Chapter Eighteen

Stephanie

“Give him grace, Steph,” I counsel myself as I drive to Alfie’s house two days later. “He’s obviously trying to do the right thing, even though you think he’s misguided.”

I mentally review the last time I saw him. He was stiff and polite when we parted ways after our return from the airport. His voice was stilted as he told me to take two days off. When I protested, he said, “This isn’t a punishment and, of course, I’ll pay you. It’s just that you were on duty for two full days, far more than eight hours each. You deserve some time off.”

I let it go, didn’t pursue it. When I got over the initial shock of his blunt rejection, I realized he was right; I was beat and needed time to gain clarity.

Several times over the last two days, I reached out to him with open-ended texts: You recovered yet? And Did that jam session reinvigorate your muse? His one-word answers were all I needed to get the message that he’d basically gone radio silent.

Well, he was right about how much that trip took out of me. I needed to recuperate. My first day off, I slept, ate comfort food, and called friends and family for a dose of support. Yesterday, though, I did some research online and prepared for today. I’m prepped and ready to launch a full-frontal attack.

After punching in the code to get through his electronic sentry, I pull up to the house, let myself in, and call his name as I do every morning. It’s not totally unusual when he doesn’t answer. Sometimes he’s in the shower when I arrive.

It takes me until the coffee machine is hissing and spitting out the last drops into my cup that I realize he’s not here. After adding a generous pour of caramel creamer into my cup, I retrace my steps to the front door and check to see that his SUV is still in the drive. Which means he’s already in his studio.

“Jerk,” I snark as I make my way up the steps to my office.

I love this room, especially this time of morning when the sun filters in through the half-open blinds, bathing the room in a warm glow. Although I was originally supposed to work from home half-time, that never really panned out.

First, there was so much to do here, then I was too intrigued with Alfie to want to miss saying hello to him for a day. I like being around him.

That little speech he gave on the plane about the things he discovered about me? Well, I’ve been observing him as well.

I notice when he’s on the phone with someone how his voice deepens and gets crisp and businesslike, but when he talks to me, he has a warm, open tone. When he’s flustered, he palms the back of his neck, and his eyes look up and to the right as he buys time to find the perfect response.

When he’s eager to say something but is being respectful and letting me finish my thought, he absently scratches his chest, which is always covered in one of his Labyrinth tees. I’d say I know him pretty well.

We’ve been watching each other for months, both growing fonder with each day, but not acting on our desires.

Of course, ‘I’m your boss’ is a totally legitimate excuse and precisely the one that held me back in the first place.

“Well, Mr. I’m-avoiding-you-in-my-studio, I have a plan, and I won’t let you push me away forever.”

Around ten in the morning, when I wander to the kitchen to paw through the pastries he has on the counter, I realize he’s still gone.

We’ve developed a wordless routine of eating lunch together every day. Although the trip to the Zone might have reinvigorated his muse, I’ll admit that when lunch rolls around and he’s still a no-show, I’m more than a little irritated. I’m pretty sure he’s dodging me.

Around three, I realize I haven’t gotten a thing done for the last hour because I’ve been fuming, which is as good a response as any at being ignored for three days.

“Okay, Alfie. Since you won’t come inside, I’m going to march my happy little ass out to you.”

The yard is bordered on three sides by fragrant pines. Although it’s hard to get away from the scent of pines when you’re in rural Georgia, the smell is particularly thick in the heat of the day in his backyard. He’s wisely chosen to keep the vast yard looking natural, although he has a crew come in weekly to keep it from becoming a jungle.

It’s filled with fragrant wildflowers, with meandering pea-gravel paths and a few rustic wooden benches scattered throughout. I decide to eat my lunch out here from now on. It’s too beautiful to stay inside.

I follow the stepping-stone path from the house to the cottage and rap on the door—loudly. I imagine he’s either playing music or wearing headphones, and I want him to hear me. Besides, it’s my first shot across the bow, letting him know I’m here on a mission.

After a solid minute of knocking, the door cracks, opening to Alfie’s sideways head. All I can see are his two eyes, vertical, staring at me in the least welcoming manner possible.

“Hello?” By the tone of his voice, it’s clear that what he wanted to say was something like, “What the fuck do you want?” By his stance, it’s clear he’s naked and hiding all the good bits from prying eyes.

“I’d like to speak with you before the end of business today,” my tone is clipped, efficient. He can speak in one-word sentences? Well, I can be businesslike and bitchy too.

“Alexa, what time is it?”

Really? He doesn’t have a clock in there?

After Alexa tells him it’s 3:34 p.m., he says, “I’ll be in by 4:00,” and closes the door.

He didn’t! Did he? Did he really just dismiss me like the hired help and slam the door in my face? Well, he didn’t exactly slam it; he closed it gently. But still.

I’m back in the house, sitting at my desk, staring blankly at my email inbox when I realize that I am the hired help. That’s the point, right? That’s why he terminated the world’s best kiss and sent me home and gave me two days off.

Well, fuck him. If he ever comes in from his studio, I’m going to fix this.