I really know nothing about Athena—about her past, her family, her life goals—so I can’t possibly know what she’s thinking. And I shouldn’t mentally accuse her of thoughts that aren’t truly there.
OnceUntold Mercyis with my editor, I’ll make more of an effort to get to know Athena. Make more of an effort to get her to open up to me. As employer and employee. As friends.
I put Peony down on the grass. Another butterfly flutters by the hydrangeas, and Peony toddles over to check it out.
“Don’t worry about making lunch for me,” I tell Athena. “I’ll grab something quick before I leave.”
I return to my office, post an update on social media about the shitload of Advance Reader Copies the publisher is giving away of my upcoming release, and then semi-disappear into my work in progress. But it’s hard to focus on the words; my thoughts keep drifting to how Zara needs to see a rheumatologist. The cause of her pain is beyond her family physician’s level of expertise.
And that’s making me antsy.
My word count has spluttered to nearly a standstill by the time I get ready to pick up Zara.
Even though I told Athena not to worry about making me lunch, asandwich sits at my place on the kitchen table. Athena is on the couch, reading to Peony from one of the picture books.
I sit at the table, watching them as I eat, wishing I could join them. But I have no intention of making Zara miss her appointment. I have no intention of not being there for her.
Zara is waiting for me outside as I pull up in front of her building.
Her brow creased, she climbs onto the passenger seat of the Explorer. I can’t read Athena’s expressions, but I know Zara’s as well as I know my own.
“You’re not a burden, so get that thought out of your head. I’m happy to help you out.” I’d do anything for Zara. She’s got to know that by now. “I’m more than just your kissing buddy.” The corner of my mouth quirks up, and my gaze drops to her lips. The full lips I can’t wait to kiss again.
Zara’s thigh bounces on the car seat. Damn, she’s nervous as hell. Usually, the leg bouncing is reserved for when she’s super stressed. If we weren’t sitting in the Explorer, needing to get going, I’d kiss her.
I reach over and thread her fingers with mine. “You don’t have to do this alone, Zara. I’ll be there for you. If you want.” I squeeze her hand and pull away from the curb.
“I know. I just hate going all that way for nothing. I saw a rheumatologist in Eugene a few weeks ago, and he thought Imighthave early rheumatoid arthritis. What makes this rheumatologist any different?”
“Maybe this one will have more definitive answers. Your physician referred you to them for a reason.” One person can’t be an expert in everything. If my FBI contacts can’t answer one of my book-related questions, they get the answer from someone whoisan expert on the topic—as long as the information isn’t classified.
“Hopefully you’re right.”
I release her hand and steer right onto the busy residential street. We drive past single-story homes and the scattering of cars parked in front of them.
“How are the renovations going?” I feel out of the loop compared to normal because of my deadline.
“Not bad. I’m also in the process of planning a grand reopening. Lauren McNair has agreed to perform during the afternoon.”
“That’s great.” Her eclectic mix of country, pop, and ’70s-style pop-rock music has gained her quite a following in the area.
“I’m also planning a sampler menu for the day, so people can try out the different foods that usually rotate on the menu.”
I briefly shift my eyes from the road in time to catch a wry smile curving her mouth. “So, you want to tell me why you need my romance novel ‘expertise’?” She air quotes the word.
I’m more interested in finding out why she never told me about the previous rheumatology appointment and how she might have rheumatoid arthritis, but I let her take the lead in the conversation. I explain the scene I’m working on, and that I’m upping the level of romance in the story compared to in my previous books.
She laughs my favorite throaty chuckle. The sound of it slightly eases my own concerns about what’s going on with her body. Concerns I don’t want to give voice to…in case that’s all it takes to make them come true.
“I can definitely help with that.” Her lips twitch, as if trying to hold back more laughter. “Just how steamy are you looking to write? I’m assuming not super spicy, since that’s not what your books are known for.”
I have no idea what that entails, but I can guess. And she’s right. That’s not what my readers expect from me. “Maybe midlevel steam.”
“I can loan you the romances with scenes appropriate for your book. And I’ll mark the pages—with the kissing and the spicy times—so you don’t have to read the entire novel.”
“That’ll be great. Thanks.”
“And I’d be happy to read your scenes and give you feedback, so you don’t get any WTF reviews.” The sexy laughter returns to her tone, hitting me square in the groin, causing my cock to perk up.
