An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong #1)(12)

“Make sense?” His palms are splayed on the desk as he bends forward, his corded arms lined with veins and ink.

I look back down at my notes, biting my lip as I internally panic. “Absolutely.”

“You sure? I can go over it again.”

We glance at each other at the same time, and our eyes catch, his coppery irises glimmering against the dim lighting. I want to ask him a thousand questions that have nothing to do with the job.

How are you?

No, wait…who are you?

Do you laugh the same? Hug the same? Do you still eat your cereal with chocolate milk?

A little crease forms between his brows as he scans my face, and I wonder if he has questions, too. I want him to ask me something. Anything. I want to confess that I never stopped thinking about him, even after all these years. I never stopped thinking about her.

“I looked for you,” I mutter softly, unable to hold back the heart-rending truth twisting my heart into knots. Cal’s frown deepens into something darker, his jaw hardening as he stares at me. I watch emotion dapple the eyes he’s trying to keep stone-cold, but my words are like warm sunlight beating down on a block of ice. “I tried to find you. Facebook…social media.”

He finally pulls his gaze from mine, bowing his head. “I don’t have any of that shit.”

“I noticed,” I nod. “It was hard not knowing what happened to you. What happened to—”

“I didn’t hire you for this.” When he snaps his head back up, the frost returns, a silver storm clouding his eyes. “I don’t want to do this with you, Lucy.”

“You act like the past doesn’t mean anything.”

“Because it’s the past. People fucking change. They move on. I’m not that kid anymore, and if this is going to work—” he flicks a tattooed finger between us, “—you need to get it out of your head that you can break me down with endless smiles, sunshine, and banana bread.”

I recoil as he straightens from the desk and looms over me by a solid foot. My eyes mist, locking on the center of his charcoal gray hooded tank, too afraid to lift them and meet the volatile expression I know he’s wearing. “Okay,” I say, my tone pathetically meek. It shakes a little, causing Cal to let out a tapered sigh.

When I finally find the courage to trail my gaze skyward, he’s scrubbing a palm down his face, scratching at the coarse stubble along his chin.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t pry.”

“I’m being an asshole.” With his hand still cupped around his jaw, he turns his attention to the dying orchid sitting at the corner of the work station. The pink and fuchsia flowers are dull, the petals wilted. He closes his eyes, breathing out through his nose. “I just want to keep this strictly business. Tell me you understand.”

I nod quickly. “I understand.”

“I don’t mean to be such a dick,” he continues, panning back to me.

I’m already staring at him with a lump in my throat that feels like a chunk of my heart that came loose. I swallow it down, forcing a smile to spread. “You’re not.”

“I am. I just don’t know what to do when you look at me like that.”

“Like what?” I murmur.

He peers down at his feet, then back up, a flash of pain crossing his face. “Like you’re looking at her.”

I don’t have time to work through the emotion that seizes me, or the stabbing feeling that punctures my chest like a hot blade, because the main door swings open, revealing a man in a white hoodie with olive skin and sable hair.

He raises his coffee cup in greeting. “Yo.”

When he notices me standing beside Cal, hardly visible behind the corner of the desk, he does a second take, stalling his feet. I send him a smile, shaking off the tense moment. “Good morning.”

“Are you the new girl?”

I bob my chin, instinctively fiddling with my giant top-knot. “Lucy. Today’s my first day.”

Cal clears his throat, scuffing a worn sneaker along the linoleum floor and pushing away from the desk. “She’s our new receptionist,” he intervenes. “Lucy, this is Dante, one of the mechanics.”

“It’s great to meet you.”

Dante takes a sip from his cup, eyeing me with appreciation. “Likewise. It’ll be nice having a lady around here keeping us degenerates in line.” Grinning, he looks over at the chair that holds the muffin basket. “You make those?”

“I did,” I say, gliding around the desk, yellow skirt flaring. “Apple cinnamon.”

“Shit. Nice find, boss.”

Cal makes a humming sound as he flips his ball cap around and traipses over to the water cooler in the back corner of the room. He fills a paper cup, then returns to the desk to pour it around the base of the potted orchid. Not looking at me, but clearly speaking to me, he says, “Come find me if you have any questions. The guys know their way around the system, but I prefer to be the one in charge of training you.”

“Okay. Sure,” I reply.

Cal tosses the empty cup into the trash and saunters away, heading back into his office and leaving me with pages of messy notes and an ultra-frazzled mind.

Dante shuffles past me. “A few words of advice,” he says, stopping at the desk as he takes a swig of his coffee.