Page 41 of Not Safe for Work

Rafe finishes his food and wipes his hands on a napkin.

“Hold on,” he says, standing up and entering the suite. A moment later, he returns with a glossy white box tied with an elaborate gold ribbon.

“You can have these.”

“Ooh, what is it?” I perk up, swinging my legs to the ground. Rafe resumes his position in the lounger across from mine.

“Something I bought the other day.”

He shrugs, but the movement is tight as he stares at the box in his hands. I reach out and flip up the shiny tag. Macarons. Fancy ones with little pictures describing each flavor.

“You bought a box of French macarons to keep in the bathroom?”

“Well, I have nowhere else to keep them, Trishara.” He gives me a meaningful look, but I completely brush past the point because he smiled at me, and now, he’s offering me treats. What am I supposed to do with myself?

He runs a hand down his face.

“Who did you buy these for, Rafe?”

I take the package, stroking the stiff golden ribbon between my fingers.

“I guess…” He stops, grimacing at the box like it’s a grenade. “I guess I bought them for Hannah.”

“Oh,” I reply as something crumples in my chest. I’m so stupid. His half-naked body. His leg against mine. The smile. I’m searching for signs that don’t exist.

It’s fine. I need them to reconcile. It’s for the best. As soon as Rafe is back with Hannah, all these pointless feelings will take a hike and leave me the hell alone. Everything will return to the orderly places they belong, and I can keep him at a distance where it’s safest.

“I can’t eat these.”

I place the box on the lounger next to Rafe’s hip. I should eat them because they’ll go stale long before he gets them back to Chicago, and why is it so adorable that he doesn’t know that? Macarons are my favorite, and I really, really want to eat them, but there’s a symbolism in eating a present he meant for his currently-ex-but-maybe-soon-to-be-current girlfriend.

“I’ll just call down for more room service.”

I stand, but Rafe wraps a hand around the back of my knee, stilling me. Killing me.

“No,” he says, his touch lingering for an extra beat. He clears his throat and pulls his hand away. “You can eat them.”

He picks up the box and unties the ribbon. “It was stupid. I don’t know why I bought them. I think it’s supposed to be an apology.”

He peels off the gold sticker sealing the box and holds it open.

“An apology?” I ask because I’m deep into this now, I guess.

At first, he doesn’t look at me. His gaze is focused like he’s contemplating drowning himself in the shallow depths of a cardboard box. When he looks up, his eyes are filled with conflict.

“I just never felt a spark,” he says.

“Oh,” I say again, and that earlier crumpling loosens like an unfurling paper ball.

“Our parents are friends,” he continues. “They’ve basically been inseparable since they were in college, and when they both had kids around the same time, they planned our entire future. I resisted it for a long time. We would have been married years ago if they’d had their way, but I wanted to see some of the world first. Do some stuff.”

“Do some other women?” I joke, and he rolls his eyes.

“I’m opening up here, Tris. Do you mind?”

“Sorry,” I say and bite my bottom lip. “But really?”

He gives me a cautious smile, and I’m amazed at how easy this is. Like this is how it’s always been. It’s still making my heart stop every single time. “Okay, yes. I didn’t want to marry the only woman I’d ever been with. Does that make me an asshole?”