Scandalized

Alec clearly doesn’t understand my astonishment. “What what?”

“She came over while you were hanging out here last night and stealthily returned the rental car?”

“What else did she have to do yesterday?” he asks, laughing. “She was more annoyed that I took off than she was to be given something to do at, what? Seven at night? It isn’t like I called her at three in the morning to drive to San Diego and back.”

“I guess.” I measure out some beans, pouring them into the grinder. “Plug your ears.”

He does, cutely, bringing his shoulders up like the sound of the beans grinding might actually be earsplitting. The sharp cracking and metallic whir cut through the quiet, and then I pour the grounds into the filter and glance over my shoulder at him. “Yael,” I begin, treading carefully. “What’s she like?”

Alec hums, pulling a pen from a mug on the counter and doodling on the back of some junk mail. “She’s incredible,” he says carefully. “She’s quite reserved. Shy. But although it takes a while to get to know her, she’s deeply loyal. She just isn’t going to bend over backward to please someone she doesn’t know.”

Well, that certainly explains the silent elevator ride the other day. “How long has she worked for you?”

“About five years,” he says and, at my look, clarifies, “She moved to Korea after I finished my military service. But I’ve known her since she was about fourteen.”

“Wow.”

He nods. “Her mother was my parents’ housekeeper. She was at our house a lot.”

“She is around my and Sunny’s age, then?”

“They’re close.” He pauses, chewing on the next bit of information. “Yael modeled for a bit when she and Sunny were eighteen and nineteen, but she didn’t enjoy it. She’s organized and bossy but shy.” Drawing a series of concentric circles around the border of a Trader Joe’s mailer, he says, “I guess that’s a better fit behind the scenes than in front of a camera.”

“Does she know that I know you from before?”

He nods.

My next question feels sticky in my throat, but I have to ask it. “Have you two ever…”

He meets my eyes, and when understanding hits, Alec lets out a short, easy laugh. “No. It hasn’t ever been like that with us.” Smiling, he adds, “Yael is a lesbian.”

The kettle whistles and I turn to get it, pouring the water carefully over the ground coffee and watching it percolate into the carafe. The quiet feels full, like he’s swallowing his next words down.

“This looks very fancy,” he says.

“It is. Be impressed and grateful.”

Alec laughs. “Oh, I am.” When I hand him a steaming mug he takes it but then sets it down on the counter and reaches for me, pulling me between his legs. “Thank you, Georgia Ross, impressive barista.”

“You’re welcome.” I kiss him, fighting the urge to sink further into the contact. “How do you take it?”

Alec’s hand comes up under my T-shirt. “However you’d like it.”

I lightly flick his forehead. “I mean your coffee.”

“Cream, sugar. The more it tastes like ice cream, the better.”

I groan, turning to the fridge. “This coffee is wasted on you.”

“It’s not,” he protests, laughing as he takes the offered cream and tilts it generously over his mug, “I promise to enjoy it.”

“If you don’t have your car, how are you getting to your hotel?”

Alec lifts his arm. “Pickup in about ten.”

“Yael?”

He nods.