Page 121 of When Grumpy Met Sunshine
Because that was exactly the impression he gave in that fucking thick knit.
And especially when it was coupled with that beard.
His big, tangled beard that he’d obviously left even wilder than usual on purpose. As if the wildness was the thing that put her off, instead of just making her want to breathlessly ask whether he was about to split a log with his bare hands.
Though thankfully, she managed to be cool.
She just said something normal, like hello.
And yes, her voice went up and down in the middle when she did.
But if he noticed, he didn’t say. He told her they should get started on some work instead. Then he pointed to her chair, and sat on what she now thought of as his step, and they got down to business. The good, correct, professional kind of business, which mostly just involved him telling her things that were okay to include, and her drafting them very roughly out. Or her slyly persuading him to draft things out by muddling things up or including things he didn’t want, until he gave an exasperated sigh and started scribbling.
Though she noticed that he had a notebook of his own now to do that very thing. A nice one, with what looked like a suede cover in black. And he wasn’t using a biro, either—it was a fountain pen, of the sort you chose when you enjoyed writing, or wanted to feel good while you wrote, or maybe some combination of both.
Plus, he really seemed engrossed in it in a way he hadn’t been before. Prior to this he’d been reluctant and only done a little. Then he’d stopped, and paced, or gone off to make a cup of tea. But he didn’t here. He kept going.
So much so that she started to think they could actually get through this. The sex stuff had just been a blip, brought on by all that fake-relationship madness. Now maybe they could be free to be things like friends and work colleagues.
Who did things like smile at each other.
Like the way he was smiling at her now.
Right before he did a perfectly normal thing like ask her to come to him, so she could see what she thought of what he’d written. “I feel like it’s kind of disjointed and not really getting to the point,” he said, as she walked over.
And then she sat next to him.
And tried to take his notebook from him.
And immediately knew that this had been the wrong choice.
She could feel it straightaway, like a drop in cabin pressure.
Or a sudden siren blaring, somewhere off in the distance.
Though it was still somehow shocking when he suddenly burst out with this:
“Okay, so here’s the thing: I’m gonna need you to go sit back over there.”
Because god, he sounded desperate. Even though a second ago, he’d sounded frigging fine. They’d been fine. Couldn’t he just go back to being fine? “But you just said you wanted me to take a look,” she tried. But he wasn’t having it.
In fact, he seemed even shakier than he had a second ago.
“I know what I said. And it was a big mistake.”
“In what way was it?”
“You know what way. Don’t make me say it.”
She wanted to look at him then.
Mostly to see if he was actually shaking as hard as she could make out through the tiny contact of his jumper sleeve against her jacket. But in the end, she couldn’t do it. What she needed to say was hard enough without factoring in the sight of him.
Bet he looks absolutely lust-fucked, her brain suggested.
And her brain sounded bonkers.
But she couldn’t risk that it might be right.
