Page 77 of Clinically Delicious
The hallway was dim, lit only by the soft glow from downstairs.
We stood there, close together in the quiet, and suddenly I was very aware of how small the space felt.
How close he was.
How I could smell his cologne again, that clean, expensive scent that had been driving me crazy all day.
Say something. Thank him. Say goodnight. Go home.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. “For today. For the carnival. For... everything. It was really—”
“Cate.”
I looked up at him. He was watching me with that expression again—the one I couldn’t read, the one that made my heart race and my brain short-circuit. And then he reached out. His hand came up slowly, deliberately, giving me time to step back if I wanted to.
I didn’t step back.
I couldn’t move.
His palm cupped my face, warm and solid, his thumb brushing against my cheek in a gesture so gentle it made my breath catch.
Oh my God. Oh my God, what is happening?
His eyes held mine, dark and intense in the dim light.
And then he said one word.
Just one.
“Stay.”
My brain exploded.
Not metaphorically. Actually exploded, into a million tiny pieces that were now floating somewhere in the vicinity of Megan’s bedroom door.
Stay? Stay WHERE? Stay in the hallway? Stay in the house? Stay... with him? Oh my God, is he asking what I think he’s asking? No. No, he can’t be. That’s insane. He’s my boss. I’m the nanny. This is—but his hand is on my face. And he’s looking at me like—like—oh God.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
My mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
No words came out.
Literally none.
My entire vocabulary had apparently evacuated the premises, leaving me standing there like a malfunctioning robot whose only setting was “PANIC.”
Say something. Anything. Ask him what he means. Clarify. Use your words, Cate.
“I—” I managed. “You—”
Nailed it.
Very articulate.
Gold star, Cate!
His thumb moved again, a small stroke against my cheek that sent electricity straight down my spine.
