A Wedding at the Orange Blossom Inn(76)

Beverly stepped closer to him. “Everyone, this is Eric. Eric Wagler. He’s my . . . uh, he’s my boss.”

Almost immediately, Eric’s relaxed smile and look of happiness had vanished, replaced by a shadowed look of concern and then disappointment.

Beverly had known right then and there that it had been a mistake to refer to him as only her boss. He was so much more to her than that. He’d become her friend and confidant, her voice of reason and best encourager.

But in her haste to classify him easily, she’d hurt his feelings.

Now, the next morning, Beverly was wondering how she was ever going to make things right. How did a woman fix a clumsy mistake like that? Holding her cup of coffee, she stared hard at the cake and tried to form the right apology to Eric.

“Hey.” His deep voice carried across the room and, just like it did over the phone, gave her a little shiver.

She’d been so consumed with her regrets that she hadn’t heard him enter the room. Of course. Because it seemed she was destined to be perpetually awkward around him.

She quickly set her mug down on the counter. “Gut matin, Eric,” she said, trying not to notice how handsome he looked. His dark hair still seemed to be damp from his shower, and he had put on aftershave. It smelled fresh and tangy and so very appealing.

Too appealing.

“Would, um, would you like some kaffi?” Mentally, she berated herself again. Could she be any more apprehensive? Her use of Deutsch was telling, for sure. She used it with him whenever she was nervous or on edge. In today’s case, she was both.

His brown eyes remained steady on her. “Yeah. Coffee is good.”

She turned to get a cup from the cupboard but he reached it first. “I’m good, Bev,” he said quietly. “You know you don’t have to wait on me.”

“I’m not waiting. I was simply, um . . . trying to make you feel welcome.” Of course, the moment she said that, she wished she could take it back. Could she sound any more distant?

His eyes narrowed. “Because I’m your boss?”

His words sounded bitter though his tone was mild. She needed to fix this.

“Eric, I’m sorry,” she said in a rush. “Of course, you’re much more than simply my boss. We’re friends. Of course we are.”

“It didn’t sound like that last night. I walked into a roomful of laughter and a hug from Tricia but you made me feel like I was about as welcome as a case of the flu.”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.” She hated that whenever he was around she became a person she was definitely not proud of. “I don’t know why I told everyone you were my boss.”

He set down his cup and turned to her. “I never want to be treated like your boss, Bev,” he said quietly as he approached her. “I thought we’d gotten through all that.”

“We have.” She swallowed as he drew to a stop barely a foot away.

“Are you sure? Or is there something you’re confused about?”

“I’m not confused. I mean, we talk to each other all the time.”

“Then why are you keeping me at a distance? Why didn’t you tell everyone I was your friend? Your very good friend?”

Because she didn’t trust their relationship. Because she wasn’t completely positive that he wouldn’t still change his mind about her and hurt her badly. Because she was thirty-four years old and unable to get over a hurt that it seemed anyone else could have moved on from.

Because he smelled really good and at the moment seemed to be staring at her lips.

But instead of saying any of that, she lied. “I don’t know.”

He blinked. Then, to both her relief and disappointment, he took a step back. “Oh, okay. Thanks for explaining that to me. I feel a lot better now.”

“Eric, I’m sorry.” She lifted a hand. Then, as she realized that she’d been just about to press it to his chest, she dropped it back down by her side. And felt her cheeks heat.

He inhaled and a new glint appeared in his eyes. “You know what? It’s okay.” A hint of a smile appeared on his lips. “Don’t worry about it. So, tell me about the day’s schedule.”

She was so relieved to be talking about something else, she practically chirped. “I can do that. Let’s see . . . the wedding starts at nine this morning.”

“And when will it be over?”

“Around noon or so.”

“So we’ll be sitting together for three hours?”

Her pulse started racing again. “Jah. It’s the way of an old order Amish wedding. It’s customary for three preachers to speak.”

“All in Pennsylvania Dutch. It’s going to be a long morning.” He smiled again. “Don’t be surprised if I start passing you notes.”