“Comfortable?”
I burrow into the pillows with a sigh. “Yes, thanks.”
He settles on the edge of the bed, rolling up my pant leg. His fingers drift along my calf, light as a feather, sending electric ripples through my spine.
“Don’t worry. Once your ankle’s healed, you can go back to hatching your next scheme to bankrupt me,” he says with a ghost of a smile.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was his attempt at flirting. Butterflies take flight in my stomach, a silent admission that I’d welcome it if he were. Although he’s most likely trying to cheer me up the only way he knows how.
I let out an exaggerated sigh. “That’s a relief. I was starting to worry you were going soft on me.”
A trace of warmth crosses his expression. “Never.”
He tugs my boots free, one at a time. I should tell him I can do it myself, but his touch is far too soothing. When he gets to my injured foot, his pace slows, and he eases off the boot inch by inch. After dropping it to the floor, he peels my sock down, revealing the angry swelling at my ankle.
I bite my lip to keep the pain off my face, not wanting Shep to think he’s hurting me. On the contrary, his large hands cradling my ankle are a welcome distraction from the throbbing ache.
“You better not use this as blackmail.”
Shep glances at me, one brow raised. “What, that you ignored my warning and tumbled off a rickety milk stool?”
“No, that you’ve seen me without toenail polish.” I wiggle my good foot for emphasis. “I always tell my subscribers I never skip painting them because I can’t stand seeing my toes bare. But I didn’t get a chance the morning I left for the airport. I figured I’d paint them once I got here or splurge for a pedicure, but obviously things didn’t go as expected.”
He squints at me. “I don’t follow.”
“Being honest with my audience is part of my brand, and I’d never want them to think I’m misleading them. Although I’m far more concerned about what they’ll say when they find out I willingly spent the night at a stranger’s house,” I add, letting out a dry laugh. “I’m an advocate for putting safety first, whether it’s solo travel or dating. In several episodes, I’ve cautioned against spending the night with someone you’ve just met, no matter how charming they are.”
He smirks. “You thought I was charming?”
I roll my eyes. “More like moody and prickly. Although now that I think about it, a warm welcome would’ve been far more unsettling, and I might have opted for freezing in the convertible.”
“Reckon my crankiness saved you from turning into a popsicle.”
“My hero—saving me one scowl at a time.” She props a hand on her forehead and mimics a swooning motion. “Though I guarantee I’ll still have subscribers who won’t care about the circumstances and will go off on me for giving advice about safety that I didn’t follow myself.”
As my platform has grown, I’ve struggled to balance transparency and personal boundaries. I want to be fully open with my audience while maintaining my privacy. It’s a constant challenge not to feel dishonest when circumstances prevent full disclosure or when my firsthand experiences change my perspective on a topic I’ve discussed on my podcast.
“Sounds like they need to get a grip and quit fussing over stuff that isn’t their damn business.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I couldn’t agree more. They’re almost as bad as the podcast sponsors who forgot there’s an actual person behind the mic.”
There’s one in particular, CoreFuel Labs, that tries to micromanage every episode they’re featured in and weren’t happy when we informed them that I was taking a couple of days off from posting new episodes. I was supposed to add new videos again starting yesterday and I’m positive I have at least one angry email from them about not holding up my end of the contract. Despite their complaints, it has built-in flexibility, and they don’t pay for episodes I don’t post.
Shep rubs his mustache, fighting back a laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“You are.” He gently repositions my injured foot, propping it up to rest on his knee. “If the worst thing you’ve lied about is staying with a stranger so you didn’t freeze to death or not painting your toes, your audience will understand. Not to mention, your sponsors should want you to take a break so you’re more motivated when you get back to work. You shouldn’t be trapped by things you’ve said to strangers on the internet or by executives only concerned about their bottom line. It’s your life, and you should be free to change your mind or take a vacation whenever you damn well please.”
I’m stunned speechless by his blunt perspective. He’s right. My life revolves around my podcast and the advice I share. I’m the type to think about how something will affect my subscribers and sponsors first, long before I stop to consider how it’ll affect me personally. Looking back, though, it’s silly to assume my opinions would never change, especially when every experience teaches me something that can shift my perspective.
I’m starting to realize there’s nothing wrong with putting myself first once in a while—including taking a spontaneous trip that forced me to temporarily step back from the podcast. Spending the holidays away from New York has been exactly what I needed and has turned into an adventure I wouldn’t trade for anything.
“You’re so right. I suppose it’s not the end of the world if my toes aren’t painted, but I draw the line at my fingernails. We post my episodes on YouTube, and I can’t have people thinking I’ve let myself go completely.” I sigh dramatically as I hold up my hand, showing Shep the nail I chipped when I fell.
He tries to stifle another laugh, but this one escapes as a low, rumbling chuckle. A smile tugs at my lips in response, secretly loving the sound. It sends a flutter through my chest, and I’m honored to catch a glimpse of the side of him that he usually keeps guarded.
“The least I can do is fix you up with a fresh manicure, seeing as you sacrificed your nails for the chickens—they owe you big time,” Shep teases.
