Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Hunter
“Are you going to answer me?” I ask Gina as I see her quickly covering and closing the books in front of her.
“Just research for the book,” she says quickly. “I haven’t actually been able to spend much time outside today,” she says as she gazes out of the window. “It looks really nice.”
Hmm, why is she changing the subject?
“You do like looking out the window a lot, don’t you?” I ask her. She looks over at me quickly, her eyes widening slightly as I offer her a wicked smile. I love seeing the way she stares at me when she wants to ask me something inappropriate. She decides not to continue with her train of thought.
“So what exactly are you doing in here?” I question and watch as she blushes slightly and just shakes her head. “I was doing research on your grandparents for the book. I figured if I’m writing their story, I should research all members of the family.”
“Are you planning on interviewing me?”
“Interviewing you? Why would I do that? I mean, it’s not like I’m trying to get your story.” She pauses. “But I mean, if you would like to be interviewed...”
“To talk about my grandparents, sure.” I frown as I think of the reporter who had contacted me. She looks away quickly and mumbles something under her breath. “I mean, I assumed you would want to talk to family members to find out their thoughts on this relatively long and happy marriage.”
She looks up at me with narrowed eyes. “Why did you say it like that?”
“Why did I say what?”
“You said ‘relatively normal and happy marriage’ kind of sarcastically.” She leans forward. “Are they not normal?”
“What do you think?” I ask, chuckling.
“Are they not happy?”
I stare at her for a couple of seconds and shrug. “How would I know?”
“I mean, you’re the grandson. You run the company, too, don’t you?” It’s my turn to freeze.
I narrow my eyes and look at her. “What do you mean, I run the company?”
“I mean, I think Preston mentioned that he’d retired, and that you were in charge now or something.” She bites down on her lower lip, and I know for certain whatever she’s talking about did not come from my grandfather. I reach down and grab some of the books in front of her.
“What’s this exactly?” I see a stack of photo albums and old photos, but then I see my yearbook.
I glance at her, and I can tell that she is defiant.
Her chin is sticking out, and her pink lips are trembling slightly.
They’re so luscious. I want to kiss her.
I’ve wanted to kiss her since the second time I saw her in the bakery, but that would’ve been totally inappropriate.
I want to tell her that I’m glad that she and her boyfriend broke up, but that would be even more inappropriate, and I know that.
“So, Gina, how long have you been a ghostwriter?”
“Honestly, this is my first ghostwriting job,” she says, looking uncomfortable. I wonder if she’s worried that she’s going to mess up. I debate between telling her that my grandparents are easily pleased, but I decide to keep my mouth shut. “So I’m really trying to do a good job here.”
“This is your first ghostwriting job?” I blink at her, surprised that she would take on such a big project as her first writing gig. “Really?”
“Really. My granddad and your granddad play golf together, and I guess your granddad was saying he needed a ghostwriter, and my granddad knew I was—well, I like to write—and he suggested that I might be good for the job. And because your grandfather is so gracious—”
“Okay. Okay,” I say, cutting her off. There’s something about the story that doesn’t feel right, but I don’t want her to know that I’m doubting what she’s saying.
Maybe because I don’t want to doubt her.
There is something about her that is so genuine.
I’m drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
Maybe it’s the way she smiles, but she captivates me.
“So you decided to just come up to the Waverly Estate and start interviewing my grandparents, not really knowing anything about being a ghostwriter?”
“Well, I love… love,” she says quickly, “and I love romance books. And this is kind of like a romance book.” There’s a dreamy expression on her face and I wonder if she’s waiting for a romance book love.
I wonder if she knows that real relationships are complex and often tangled.
It’s not my place to tell her that real love isn’t picture perfect.
You can’t write the very real feelings and emotions onto the page.
You can’t write the heat the rises in your stomach when you touch someone you’re falling for.
“It’s very much nothing like a romance book,” I say. “If it were a romance book, there would be roses and daffodils and long walks on the beach and tender kisses at midnight and lingering glances and furtive handholding. And I’m sure you’ve noticed that that does not exist between my grandparents.”
“Well, I mean, maybe it did at one point,” she says.
“Why are you mad that they’re still together?
” She looks at me curiously. “Or are you just one of those men who doesn’t believe in love?
” She leans toward me, her eyes seeking answers that I don’t want to give.
I don’t even know if she truly cares about my answer.
Especially not the answer I would give. I’m not sure if I’ve given up on the idea of true love or not.
I used to think the shield around my heart was ironclad, but then I’d met her and I’d already experienced a few moments where I’d felt like where she was penetrating my barrier.
“Well, I’m obviously not mad that my grandparents are together because they’re my grandparents, and I don’t know what men you’ve been in contact with, but many of us do believe in love, myself included.”
“So you believe in love. Are you in love right now?” she says, and then licks her lips nervously. I wonder if she’s asking for herself or if she’s just generally interested. I’d like to think she feels the same attraction I do, but I’m not going to ask.
“Am I in love right now?” I stare at her curiously. “Is that your way of asking if I have a girlfriend?” She immediately pulls back and her face goes bright red. “You interested in finding out if I’m open to dating?”
“No, of course not. Why would I care about that?” She stutters over her words, and I burst out laughing. Though what I really want to do is kiss her. Her lips look so kissable right now. I wonder what she’d do if I were to lean forward and kiss her.
“I don’t know. Why would you care about that, Gina Spellman? Are you interested in something you saw? Are you interested in me?”
“No. I’m not interested in you whatsoever.” But the rise of pink on her face goes against everything that she’s saying. Like she has thought similar thoughts about me that I have had about her.
“I think you saw me swimming the other night at the beach.” I put it all out there. I know she’d seen me the other night, but I’m not sure exactly what she’d seen. It had been late and dark and I’m been pretty fast as I’d headed back to the cabin.
“What? When you were skinny-dipping? No, I did not see you doing that.” She leans back. “I have no clue if you were naked and who swims naked in the ocean in the middle of the night? That’s totally irresponsible. What if a large wave would have come and swept you away?”
“Then how did you know I was skinny-dipping?” I smirk. “Also, I appreciate your concern, but it was a calm night. I just want to free my thoughts.”
“Oh.” She wrinkles her nose and rubs her forehead. “I mean, I just assumed that you were…”
“You’re a terrible liar then.”
“Maybe because I don’t lie regularly.”
“We’re all human. We’re all fallible. We all lie.” I think about the last two years and try not to get upset. “Most people lie through their teeth.”
“Well, aren’t you just sanguine?” she says, chuckling.
“Ooh, what is that, your word of the day?”
“I have a very prolific vocabulary, thank you very much.”
“I would hope so, seeing as you’re a ghostwriter.”
“Yeah. Well…” She looks at her watch and seems to back away. “I should get going because the writing group is happening, and I know your grandma really likes me to partake in those.”
“I think I’ll join you,” I say, standing up.
She blinks. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I think I’d like to join you. I’m done with gardening for the day.”
“Why do you garden so much?” she asks, an inquisitive expression on her face. “That’s really something that would be nice to get an answer to, because that’s kind of the reason I thought you were the gardener.”
“Maybe the answer is a simple one,” I say softly as I watch her gather her stuff together.
“And what’s that simple answer, then?”
“Maybe I just like gardening, huh?”
“Yeah. I suppose you run a multi-billion-dollar company, and you just decided to come to Whisper Cove to garden your days away.”
“Maybe I did.”
“I mean, what was the celebration about anyway?” she says so casually that I would think she didn’t really care about the answer, except for the way she’s looking at me slyly under her lashes. There’s something going on here, and I can’t put my finger on it.
“Let me ask you something, Gina.”
“Yeah?”
“If the guy you were dating had asked you to marry him—if he hadn’t turned out to be a dog—what would you have said?”
“I—huh?” She blinks at the change of subject. “What do you mean, what would I have said?”
“Would you have gone through with it?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Interesting.”
“Why are you even asking me that?”
“I mean, you seem like a relatively normal, very attractive, sexy lady. You seem fun and like you’ve got a good sense of humor. And for the life of me, I can’t understand why you were with someone like that. He very obviously didn’t respect you or care about you.”
“What is this, a psychotherapy session that I never signed up for?” She rolls her eyes.
“No. I’m just curious.”
“Why do you care?”