Page 26 of Long Story Short

Tyson shifts on his feet, still wearing a nervous smile. “It’s not a big deal. I just didn’t want you to miss out on the cake.”

I stare into his blue gaze, fighting the urge to correct him. To me, it does feel like a big deal. I know it shouldn’t be, and maybe I should be worried about the fact that him bringing me a piece of cake is the most romantic thing a man has done for me in years, but it actually means a lot.

“How was the party?” I ask as I take the box from him. My throat feels thick, but I’m not sure why. Maybe because of emotion? Attraction?

He rocks back and forth on his feet, his stare trained on me. “It was good. I looked for you there. Thought you might show up.”

I can’t help but smile. Warmth spreads throughout my entire body at his words. Before he showed up, I was on the verge of tears of frustration, but now that he’s here, I’ve forgotten about how down I was feeling. “Parties aren’t typically my thing. Especially with this deadline.”

He nods. “They aren’t really my thing either.”

My smile grows because I could’ve guessed that. It’s quiet for a moment as I let my eyes trace over his body.

Tyson was already one of the most attractive men I’ve ever laid eyes on, but in a suit? It’s a sight to behold. My entire body feels tight at the way the black fabric hugs his body perfectly, making it obvious he’s had it tailored to fit every dip and curve of his muscles.

“How’s the writing going?” he asks quietly.

My eyes go wide as my gaze snaps to him. He smiles, making it known that he just caught me checking him out, but he doesn’t bring any attention to it.

I grip the door harder with the hand still holding it. I hope he can’t see the blood pooling in my cheeks at being caught. I can’t help but let out a defeated sigh at his mention of work. “Not good,” I confess, wondering why I want to be honest with him when I lied to every other person who checked in with me today.

“I’m sorry,” he responds in his deep voice that sends shivers down my spine.

I lift a shoulder. “Nothing for you to be sorry about. It isn’t your fault.”

“It isn’t yours either.”

My spine straightens at his words. I cock my head to the side as I let out a nervous laugh, my hand falling to my side as I let go of the door and let it shut behind me. “But isn’t it? I’m the author. My entire job is to put words to paper in a way that makes people feel something, and right now, I just can’t do that.”

I pull my gaze from him, feeling ashamed by the words coming out of my mouth. For the last two days, I’ve barely gotten anything done. I’ve stared at a computer screen for much too long, hating the words I already wrote, but not having any ideas on how to fix them. My chin lowers to my chest as I finally let the thought creep in that maybe I won’t be able to fix this book, and maybe I won’t be able to write another book again.

I’m so lost in feeling sorry for myself that I don’t even notice that Tyson’s closed the distance between us. One moment, I’m staring at my feet, wondering if I should just wave my white flag to my publisher already, and the next, two strong fingers are grabbing me by the chin and tilting my head up. His piercing blue eyes scan my face. I can’t help but think how crazy it is that his eyes are still so bright under the dimness of the porch light and the darkness of the night.

He keeps his fingers on my chin. His thumb and pointer finger are firm against my skin, his fingertips pressing just enough to keep my gaze locked with his. “You’re trying your best,” he gets out, his voice gravelly but his words gentle.

I swallow as I lean in closer to his touch, unable to form a coherent thought because of our close proximity.

His thumb moves from my jaw as he softly swipes the pad against my cheek. “Repeat it after me,” he quietly demands.

I blink, trying to process what he said. “What?”

“Say it out loud. That you’re doing your best.”

I close my eyes for a moment, unable to meet his gaze. “I don’t know if I’m trying my best.”

Only because of the proximity of our bodies can I hear the dissatisfied growl that comes from deep in his chest. “I don’t believe that.”

“You don’t know me well enough to know either way.”

When I open my eyes again, I find his blue gaze trained on me. Even if he didn’t have a grip on my jaw, I wouldn’t be able to move just because of the intense way he stares at me. He works his jaw back and forth, his mouth opening and closing as if he has something he wants to say but can’t quite get it out. It’s quiet as we both stare at one another. Eventually, he swallows before opening his mouth to speak. “Then let me get to know you.”

“Why?”

“So you’ll believe me when I say you’re doing your best, and that’s all that you can do.” A half smile graces his lips. “And because, selfishly, I’m just dying to know more about you, but you keep not giving me the time of day.”

His words make me laugh and blush at the same time. I don’t know what it is about him, but I’ve never felt such a sudden pull to a stranger. It’s terrible timing, but I can’t help but want to let him in ever so slightly.

“Are you planning on working more tonight?” he asks softly, his thumb still caressing over my cheek. I wonder if he even realizes he’s doing it.