"What are you thinking about?"
Cal looked up from the papers on the desk in front of him. Rose leaned forward, her hands flat on the desk, holding her up. Her expression was serious, but he could see a smile in her eyes.
"What are you thinking about?" she repeated, over-enunciating each word this time.
He looked around as though he were checking to make sure they were alone and then motioned for her to come closer. When her face was just inches from his, he said, "Peanut butter."
Her forehead wrinkled. "Peanut butter? Seriously?"
He nodded. "That's what I was thinking about."
She dropped into the chair behind her. "Why?”
"Why what?" he asked, turning his attention back to the papers.
"Why were you thinking about that?"
"I could ask you why you came in here and demanded to know what I was thinking about." Or you could just tell her the truth. You were thinking about—"But you know what?" he asked, standing up. "It doesn't matter."
"It doesn't? Why, I can't recall you ever dropping an issue before," she said mildly. "Better be careful. Such out-of-character behavior might frighten a girl."
"It'll take much more than that to frighten you, I'm sure," he said, walking around the desk.
"What makes you so sure?" she asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
"Just a hunch," he said. "I never thought you were the type to scare easily. It's one of the things I always liked about you," he added. Why did you say that? Why in the hell would you say something like that?
Rose smiled wryly. "I never thought you liked anything about me. Other than the obvious, of course."
I still like that, he wanted to say. More now than before. But instead he said, "I never thought you liked anything about me, either."
She shrugged. "There wasn't much to like."
Suddenly, it was as though the air was pressing down on them. It was almost too thick to breathe. Rose fought the urge to open her mouth as wide as she could and take in all the air her lungs could hold. Why did he have to go there? Why did he have to start bringing up the past? she thought angrily.
Cal tugged at his shirt collar so hard he popped off the top button. It flew across the room and bounced off the wall with loud ping. And just like that, the suffocating heaviness that had descended upon them was gone. They could breathe again.
"I should go," she said quickly. She stood up and moved toward the door.
"You just got here," he said, taking a step forward. "We've barely begun to fight with one another."
"I know, but I really don't have that much time left before I have to be back. I shouldn't have even come down here." I don't even know why I did. Oh, yes, I do. Shut up! "And I'm wasting your time," she added. "You were clearly busy when I came in, and I interrupted."
He looked over his shoulder at the stack of papers. "Do you mean that? That's nothing. That's something my father sent me. I haven't had a damned thing to do all day." Could you beg her to stay any harder?
"Your father sent you something?" Her voice was filled with shock. "I thought you said he never wanted to speak to you again."
"He doesn't. This is not about a future reconciliation between the two of us."
"Oh." She stood awkwardly in the doorway. "Well, you've got that to read if nothing else, and I've got to get back to work."
He nodded. "I suppose you're right," he said, sitting back down behind the desk. "Thanks for coming, though!" he called as she slipped out the door.
She stuck her head back in. "What?"
"Thank you. For coming to see me," he said quietly.
She smiled. "No need to look so sad. We're still having dinner together. Unless you've got another beautiful woman to spend the evening with, that is."
He shook his head. "I doubt that'll happen."
After she was gone he settled back in to finish reading the letter from his father that had arrived that morning. It was short and terse, much like most of the conversations he'd had with his father in person. Enclosed is a copy of my will, Cal read. He eyed the stack of papers underneath the letter. So that explains it, then…of which you are now a part, he continued. But not for long. He stopped reading and crumpled the letter in his fist. He just wanted an excuse not to leave anything to me, he thought, tossing it over his shoulder. And now he has one. He'd take the money I do have if he could, but he doesn't have a claim to any of it. I earned it myself. Without him.
It was nothing compared to the vast fortune he stood to inherit if he just came home and stopped this nonsense, but the money Cal had earned for himself speculating in the stock market over the years was more than enough to keep him comfortable, and if he so chose, idle. He had gotten a job anyway. It paid well and required a minimal amount of effort. It wasn't exciting, but it filled his days. He'd never had a passion, never had something he wanted to spend all of his time pursuing—except perhaps money—and the thought of sitting around all day with nothing to do scared him.
As his mind began to drift, it landed, as it seemed to more and more lately, on Rose. She'd used her job as an excuse to leave, and though he knew it was true, she had needed to get back, he also knew it wasn't the real reason. She had been working at the library for almost ten years, far longer than anyone else there had been. There was no chance of her losing her position, and she knew how little attention he paid to his work. It was what I said. It upset her. He mentally kicked himself. You know better than to say things like that to her. Just because she never sees anyone else doesn't mean she's going to wake up one day and realize she's in love with you. He started. Never meant to think that one.