Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Hanging out with Brody was more fun than I’d anticipated.
He was anal-retentive, yet knowing the reasons behind his behavior, I couldn’t help understanding why he was the way he was.
That made me not just feel sorry for him but like him as well.
The whys of his behavior cast him in a new light.
I had no idea if that was a good or bad thing.
What are you doing?
When the text came through the next morning I didn’t know who it was from, and I frowned.
Chopping up my husband into little bits so I have an easier time burying him.
I always messed with scammers when they texted. It was my goal to make them as uncomfortable as possible.
And here I thought you would be waxing poetic about the banana martini.
I froze, then I smiled. It was Brody.
How did you get this number? I’m not complaining or anything. I’m just curious.
I readjusted so I was more comfortable in my bed, anticipating a fun conversation. When had I started associating Brody with fun? That was weird to think about.
The contact sheets for the author events. We all have each other’s numbers.
Ah. That made sense. I hadn’t even looked at the contact sheets. The fact that Brody had—he needed to have all the information—wasn’t surprising.
I’m still in bed. I’m debating what I’m going to do today, I texted.
When the little bubbles popped up, anticipation built inside me. At that very moment, I knew exactly what he was doing. There was no wondering. There was no guessing. There was just knowledge. That was a powerful thing for me, a person who had grown up never knowing anything.
You’re just getting up? he texted. I’ve already written three thousand words today.
Is that a good thing? I was honestly curious.
Yup. Do you want to take a walk? I could use a little head clearing.
I wasn’t much of a walker, yet I liked the idea. Give me twenty minutes.
brODY HAD A BOTTLE OF WATER WITH him when I met him outside the house. He handed it to me, smiled, then inclined his head. “Which way do you want to go?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea. I don’t know the neighborhood very well yet. Which way do you think we should go?”
He didn’t consider it long. “That way. The houses are better in that direction.”
“Then let’s go that way.”
I anticipated things being uncomfortable between us until we fell into our new rhythm, however long that would take. It didn’t happen, though.
“So, what are you working on?” he asked.
“It’s the first book in a new trilogy. Vampires have taken over following an apocalypse, and there’s a new world order. My heroine is the queen, and she’s supposed to marry a king from one territory over, but she’s in love with her first lieutenant.”
“That sounds kind of interesting.”
I laughed at the way he phrased it. “You sound surprised.”
He shrugged. “Paranormal stuff has never really been my thing. I grew up liking elves and dwarves and have always enjoyed plotting big battles. I’m not as good with the emotional stuff.”
“For what you’re writing, I think you’re very good. When you look back at Tolkien’s stuff, he barely built any romance in. Arwen was just a void on the page.”
“He was terrible at writing women,” Brody said. “I think that was the only thing he didn’t do well. It was the epic Lord of the Rings story that made me fall in love with fantasy.”
I nodded, understanding. “I loved Aragorn. He was uber hot.”
“Did you ever actually read the book, or did you just watch the movie?”
I was sheepish. “I never read a fantasy book until I picked up yours. But I did love the movies. Don’t take it personally. I just like a little spice with my fantasy.”
He laughed. “I get it.”
“I like your books, though. You weave a lot of emotions into your stories. Does everybody in the fantasy genre do that now?”
“Not really.” He shrugged. “I do it a little more than others. I didn’t set out to do it. My first book… I was just vibing it out. My first few books weren’t published. It took me getting four in before I got one through a publisher.”
“I think that’s true for all of us.”
“I started to hit my stride on my second book and better understood what it was that I wanted to write. Then I got better and better.”
“I knew right away. When I go back and read that first book, though, I’m embarrassed.”
“Writing is one of those things you get better at the more you do it,” he said. “Do you ever think about writing something else?”
“Yeah. I’ve considered doing some contemporary romances, no paranormal aspects. But I’m nervous I’ll ruin what I’ve got going.”
“I’ve always wanted to write a mystery.” His cheeks colored when I glanced at him. “I’d probably be terrible at it.”
“You’ll never know if you don’t try.”
“Yeah.”
We kept walking. Conversation turned to other things. He was a big fan of shows like Dateline. He said he liked to figure out the mystery before they laid it out for him and had an impressive ratio of being correct. I admitted that I loved Lifetime movies but hated Hallmark movies.
“I can never tell Hayley that. She thinks Hallmark movies are the best thing ever invented, and if she knew I hated them, she would assume I enjoy kicking puppies in my spare time.”
He smirked. “Um … what’s the difference between Lifetime movies and Hallmark movies?”
“Seriously?” I stopped walking and studied him. “Have you ever seen either?”
“I don’t think so.” He looked uncomfortable. “Maybe.”
I wasn’t making fun of him. He probably didn’t realize that.
“Lifetime movies are usually about crimes. Sure, they’re dramatic crimes, like somebody stealing a kid and the parents not being reintroduced to the kid until they’re fifteen and there’s a chance the kid is a sociopath who wants to kill their other kids. ”
His mouth dropped open. “That sounds awful.”
“Oh, come on,” I scoffed. “You’re intrigued, and you know it.”
He smirked and shook his head. “And Hallmark movies?”
“They’re all about the romance. The worst thing that happens is there’s a misunderstanding between the hero and heroine. There’s always a quirky town, and a lot of the time, there’s a real Santa running around, granting wishes.”
He took a moment to consider it. “And why do you like the Lifetime ones better?”
“They’re just more exciting. The Hallmark movies have very little conflict.”
“Ah.” He broke into a wide grin. “You watch them with your storyteller hat on.”
“Yeah.” I was sheepish. “Don’t you do the same thing?”
“I look at the structure of movies and television shows,” he admitted. “I can’t seem to help myself, even though I’m convinced that takes some of the joy out of the viewing.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” I resumed walking. “I like to be a judgmental jerk when I’m watching, though. I can’t help it.”
He laughed again. “Yeah, I do that too. Do you think that makes us unlikable?”
I shrugged. “I don’t really care. Do you?”
“I used to. I’m not so sure any longer.”
“Well, let me know when you decide.”
IT TURNED OUT THAT WHEN brODY SAID HE was going for a walk, he meant a hike. I figured we would go for thirty minutes and turn around. Two hours later, we were finally heading back onto my street.
“Everything hurts,” I complained, wiping the back of my hand over my forehead. I’d finished my water an hour before and was dying. “Why did you do that to me?”
“Exercise is good for you. I exercise every single day.”
I gave him a dark glare. “Are you defective?”
He chuckled. “No. I just … my mother and I always walked together until she got too sick for it. Now when I’m walking, sometimes I pretend I’m walking with her.”
I went soft all over. “And you invited me to interrupt your private time with your mother?”
“I just didn’t want to walk alone today for some reason.” He averted his gaze. “It’s not a big deal.”
Because he obviously didn’t want me to dwell on it—something I would have ignored before I’d gotten to know him—I let it go. “It’s too hot to walk like that every day.”
“I don’t even notice the heat any longer.” He shrugged. “I grew up here. Not on Skidaway Island but in the Victorian District. Then I left for college and came back. I literally don’t even notice the heat now.”
I tried to picture that. “I wonder if I’ll get that way.”
“Do you want to get that way?”
“I would prefer it to this.” I gestured toward my tank top. I’d sweated so much it was soaking wet.
He looked down, right at my boobs, then jerked up his chin. His cheeks flushed hot, and it wasn’t because of the heat. Why I was so excited about that, I couldn’t say. We were friends—or rather, friendly. Nothing he had said or done suggested he wanted anything else.
I didn’t either—I didn’t have time for that.
I was on deadline and still figuring out my new home.
That whole torture-the-board-of-the-Landings thing was going to be taking up a lot of time.
I wasn’t looking for romance. Heck, I was terrible at romance.
How uncomfortable would it be if we dated for two weeks and then broke up?
That would be worse than how things had been between us before. I didn’t want that. Not even a little.
“You should take a shower,” he said in a rusty voice. “Just don’t make it too cold. The shock of the temperature change could make you pass out.”
I had to take a moment to absorb that. “Um … okay.”
“I need a shower too,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’ll drop you off at home and then head out.”
The rest of the walk, which was thankfully short, was conducted in silence. I was still debating the best way to bid him goodbye when a figure appeared on my walkway. I stopped moving the second I saw the familiar silhouette. I would recognize the long hair and goofy wave anywhere.
“Bree-Bree,” a singsong voice called out. “I’m here.”
She said it as if I should be grateful. I didn’t respond. I just stared, dumbfounded.
I felt rather than saw Brody’s gaze move to the side of my face. “Who is that?”