Avoiding his eyes, I hop off the crate and look at my feet. My voice comes out sounding small and strangled. “Sorry about that. Anyway. I’m gonna go inside now.”
Neither one of us moves. At his sides, Theo’s hands are clenched. When I glance up at his face, it’s strained. I think he’s trying to hold himself back from taking me into his arms to comfort me, and I’m swamped by another wave of sadness.
My loneliness pounds so hard inside me, I’d probably have a total mental breakdown if he did.
A lone tear crests my lower lid and slides down my cheek. Watching it fall, Theo looks like he’s been stabbed in the gut. I lift my hand to dash it away, but Theo reaches out and gently swipes his thumb over my cheekbone.
My entire body goes electric at his touch. I freeze, inhaling sharply. From one breath to the next, I become aware of his heat, how erratically his chest is rising and falling, the faint scent of soap on his skin. We stare at each other in crackling silence, my heart like a wild animal trying to claw its way out of my chest.
His hand trembles against my face. His eyes blaze with emotion. Lips parted, he leans toward me.
Off in the distance, one of the men calls his name, and the spell is broken as abruptly as it was cast.
Theo snatches his hand away, reddens, then spins on his heel, his jaw tight and his brows lowered. He stalks out of the garage, letting the door slam shut behind him.
15
For the rest of the day, Theo avoids me, and he makes it obvious. If I step into a room, he steps out. If I glance in his direction, he looks away. Whatever was about to happen between us in the garage, it’s rattled him even more than it has me. He’s gone back to scowls and thunderclouds, and once again, I’m at a loss.
Before the guys finish at five o’clock, Coop gives me an update on their progress. Then they leave, Theo first. I watch from the front window as he throws himself into his Mustang and roars off down the road at top speed as if he’s competing in the Indy 500.
I’ve never had patience with mysteries. I loved math at school because of the concreteness of it, the absolute confidence you had that every single time, two plus two would equal four. There’s beauty in that kind of unchanging, provable perfection.
So the pure inconsistency of this man and situation is driving me crazy.
Which is why I decide I’ve had enough of it. Things between us from now on will be strictly business. His problems aren’t my concern, and my problems aren’t his concern. It’s not healthy for me to get caught up in whatever this is.
No matter how tempting this “whatever” is.
The next day, I ignore Theo completely. I go about my chores without glancing in his direction even once. By the time five o’clock rolls around, my shoulders are so tense from how hard I’m trying not to notice him that I’ve given myself a headache. When my cell phone rings, I answer distractedly, rubbing my forehead with my free hand.
“Hello?”
“Hey, there, Megan. It’s Craig.”
Shit. It’s Wednesday. He’s calling about the date. I haven’t spent a moment considering what my answer would be since we talked on the phone on Monday.
“Hi, Craig. How are you?”
“I’ll be better when you tell me what time I’m picking you up on Friday night.”
I have to smile at that. “You sure do cut right to the chase, don’t you?”
“I haven’t thought about anything else since we talked. Say yes.”
Now I laugh out loud, because he couldn’t be more different from Theo if he tried. It’s a relief not to have to break my brain wondering what a man is thinking. “Well, I don’t know. I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
It’s his turn to laugh. “Yes, you have, you’re just being a woman.”
“Oh, really? And here I thought I knew myself better than that. I guess my silly female brain has fooled me.”
I was trying to be flirtatious, but because I’m utter crap at anything requiring feminine wiles, it comes out like an accusation. He backtracks so fast, I can almost hear tires squealing on pavement.
“Sorry, I wasn’t saying you’re silly. I was trying to be cute. It obviously didn’t go over well.”
Now I have to sigh, because at this rate, this phone call is doomed to leave both our egos in ruins. “No, don’t apologize, I was trying to be cute and it didn’t go over well. I need to stop pretending I’m good at witty repartee. Inevitably, it ends with me crawling under a table to hide because I’ve made a fool of myself.”
The relief in Craig’s voice is obvious. “So I haven’t botched it.”
“Not yet,” I say warmly, which makes him laugh again.