Chapter Eight

Cliff

The club couldn't have gone much worse. Forrest ran up looking so panicked, and it wasn't the same as seeing someone big do that. Although how deep he was in little space once we began to talk, I couldn't say for sure. Not very, I'd suspect. He was speaking in an adult way, sort of. His words were running over one another, and he was upset and trying to explain the awkwardness that I already understood. It was why I attempted to leave before he saw me. The hurt in his eyes when I said "if it happens." He couldn't know how much I wanted to make that happen.

I'd never wanted to strip someone down and worship them with my mouth more. He was so winsome, so adorable, but at the same time so upset. Of course he would be. He just ran into his boss while in the little room without any kind of warning at all, and then when he nearly flat-out asked me if we could play together, I did the equivalent of brushing him aside.

It wasn't what I wanted to do. No, every fiber in my body demanded I take his hand and lead him back into the little room. We could build blocks together and then he could knock them down as he'd been doing when I saw him in there. Maybe color or have a snack… I would love to gather him on my lap and snuggle him close while I read him a story. But no…I went another way. I didn't know what to do, so I did nothing, and now Forrest was avoiding me at every opportunity.

It was remarkable how an employee whom I'd seen multiple times a day managed to be so invisible. The only times I saw him at all were at meetings where he had to be there. It was wearing on me and made me really wonder about how long we could go on like this. I was trying to do the right thing and keep it professional, but I was miserable and, from the little I saw him, I believed he was the same. No longer smiling and generally lifting everyone's spirits, he sat at the conference table, quiet, only speaking to answer direct questions. Even when I didn't see him, I could tell from the general feeling in the office that his mood was spreading.

Fuck it. Rules or not, for the good of the whole floor—and me—I was going to fix this. I liked him, and I believed he felt the same. Finally, after ending up on the same elevator car going down at the end of the day, the tension between us making a poor PA unlucky enough to ride along squirm, I called Bridger, one of my friends at Chained, and asked him if he had an hour to meet me for a drink.

I needed his advice.

We met up at a wine bar near his home and settled at a table with a carafe of local red. "Let's get some tapas to go along with it," he suggested. "They have tiny tacos that are so good!"

I'd heard of these at a fast-food location, which made me wonder, but I agreed and soon the server brought our wine and food. "Now, Cliff, spill it. Does this have anything to do with that cute little I saw you talking to last week?"

"How did you guess?" I poured wine in both our glasses and lifted mine to taste. "This is nice."

"I tried it last week with Hudson, and we bought a bottle to take home." He drank as well. "So, can I guess the issue?"

I leaned back in my seat. "Go for it."

"He works with you and probably under you?"

"You're good." I reached for the wine again. "So, right now, at the office, he is giving me the cold shoulder, and everyone is uncomfortable."

"How are you feeling about all this?" He didn't say a judgmental thing, just asked me in a calm, everyday tone.

"Bad. I like him a lot, but even if we got past the company rules, it isn't a great idea to go out with people we work with. It could make things very uncomfortable at work."

"As opposed to now when it sounds like that's a perfect description of the situation?" He picked up one of the little tacos. "Try these."

"All right." They still didn't sound that good, but they looked kind of golden and crispy. I followed his example and chomped down on one. "Oh wow. These are incredible."

"Right? Hudson is crazy about them." We cleared the platter before going on with our conversation. But after he dabbed his lips with a paper napkin, he fixed me with a steady glare. "I know companies prefer their employees don't date, sometimes, but if you really like this guy, you're going to have to figure out a work-around. Maybe he needs to be in another department."

"He did suggest that," I grumbled. "But he's so good for ours, usually."

"Mm-hmm." Bridger finished his glass of wine and stood up. "Maybe just get to know each other before taking any huge stands or making big changes?"

After he left, I sat for a while mulling over his words. Then I went home, and the next day at lunchtime, I visited a certain shop that specialized in high-quality stuffies and looked for just the right one.

They had a variety of different animals that I thought were adorable. I'd happened on this place one day when I was walking around on my lunch break. It was a truly special store, one that made me wish I had a little to buy gifts for. I strolled around, picking up this stuffie and that, rejecting each as not quite right, and then I found the perfect one.

"Do you deliver?"

"Of course." The girl behind the counter accepted the stuffed Christmas tree from my hands. "Is it a local address?"

"Yes. And would it be all right if I included a note?"

"We have cards you can write in if you like." She handed me one and a pen. "This is one of my favorites. I love all the stuffies we do here, but this holiday season, I kind of like the idea of a stuffed tree."

I thought of Forrest who'd moved to a whole new town not long before the holiday season. It must be hard not to be near familiar places and faces. Yes, the stuffed tree was perfect. I wrote a short note to Forrest.

Dear Forrest,

I hope you like this little stuffed tree and it makes it easier being far from home at Christmas. Maybe we could go to dinner sometime?

Take care,

Cliff

I actually signed the first card, sincerely , but asked for another. Now the ball was back in his court, and I hoped he'd agree to go out for a meal with me. Then we'd see what happened from there.