perks of being an employee, even when it wasn’t her shift. “I have feelings. I intend to kill them with ice cream.”
“Would these feelings have anything to do with the tall, blond guy with the impressive...television?”