“Of course,” I replied, as if that was a silly question. Because it was.

“Favorite chip?” he then asked.

“Chip?” I asked, the word seeming out of place when we had just been talking about books and movies.

“Food. Snack item made from potato or corn sometimes rice.” There was a softness to his tone, and I liked it. I wanted to hear more of it and see his mouth when he spoke. That was an off-limit thought.

“Takis,” I said quickly, needing to stop my train of thought.

“So you like spicy then?” he asked. “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

I was expecting him to ask me something else, and I was anxious to hear him talk more, when a knock on my window startled me. I didn’t want to be interrupted. This was a moment I wanted to hold onto. There was sadness clawing at me, but his voice was keeping that from taking over. When I looked up to see who it was, Rathe was there. All six foot three inches of gorgeous man. I stared at him, confused, then I went to unlock my door. The second the lock released, he jerked my door open.

“Let me drive,” he said, holding out his hand toward me. I looked at his hand, and our handshake yesterday flashed in my mind and how embarrassed I’d been then. Now, here he was coming to drive me because I had lost a friend. Mattia was my boss, but he had also been a friend. He had cared for me and the rest of his employees. He asked us about our lives and family. He had been more than just our boss. Tears stung my eyes, and I knew I was going to cry again. The distraction of Rathe’s voice and his questions no longer kept me from thinking of the horrible news.

Rathe pulled me up out of the driver’s seat and wrapped his arms around me in a hug. He smelled of sandalwood and something else dark and masculine that made me want to cling to him for several reasons. As delicious as the smell on his skin was, it didn’t take away the pain of knowing my friend was gone.

“Get it out. Go ahead and cry,” he said. “You’re not alone now.”

I would always be alone. He didn’t understand that nor had he ever felt alone, I was sure. Not my kind of alone. He hadn’t meant it that way, of course. He meant I was no longer alone in my car crying by myself. The truth of my loneliness added to the grief. He was so very wrong. I was alone. In everything.