It was clear how vast his world was. I didn’t need him making my world feel so much smaller.
He ended the call, turned, and his grin softened when he saw me at the sink. “So… big assignment. Patagonia. Feature-length. It’s the kind of story travel writers wait their whole career for.”
I nodded. “Congratulations.”
“I didn’t say yes yet.”
“Not yet,” I corrected.
He crossed the room, placed a hand on my shoulder, warm and real and entirely too temporary. “It’s three months. Maybe four. Brooks, this is what I do. I’m a travel writer. I travel… and I write about it.”
“You don’t need to explain your job to me. I’m not the village idiot.”
“I never said you were.”
“I think I’d like you to put some clothes on and leave now.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re strutting around here stark naked taking work calls. I’m not sure how entirely appropriate that is.”
He looked down at himself, then back up at me. “You liked it ten minutes ago.”
“That was before Patagonia waltzed into my kitchen.”
He gave a short laugh, the kind people use to cover discomfort. “Brooks, come on. You can’t honestly be mad at me for taking a call. This is what I do.”
“Yes,” I said. “You travel the world. You eat exotic food, sleep in unfamiliar beds, write it down in a notebook, and send it to your editor. It’s all very impressive.”
“And you make it sound like a crime.”
“Only because you seem determined to do it while standing in my kitchen with an erection.” I turned, tipping my tea into the sink and rinsing my teacup.
He laughed again, softer this time, then stepped closer. “You know what I hear in your voice right now?”
“Disappointment,” I said crisply.
“No,” he said, touching my arm. “Fear. You’re scared this means I’ll vanish.”
I set my teacup on the rack and looked at him squarely. “If vanishing is what you do best, then by all means, excel at it. Just don’t expect me to clap.”
That silenced him. For once, the man who always had a line ready was speechless.
The Nook opened at nine sharp, because it always opened at nine sharp, even when my stomach had been tied into knots by one maddeningly independent Australian whose compass apparently pointed to everywhere except me.
I unlocked the door, flipped the sign, put out the chalkboard, and tried to convince myself I felt perfectly fine, despite the fact that my hands couldn’t stop fussing at my cuffs and smoothing my bow tie.
Clearly, I needed to keep those hands of mine busy.
I dusted a shelf that didn’t need dusting. I switched the History section with the Geography section, then switched them back again. I adjusted the cash register by half an inch, polished the bell above the door and finally made myself a cup of peppermint tea.
None of it changed the churn in my chest.
Cody’s voice had been so damn bright when he’d said the wordPatagonia. It had filled my little turret with something big and daunting, as though glaciers and gauchos had muscled their way into my quiet little world of books. He hadn’t said yes to the assignment, but he hadn’t needed to. The excitement in his voice had said it all.
The bell above the door chimed and in swept Aunt Bea like she was late to her own coronation. Today’s outfit comprised an iridescent purple halter-neck dress, gold hoop earrings big enough to double as hula-hoops, and a handbag shaped like a pineapple because of course… why not?
“Brooks, my bootylicious bookworm! I’ve come for updates on that gorgeous hunk of Australia you’ve been spending all your time with. Have you tied your kangaroo down yet? Tell me all your joyous news, my gossip gauge is pointing to ‘dangerously low.’ If I don’t fill the tank immediately, I’ll turn into a pathetic middle-aged man who sits on the couch watching football on a Friday night. Save me from a fate worse than death, I beg you?”
