Beauty and the Brooding Boss / Friends to Forever: Beauty and the Brooding Boss / Friends to Forever

“You’re welcome.” Reluctantly, she slipped her wrist free and headed upstairs.

“Did I really expect anything to change?” she asked Puddin’ the next morning. “I mean, so I helped him with a headache. Big deal.” One second of gratitude hardly changed anything.

“It was just for that one moment—” her skin tingled, remembering how his fingers encircled her wrist “—I felt like we understood each other, you know? That we connected.

“I should have realized it was my imagination.” For starters, she didn’t make connections. Not that kind anyway. And second, this morning Alex was still the dark, aloof man he’d been since her arrival. Worse, if that was possible.

“The guy’s been through the wringer, that’s for sure,” she said, hitting the save button. “I’d probably do the same thing if I’d been ripped apart like that. Makes you wonder what he’ll do when this book comes out.”

If the book comes out. Her gaze traveled back to the dwindling stack of yellow pads. This morning Mr. Lefkowitz sent an e-mail requesting a progress report which she was avoiding answering. With all the cross-outs and redirection, she’d transcribed maybe a third of the book. Certainly not a complete novel by any means. The editor wouldn’t be happy.

“If Alex doesn’t start producing soon, I’ll be stuck here till Christmas,” she said to Puddin’.

Did Alex even celebrate Christmas anymore? The image of a somber, undecorated Nuttingwood popped into her head, breaking her heart. Didn’t seem right he should spend the holidays isolated and lonely.

“Will you listen to yourself?” she said aloud. “What do you care how Alex Markoff spends his holidays?” This was a perfect example of why she didn’t do connections. Connections started you down the road toward foolish, elusive concepts like home and family and holidays …

And kindred spirits with stormy gray eyes.

“That’s it. Time for a break.” Her thoughts were getting way too out of control.

On the terrace, Puddin’ stretched and started to get up. Grabbing her empty mug, Kelsey sent a mock glare at the feline through the open French doors. “Don’t even think about coming inside while I’m getting coffee,” she told him, knowing full well he wouldn’t listen.

Coffee was the one area where she and Alex had an automatic accord. Apparently they were both caffeine addicts so by unspoken agreement the pot remained full and fresh all day. Usually Alex made the first pot, then midmorning it was her turn.

There was only one problem. Alex had put the coffee grinder on the top shelf. He had been leaving the machine on the counter, but today he must have forgotten. Too much on his mind, perhaps?

She set her mug on the counter, then dragged a chair from the table, making a mental note to remind him he promised to keep the machine within her arm’s reach. Not everyone loomed over six feet.

“You’re standing on my counter,” Alex said from behind her.

“What the—”

She nearly dropped the grinder. Worse, she nearly knocked her cup off the edge.

“One of these days I’m going to buy you a bell,” she grumbled.

“I didn’t realize my comings and goings were so important to you.”

“They are when you insist on scaring the bejesus out of me every time you show up.”

Coffee grinder in hand, she hopped off the chair, bringing Alex closer than she expected. Cloves and wood and awkwardness packed the kitchen. For what felt like minutes, neither of them moved, their bodies and gazes stuck in place. Kelsey found herself suddenly painstakingly aware of the stubble on Alex’s cheeks and the way his lips were dry but soft-looking. Eyes traveling upwards, she realized he was studying her too. Or so it appeared. His eyes had an expression she’d never seen before.

“I’m—I’m making fresh coffee,” she finally managed to stammer. What was it about his proximity that made her brain short-circuit? “How’s your head?”

His hand touched his temple as if remembering what she meant. She had the crazy urge to do the same. “Better. Nothing left but a dull ache.”

“Have you had anything to eat? An empty stomach doesn’t help.”

He broke the moment, moving away. “Are you always this concerned about other people’s welfare?” he asked, opening the fridge, “or just mine?”

“Are you always this suspicious of people’s motives? Never mind. Pretend I didn’t ask,” she added as he glanced over his shoulder.

With the atmosphere less charged, she returned to the task at hand, carefully measuring the beans into the grinder. A flick of a button filled the kitchen with a loud whir.

“Clearly you have no idea how awful you looked yesterday,” she continued over the noise.

“I’ve been having migraines my whole life. Last time I checked, I survived them all. Besides, I didn’t ask you to stay.”

“Silly me, putting your health first.” She turned off the grinder. “Next time I’ll leave you to suffer all by your lonesome.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re wel—watch out!”

Everything happened in slow motion. Alex had moved to her section of the kitchen and was reaching up to retrieve a cup from the cabinet. As he turned toward her, the outer edge of his cast smacked her coffee mug. The faded floral cup wobbled back and forth, then tumbled over the edge. Kelsey reached out to catch it, but moved too late. With a crack, the mug hit the floor and separated into three large pieces.

“No!” Her stomach churning, Kelsey dropped to her knees. Not her mother’s cup. She blinked, hoping when her eyes opened, the cup would somehow reassemble.

No such luck.

Alex’s legs appeared at her side. “I didn’t realize the cup was so close to the edge.”

“It’s ruined.” She looked up. His face was too blurry for her to read his reaction.

But she could read his voice. “It’s just a coffee cup.”

Just a coffee cup? Of course, that’s how he saw it. As just another old piece of kitchenware.

“I’m sure you can find a replacement—”

“How? Go back in time?” If she paused a second to think rationally, she’d realize Alex had no idea what the cup represented. How could he know that the last tangible piece of her childhood—her real childhood with her real mother—lay in pieces on his kitchen floor? Moisture burned her eyes. She was going to cry, and she didn’t care.

“Don’t you understand?” she snapped, swiping at her cheeks. Of course he didn’t understand. Living up here as a hermit, not caring if anyone cared about him or not. Why would he understand losing something precious? “It can’t be replaced. It’s gone. Ruined.” A tear escaped down her cheek. Angrily, she wiped it away. Dropping the pieces on the floor, she stormed from the room before she crashed completely.

“Kelsey!”

She ignored him. Nothing Alex could say would make a difference. All she could hear in her head were his words from before. “Just a cup, just a cup.” They echoed with each step on the stairway.

Once inside the sanctuary of the guest room, she slammed shut the door, pressing her back against it. Just a coffee cup. Alex was right. What was a faded, chipped-up piece of stoneware anyway? So what if she’d carried the stupid thing from foster home to foster home? So what if …

The floodgates opened as everything hit her at once—her solitude, her past, her grandmother’s crimes. Why didn’t anyone want her? Was she that unlovable?

Out of answers, she sank to the ground and gave in to self-pity.

How long she stayed there crying, she wasn’t sure. Thirty minutes. An hour. Eventually she stopped sniffling. What was done was done, she told herself. No amount of wallowing would change anything. There was nothing else to do but pick up the pieces and move on. She done so her entire life; she would do so again.

Swiping the moisture from her cheeks, she sniffed back the last tear and pushed herself to her feet.