Chapter 7
7
Schapelle
"Wow. I never noticed this track."
"It's pretty hidden," Brock agrees, holding the low branch clear for me to walk through.
"Thanks."
It's our fourth hike, and I've lost count how many times he's done nice things, like holding out a branch, or cooking dinner, or letting me splay out on his couch over the past four days we've lived together. On their own, they might seem like small gestures, but together, it confirms my initial impression of him was correct. He's a good, kind-hearted man.
We've slipped into a comfortable routine. I spend my days working on my next book, Brock potters around the cabin, tackling his next project—installing a pergola on the deck—then he makes us one of his delicious home-cooked meals, and we sit on the couch, talking well into the night.
Well, sit may be a slightly generous term since I'm lying down in whatever position feels good at the moment—usually involving my feet being elevated to stop my ankles from swelling—and the talking is more of a one-way thing since I'm the one doing most of it. But he's a great listener.
We trod along the much narrower trail, Brock leading the way, pushing aside any overhanging shrubs or branches out of my way.
When we were returning from yesterday's hike, he mentioned there was a hot spring half a mile down this way. Because the track is so hidden, hardly anyone knows about it. When he saw my face light up, he suggested we check it out today.
My eyes roam up and down his massive frame. He insisted on carrying my backpack, and I watch as it bounces against his solid back.
Solid.
That's actually a really good word to describe him, because Brock isn't just solid in all the right places physically—chest, arms, legs—he's also a solid guy. A bit quieter than I expected, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. He's considerate and measured and does something few of my exes have done—he thinks before he speaks. Never realized what an attractive, and highly underrated, trait that is.
A few minutes later, I'm holding Brock's hand, lowering myself into the hot spring, thankful I drove back home to grab my swimsuit. He grips me tightly until I find a natural ledge and sit down. "This is heavenly," I say, the warm water radiating throughout my body. "You coming in?"
"Of course."
He's been so focused on me that he's only taken the backpack off. I stretch my neck so that I'm not outright staring at the guy, but the second he unbuttons his red flannel shirt, my gaze gets pulled to him.
I guess you could say the guys I've dated have been regular-body guys . I'm a face girl, and as long as I found something I liked—his eyes, smile, or hair—I was fine with that.
But Brock Palladino is not a regular-body guy.
Brock Palladino is the type of guy who looks like he belongs on the cover of Men's Health Magazine , mountain-man edition. My eyes trace the jagged, hard lines of his broad shoulders, slightly fuzzy barrel chest, and massive arms. He gets in and submerges his entire not-regular-guy body before finding a spot close to me.
I ignore the heat pulsing through me and close my eyes, wanting to savor the calm of this moment. Despite working a ton and sharing a cabin with Brock, I've felt myself slowing down these past few days. Like I can finally breathe again.
"This is just what I needed," I murmur, my eyes staying shut as the warm water works its magic, soothing my muscles and releasing some of the tension I've been holding onto these past few months.
"Glad you like it."
I breathe in the crisp mountain air, my ears tuning in to the sounds around me—the gentle bubbling of the spring, sparrows and jays chirping overhead, leaves rustling as a gentle breeze blows through the trees, the trickle of a stream off in the distance.
This is a world away from my usual routine. I used to love the thrill of living a fast-paced, jet-setting life. But it hasn't been hitting the same way for a while now, and with impending motherhood, it's making me question how sustainable that sort of lifestyle is. Do I want to be carting my kid around on planes from city to city with no base?
No, I definitely do not. Which means I need to figure out what I do want. Slightly tricky since I currently have no idea.
I reopen my eyes and find Brock looking at me. He hastily glances away. I don't, content to study his handsome face for a moment. Dappled sunlight bathes his olive skin in a beautiful glow, his beard appears silky and is well-groomed despite being long, and his eyelashes are nothing short of mesmerizing.
"Something doesn't add up," I eventually say.
He turns slowly to face me again. "Like what?"
"You mentioned your grandfather died last year, so you've known about your inheritance clause for a while."
"I have."
"I assume you had a time limit."
"I did. Had two weeks left to find a wife when we met."
"Why did you put off finding a wife for so long?"
He lifts his arms out of the water, hooking them wide on each side against the natural rock formations, his large muscles glistening. "I guess I just wasn't in the right headspace to deal with it."
"Oh." He's given me the perfect opening to ask more, but despite things going well, I'm still testing the waters and don't feel like we're there. Yet . "Follow up question…if it's permitted?"
He nods. "Go on."
"So, I take it, no current girlfriend?"
"Correct."
"And previously?"
"I've had a few."
"Care to elaborate?"
He gives a small shrug. "Not much to say. Nothing too serious."
"Have you ever been in love?"
His brown eyes meet mine, darkening for a split second before answering. "No."
"Who ended things? You or them?"
"Sometimes me, usually them." He finds a loose pebble and rolls it absently between his fingers. "I'm not very…emotionally available."
"In what way?"
He cranes his neck and stares up at the sky. Okay, maybe I've reached his limit. I'm about to tell him he doesn't have to answer when he starts to speak.
"I don't find it easy to open up. I'm quiet. Guarded, even. Women don't seem to like that, which is fair enough."
You seem pretty open to me.
The words dance on the tip of my tongue, but I bite them back. I don't want to make Brock any more uncomfortable…or deal with the other implication of why he may be more open around me.
Is it because he likes me?
No, that's silly. I'm pregnant with another man's child, my life is a mess, and I've taken over his dining nook during the day and lay sprawled out on his sofa while I talk at him in the evenings. What part of that could he possibly find appealing?
An awkward silence stretches out between us. Brock eventually breaks it with, "And what about you?"
It's not a subtle deflection by any means, but I'll take it, regaling him with the calamity of my dating history. "My love life is so horrendously bad, ironic given I'm a romance author, that I've started calling it reverse research."
"What's reverse research?"
"Well, since I have so many bad experiences to draw from, I use what happens to me in real life, but flip it on its head. Like, one guy, Damian, total mommy's boy. Would call her every day, which at first I loved and thought was really sweet. Until she moved in with him and started joining us on our dates. I took that experience and created a character who was able to set healthy boundaries with his family and ensure his girlfriend's needs always came first."
Brock's frowning, which isn't what I was expecting. Most people usually laugh along with me when I tell them about my sorry excuse for a love life and say something about turning lemons into lemonade. But this seems to be bothering him.
"I'm okay with it," I add. "My writing is therapeutic, and I've been able to work through a lot of my pain. And channeling my trainwreck love life into a super successful career is the best revenge."
He blinks a few times. "I…I guess."
"Trust me, I have well and truly learned my lesson. It may have taken falling pregnant to a not-so-great guy to finally get it, but I swear to you, Brock, my days of trying to fix emotionally damaged men are over."