An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong #1)(29)

“I need her here tomorrow night. I’m keeping her late,” Cal says, sauntering closer until he’s only two feet away from us.

Dante intercedes, sending me a knowing wink. “No worries. Maybe next week.”

“She’s busy then, too.” He stares at him, unblinking. “Get back to work.”

Chuckling lightly, totally unfazed, Dante gives Cal a punch on the shoulder and tips his head to me in goodbye. “Heard, boss.”

I watch Dante slap a beanie on his head and make his way into the garage.

“Print me that inventory report,” Cal says when the door closes, sidling up beside me at the desk until our hips bump together. He doesn’t step away.

Swallowing hard, I gather my hair in both hands and fidget with it until it’s hanging over my shoulder in a loose twist. “Sure, but what was that?”

“What was what?”

“Cal.” It’s all I say because I know he’s not an idiot.

He leans forward on his palms, knuckles looking transparent due to the amount of pressure and tension rippling down the expanse of his arms. Splayed fingers curl into his hands until he’s making two fists atop the desk. Then he looks to the left, meeting my eyes. “Because you’re sweet, and he’s trouble.”

His response has my belly fluttering. I try not to obsess over the fact that he called me sweet and shift my focus on the other angle. “Oh…well, I thought he was your friend.”

“He’s also trouble.”

I nibble my lip. “And you don’t think I can handle trouble?”

“Just print me the report, Lucy. I need to get back to work.”

I inch away from him and scroll through the program to locate what he’s looking for. Confusion races through me because I don’t know what to think about Dante’s assessment of Cal having a “personal interest” in me—it sure as heck doesn’t seem that way. But, he also fell right into Dante’s little trap and put a blatant stop to any Netflix-and-chilling.

My mind lands on the only explanation: Sister.

He sees me as a sister due to our history together and my friendship with Emma.

That’s the only scenario that makes an ounce of sense. If Cal was interested any other way, he wouldn’t be radiating irritation and loathing so potent, my skin feels singed.

“Here you go,” I say, reaching down to fetch the papers from the printer.

He swipes them from my hand, muttering something gruffly under his breath that is either a “thank you” or an “eff you,” then turns away.

It looks like he’s about to head to the garage but falters briefly, pivoting toward his office instead, likely to put the report on his desk.

I lock up. Cal is about to walk into an enchanted orchid garden, and I have no idea how he’s going to react. He’s in an awful mood, so my ploy to lift his spirits may ultimately backfire and cause an eruption, like a flame to liquor.

The end result: I’m a flambé.

Holding my breath, I watch him disappear into his office with his head down as he skims the report. My heart is pounding, making me dizzy. I start braiding my hair to quiet my shaky hands, my leg bobbing up and down in time with my heartbeats.

A few moments tick by.

One, two, three, four—

And then, Cal steps back out.

He just stands there, facing me outside the door, totally unreadable. Tense and silent. Something in him deflates a little, and he leans his shoulder against the doorjamb, shoving one hand into his blue jeans. He swallows as he stares at me. Still silent, still blank.

I stare back, my eyes huge and searching. I’m terrified, choking on my own air, desperate to know what he’s thinking.

I get my answer when he inhales a quick breath, and then his lips turn up with a smile.

A smile.

A smile.

I’m embarrassed when unexpected tears spring to my eyes to the point where his smile blurs, and I have to blink them away to make sure I didn’t imagine it all. But I didn’t, and he’s still smiling, shaking his head with a measure of disbelief.

A tiny sound falls from my lips. A laugh, a sigh, a burst of impossible relief. I smile back at him, bigger, brighter, flashing all my teeth through misty eyes and a pathetically happy heart.

Cal glances down at the floor, the smile lingering, before turning around and heading back into his office.

When I was seven years old, my parents bought me a shiny new bicycle without the training wheels. Cerulean blue, my favorite color at the time. It had a little bell and pastel pink streamers floating off the handlebars, and I cried when I saw it waiting for me in the garage on my birthday, sitting among a pool of confetti sprinkled at the wheels. My parents didn’t have a lot of money at the time and told me they couldn’t afford to get me a new bike, so I never expected it.

It was such a surprise. An incredible, thoughtful gift.

I didn’t think anything would ever replicate the feeling of joy that raced through me when I saw that blue bicycle, knowing Mom and Dad must have sacrificed a lot to have been able to afford it. Even as a small child, I knew that.

As I stand here with tears tickling my cheekbones, I know that life’s truest treasures live inside the unexpected moments. The little curveballs that sweep us off our feet and steal our breath.

I told my parents the bike was the best gift I ever received, and nothing could ever top it.