Love, Utley (Love Letters #1)

“No specific award, just achievements in general. Top fifty lists, that sort of thing,” I tell her, referring to my never-ending cycle of bets with Waller.

Hannah returns the carton to the fridge, then looks at the drawer I’m standing in front of.

I know what she wants, but instead of moving so she can get a clean spoon, I take the one from my mug.

Another glance shows that we’re still alone with Donut Man, who is focused on his donuts, so I put the spoon in my mouth.

I close my lips around it and pull it free before I hold it out for Hannah to take.

She darts her eyes around the room, but seeing the same thing I do, she takes it and puts it into her mug.

And that’s when the door to the break room opens.

Hannah shifts, like she’s going to jump away from me, reminding me of after the car accident.

“Don’t react.” I say it so only she can hear me.

I don’t know who walked in, but nothing we’re doing right now is inappropriate. We might be standing a little closer than total strangers would, but I’m friendly with everyone.

I turn my head, finding Brandon walking across the room.

Okay, so maybe I’m not friendly with everyone.

“Morning.” I nod to the man because I’m still civil.

He nods back, then looks at Hannah. “Morning. Did you have a good weekend?”

“Really good,” she answers without hesitating.

I lift my coffee and take another drink, covering my smile.

“Uh, that’s nice,” Brandon replies like the dumbass he is. “Mine was good too.”

Too bad no one asked you.

He goes to the fridge and takes a tall can out of the door.

I almost roll my eyes. What sort of grown-ass man has a cotton candy flavored energy drink to start his day?

“Heading out?” I hold up my arm for Hannah as though she was waiting for me to leave, and I’m insisting she goes first.

She nods. “Yeah, best get to work.”

As we walk across the room, Donut Man finally stands. “Welp, if the boss is getting after it, then I should too.”

I feel a slight alarm at him paying attention to what’s going on around him. But something tells me that even if he knew the entirety of my history with Hannah, he still wouldn’t tell anyone.

FIFTY-FIVE

HANNAH

I’m shoving open my office door, ready to toss my armful of things onto my desk, when I freeze.

Because sitting on said desk is a mug of coffee.

The same mug I used yesterday, filled nearly to the brim with the perfect shade of coffee.

Warmth fills my chest.