She blinked, taken aback. “Oh. Thank you. That’s very kind. But there’s a comfortable roll-a-way bed in the study. I actually requested that room. I thought all the books and Frank’s old typewriter might be…” She hesitated, as if searching for the right word, before adding, “Motivating.”
He nodded. “That makes sense.”
They stood, staring at each other again, as if neither one of them knew what to say next.
Nate found his mind wandering, mentally tracing her graceful features. She had this one long tendril that framed the right side of her face. It twisted like a curlicue, and for one wildly inappropriate—admittedly ludicrous—second, he was tempted to wind it around his finger.
He cleared his throat, shoving the unwelcome thought aside. “Should we head back to the living room?”
Juliet jolted out of her own trance. What had she been thinking? Was she appraising his appearance, too? For some reason, he wished he’d shaved that morning.
“Actually, I’m going to grab some coffee and hole up in the study for a while. I’m on a tight deadline.”
“Sure.” He followed her out of the room, confused by the faint pang of disappointment. Did he actuallywantto spend time with this woman? A woman who openly judged others for their inability to properly pronounce the last name of a French novelist? He hated to admit he found her intriguing and attributed her allure to their shared love of literature. He’d always been a sucker for a pretty girl with a book.
Remember, Nate. The prettiest face in the world can’t make up for a bad personality. Even if she is well-read.
His gaze lingered on the gentle swish of her silky hair grazing her shoulders as she walked.
Despite her less-than-stellar first impression, Beverly’s niece might be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. And based on the way his pulse spiked in her presence, he’d be wise to avoid her at all costs.
Luckily, even if he forgot the whole personality-over-appearance equation, there was zero chance she’d be interested in a barely-making-ends-meet veteran, even if hecouldcorrectly pronounce Proust.
Plus, there was the not-so-small matter of his past.
If the absence of an impressive paycheck and mailing address didn’t scare her off, revealing his darkest, most shameful secret would do the trick.
CHAPTER 5
JULIET
Juliet set her laptop on the small desk by the window and flicked on the floor lamp. A warm glow flooded the room, illuminating worn leather bindings in muted hues of chocolate brown, navy blue, and dark plum. Coupled with the soothing thrum of rain, Frank’s study served as the idyllic setting for writerly inspiration. And yet, as Juliet stared at the blank screen, her thoughts weren’t alive with character and prose. She couldn’t stop thinking about her conversation with Nate.
Why had she blurted “no” so hastily when he’d asked if she’d written anything he might’ve read? Especially without clarifying. She should’ve said, “No, I haven’t been published yet. I’m working on my debut, but every idea I have reeks of desperation.”
Now, he probably thought she’d written him off as a literary Neanderthal. Although, to be fair, most men, in her limited dating experience, didn’t read all that much. In fact, on one of her more abysmal dates, the guy had actually told her to give up her author aspirations because in five years or less people would either stop reading altogether or only read books written by artificial intelligence.What a creep.
Deep male laughter rumbled from down the hall—Nate’s laugh. It was a rich, pleasant sound. But she wasn’t sure what to make of the man behind the laugh. He’d readRemarkably Bright Creatures, which earned him a check mark in the pro column. But he’d also assumed she wrote romance based solely on her gender. Definite con.
A sour taste rose in her throat as she recalled her intense reaction to his sexist presumption. Was pegging her as a romance writer really so insulting? Or did she feel defensive for another reason?
Her thoughts flew to the contraband buried in the bottom of her bag. The heartwarming, feel-good, put-a-smile-on-your-face holiday romance about two polar opposites who fell in love beneath twinkling lights and mistletoe. The kind of novel her mother derided for cluttering the shelves of bookstores with useless drivel. Her secret vice.
Her cell phone pinged, indicating a new text message.
Mom. Her ears must have been ringing.
Got to brag about you at a dinner party tonight.
Juliet checked the time, 8 p.m. in California, which meant it was around 4 a.m. in England.Must’ve been some party.
Another text came through before she had a chance to respond.
My daughter, the famous author. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?
Not famous yet, she texted back. Not even published yet, she refrained from adding.
It’s only a matter of time. You have Klein blood. Have you sent your chapters to Debra yet?
