Colleagues Page 3

  Did he just say…She looked over at him, and he looked somewhat shyly back.

  “But,” he continued, “I understand you’d probably rather be home. I know I would be. Let’s get you back, then.” And he stood up.

  He was ten paces away when Hope said, “Will you come back up after you get me home?”

  He sighed and turned around. “What’s the right answer to that one?”

  She smiled. “There isn’t one. I’m just curious.”

  “Probably, but I’ll just wish you had stayed.” And he went to get his shoes, coat, and keys.

  Hope sat there, flummoxed.

  William came back in the room, winter coat and all. He grabbed her bags and asked her for her keys. She watched through the window as he emptied her car into his. Then she watched him open the garage door and pull her car into the garage, with much slipping and sliding.

  That way, no one will know I was here. Smart man.

  Then he came back up for her. Without a word, he scooped her up again and carefully got them down the stairs to his warming car. She tried not to swoon at the mere manliness of such an action.

  “Do you want the back so you can put your foot up, or do you want the front seat with the heated seats?”

  She laughed shyly. “Uh, probably back, but then I feel like an even bigger baby.”

  He set her down in the back, and she grabbed her pillow and blanket from the back, arranging herself while he went back up and locked the doors, turning off lights as he went.

  When he was back in the car, she said, “I’m so sorry, William.”

  “It’s no problem.”

  She laughed. “Yes, yes it is. You were going to have a lovely week without me before I showed up and ruined it.”

  “So were you,” he said.

  She smiled back at him. “Touche.”

  And then she watched silently as he expertly maneuvered in the snow through a blizzard in the canyon. Putting her head against the cold glass of the window actually felt really good, so she even slept a little bit as the pain flowed and pulsed through her leg. She woke a half hour later when they’d made it out to the freeway.

  William looked in the rearview and saw when Hope woke up.

  “Hey, you okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Thanks for driving so well. It’s pretty sad when ibuprofen can knock me out.”

  He chuckled a little. “I’m fairly certain it’s the pain throbbing down your leg.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I really am sorry about your week, Hope.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll get lots done sitting at home.”

  “So, tell me about your paper.”

  And then he watched her light up—even through the pain—as she told him all the things she’d found. He tried to ask appropriate questions, though he wasn’t truly a literary scholar, and he watched as she loosened up more and more.

  When they were just a few exits from town, he asked her her address and started to figure out how he could prolong his connection to her. But she questioned him from the back seat before he could figure out what to say next.

  “So, are you going to go back up there tonight? It’s only what, 9?”

  “Yeah, I probably will.”

  “Are you a night owl, then?”

  “Actually, I’m usually an early riser, but I think the night’s activities have woken me up enough.” He tried desperately to not sound gruff but amused as he said it.

  “Yeah, I bet,” she laughed.

  “In reality, I’m just hoping that if nothing else comes of tonight, we can at least be better office neighbors.”

  She smiled. “I think it’s safe to say that since you’ve now seen me at my worst, you’re stuck with me as a friend.”

  “I’d like that,” he said.

  He saw her eyes narrow in the rearview mirror. “Really?”

  He sighed. “I told you, Hope…”

  “I know; I just don’t get it.”

  He breathed in and out again. “Okay. You’re in my car, and I’ve now carried you twice tonight, so I’m feeling like I’ve been fairly brave. I’ll try to make it as clear as possible. I wish you were staying with me at the cabin this week.”

  “William, that’s nice, but…”

  “Hope, look in the rearview mirror.”

  She looked up and met his eyes.

  “I. Wish.” He enunciated the word. “That you were staying. With me. This week.”

  “I’m glad to know you don’t hate me,” she smiled.

  Woman. You’re not getting it.

  William put his head down on the wheel for a split second.

  “Hope.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re not getting it.”

  “Getting what?” she asked, clearly perplexed.

  “I wouldn’t have offered to have anyone else stay in the cabin with me. I’m not that nice of a guy.”

  “Okay…”

  He rolled his eyes. “And I thought I sucked at communication. Here goes: I’m attracted to you, Hope. I think you’re intelligent and beautiful, and it would not have been a hardship to take care of you this week.”

  She sat staring at him in the rearview mirror.

  “And with that, here’s your house.” And he pulled up into her driveway.

  “William, I…”

  “Nope. No words necessary. I just feel like you should know the real reason I haven’t talked to you all these years. How do you tell your office neighbor what I just said without seeming like a creep?”

  “I don’t think you’re a creep.”

  “Well, that’s good. Because I think you probably did earlier today,” and he looked in the rearview mirror at her.

  She looked at him in the mirror, her face unreadable.

  He got out of the car and gathered all her bags. He still had her car keys, so he guessed which one was her house key and put all her bags in the house. He then went out to get her out of the car, carrying her yet again—easily—up the one stoop into her pale yellow house and into her front room. He set her down on her couch and moved to put the groceries in the fridge. It was an adorable house—just like her—and had white trim and cream walls. The small galley kitchen was off to the left, with the bedroom hall off the right. The living room was the big room in the center.

  When he turned to leave, she was standing near the couch with her hand steadying her.

  “Do you want me to put your bags anywhere for you?”

  “No, I—“

  “Okay. Well, goodnight, Hope.” And he turned to leave. She reached out and grabbed his hand, though, as he walked by her.

  “Wait.”

  “Yes?” He asked, supremely embarrassed and just wanting to get going to stew in his own mortification.

  “Thank you.” And she pulled him nearer. He stood while she hopped a foot or so over to him and pulled down on his neck. He leaned over, and she kissed him on the cheek. He lingered for a moment, enjoying the feel and scent of her. He stayed leaned over to look in her eyes. Did she mean that?

  He grabbed her hand from off his neck and pulled her fingers to his mouth, kissing her knuckles.

  “You’re welcome.”

  And he left, driving the whole two hours—the snow had gotten worse—in schizophrenic perseveration. I said too much warred with I should have kissed her. Or he’d think, Was that hand kiss weird? Or Why did I tell her my SUV could make it? I should have kidnapped her here. Then reality would set in, and he’d realize she was in pain and that her being home was the best option.

  He made it up to the cabin, but parking on the driveway was no longer an option. He maneuvered into a spot up the road where he felt he wouldn’t be socked in by snowplows—though he doubted they even plowed up here. He walked the half a block down the road and up the driveway, into the cabin, and got ready for bed.

  The next morning, Hope woke up to the throbbing pain in her foot. She called Anna, who took her to the local clinic and helped her get checked out. She h
ad, indeed, broken one of the tiny bones in her foot and bruised a few other places, including spraining her ankle. Anna got her stocked up on pebble ice for her ice pack and some prescription pain meds. Driving home from the clinic, they were rehashing William’s words for the eighteenth time.

  “So, he wanted you to stay. He said he’s attracted to you. What do you think? Are you attracted to him?”

  “Well, physically, yeah. He’s built like a linebacker. So, yes. He makes Jeremy look like a girl.”

  Anna sniggered. “How is good ‘ole Jeremy the Jack A—“

  “We’re not discussing him,” Hope smiled.

  “Right. Sorry. So, William’s built. Got it.”

  “And he has this brooding dangerous facial expression down. But I saw him smile last night for the first time, and it was…. He was….”

  Anna looked over at her. “Oh, oh I see.”

  Hope sucked in through her teeth. “Yeah. So, yeah, I’m attracted to him physically. But there’s always been such a harsh personality to go with it, I honestly don’t know. I just can’t figure him out.”

  “Is there a possibility he’s actually shy?”

  “But he’s not—he teaches, and he’s great in front of a crowd.…”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s easy for him. He could be being absolutely honest: because he likes you, he gets really nervous and shy.”

  “So, what do I do with that, though? I can’t assume more than I see,” Hope said, frustrated.

  “No. But I think you need to take him at his word and stop overanalyzing it. He said he wanted you to stay, and I think he meant it.”

  Hope looked out the window at the newly fallen snow. They hadn’t gotten as many inches as the cabin had last night, but it still looked beautiful.

  “Thanks so much for taking care of me, Anna.”

  “Absolutely. Let’s get you settled.”

  They pulled into her driveway only to see two delivery post-its stuck to her door.

  “That’s weird. I didn’t order anything.”

  She hobbled in her new brace, with Anna’s help, to the door and found that flowers and a chocolatier delivery had been taken to her next-door neighbor until she returned. Anna got her settled, then ran over and returned with a huge bouquet and a box of something delicious in tow.

  Anna unceremoniously ripped the envelope off the card in the spring flower arrangement.

  “Swoon.”

  “What?” Hope asked, holding her hand out for the card.

  Hope,

  I wasn’t sure if you would prefer flowers or chocolate, so I opted for both. I hope your foot and ankle are feeling better today and that you have a great week.

  William

  On the chocolate stash, the card said:

  I should have included dessert with dinner last night. Hopefully this makes up for it.

  Hope looked up at Anna, who smiled an evil smile and raised her eyebrows back.

  “I think it’s safe to say you have an admirer.”

  William had felt incredibly cheesy sending flowers and chocolates to Hope, but he wasn’t sure what she would like. And he wanted to make sure she knew he was thinking about her and that she was feeling better. After that, he wasn’t sure what he wanted. Did he want to date her? If they dated and broke up, that would make things awkward at work, though he supposed he could always ask for a different office or ask Martin to swap with him.

  But his attraction to her hadn’t decreased in the last three years. In fact, it had grown from, “She’s pretty” to “I can’t talk to her because she’s so beautiful.” So, there was that. The ache of how much he’d wanted her to stay last night probably also attested to how much he wanted her. He may as well admit it.

  He had gotten a thank-you email from Hope—a bland, “Thanks for thinking of me. Hope you’re getting quite a bit done” email on his work email address the next morning.

  After that, he had worked on his paper with the fury of someone trying not to think about something else. And he’d gotten quite a bit done on it in just two days. So much so that he contemplated finishing up the next day and taking Hope’s car back to her. The snow had melted mostly, and he’d be fine getting it to her. She probably needed it. She probably was stuck at home without it. And, mostly, he just wanted to see her. He could always catch an Uber to get back up the canyon.

  So, on the fourth day after saying goodbye to Hope, he drove her car—which barely fit him—down the mountain and back to her house.

  He strode up to the front stoop with her keys in his hand, nervous as a teenager. He rang the bell, and heard a, “Just a minute,” and then the sound of hobbling.

  Hope came to the door in pajamas, her hair in a messy bun, and no makeup. And she looked so good.

  “Good afternoon, Hope,” he started.

  “Oh, William, hey,” and she put her hand to her hair and made a face.

  Did I come at a bad time? Does she not want me here?

  “Sorry to have come at a bad time, I just…I wanted to bring your car back. I figured you were stuck here without it.”

  “Oh, my word. Thank you! That’s so nice of you. That’s a long drive.…” She still looked really embarrassed.

  “It was no problem. How is your foot…or ankle…or whatever?” He looked down and noted she was standing on just the one foot, the other raised a little off the ground. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Let’s get you back to a seat.” And with that, he invited himself in and held her elbow with his left hand and around her waist with his right, guiding/lifting her over to the couch, where she had clearly been stationed before he arrived.

  He pulled her keys out of his pocket and clicked the alarm, then handed them to her.

  She kept fidgeting—straightening her top, patting her hair.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I’m….” She stopped and looked at him. “No, actually. I’m severely embarrassed you caught me in my pajamas and without having gotten ready for the day. I’m actually doing quite a bit better than I was that first day, but you wouldn’t know it by how I look.”

  “No, I think you look great.”

  She smiled a condescending smile at him. “Thank you. You’re lying, but thank you.”

  He was caught off guard. “No, really. I’m not lying.”

  She smiled that same “I don’t believe you” smile, but said, “Anyway, I do have both a broken foot and a sprained ankle, so evidently I don’t do things halfway.” As she said this, she arranged herself back on the couch, sideways, with her foot up on a pillow. William moved a little to help her arrange the blanket back over her.

  As he stood, he said, “I’m so sorry. Can I get you anything?”

  She smiled, “You brought me my car and bought me flowers and chocolate. I think you’ve already gotten me a lot.”

  He could tell he was fighting a blush. “That was nothing. I just felt really bad about how things worked out.”

  “You’re kind. Tell me, how is your paper coming?”

  “Well, thank you. Yours?”

  She grimaced, “Not well at all, I’m afraid. This whole mess,” she gestured to her leg, “has actually not been as much of a problem as just my lack of focus. I’m usually a crazily driven writer. Evidently not this time.”

  He sat down on the coffee table near her.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Not your fault.”

  William looked around for something else he could do or help her with that would give him a reason to stay.

  She sensed his restlessness and said, “Can I get you anything? Do you—Oh, how are you going to get back to the cabin?”

  “I’ll just get an Uber.”

  “Oh, you must let me pay for it!”

  He looked at her, disbelieving. “No.”

  She looked at him, taken aback, and said, “That was one of those times when I felt like I just ticked you off. But you mean it nicely, right?”

  He sighed and scowled more. “You didn�
��t just tick me off. I mean it. It was my pleasure. You can’t pay me back. I wanted to check on you anyway and make sure you were okay.”

  She smiled a real smile that time. “I am. Thank you.” She then seemed to think about something for a minute, and he could see on her face when she decided to say whatever it was she was thinking. “Would you…do you have dinner plans? Would you want to stay for dinner? I don’t have anything elaborate planned, but we could get take-out and watch a movie or something.”

  Yes. Absolutely.

  “Uh, sure. That sounds nice.”

  “Unless you need to get back to the cabin to get your car…”

  “I can always go back up tomorrow.” Shoot. “I mean, I can stay at my house tonight and go back up tomorrow.” Shoot shoot shoot.

  Hope smiled a sly smile. “Right.” She moved some things around on her couch to make room for William and then started cleaning off the coffee table.

  “Hope, you don’t need to do that. Things are fine.”

  “I doubt that. Your office is cleaner than anything I’ve ever seen. I doubt you enjoy clutter.”

  She’s noticed my office?

  “Uh, yeah…I’m afraid I’m pretty OCD. But I like your house. It feels…comfortable.”

  She smiled at him, and he moved over to sit on the couch spot she’d cleared off.

  She gestured to the muted TV. “I was actually watching Avengers movies. Do you like superhero movies, or do you want something more…cerebral?”

  He lifted one half of his mouth. “I like action flicks as much as the next guy,” and he settled back into the couch, trying desperately not to be a nervous idiot. She had moved her foot up onto the coffee table instead of sideways on the couch, and that didn’t look as comfortable, but he wasn’t about to move it.

  They watched the last half of “The Age of Ultron,” and about 20 minutes in, when she was shifting surreptitiously for the tenth time to make her foot more comfortable, he reached forward, said, “May I?” and snatched her foot and its pillow off the coffee table, pulling them onto his lap.

  “You just looked uncomfortable.”

  She looked shocked for about two seconds, then said, “Sorry…”

  “No problem at all. I’m invading your space. The least I can do is make you comfortable.”