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Chapter 6
Sam shoveled snow until he was sweaty and his lungs burned. Physical exertion usually worked to loosen him up, but after clearing a path all the way to the main road, his chest was still knotted, his shoulders stiff. Not even the lingering pleasure of Brooke’s massage could keep the tension away.
His breath came in gusts of white. Despite his determination not to get close to anyone in Bliss Cove, least of all Brooke, he experienced a painful mix of emotions over her revelation—anger, guilt, admiration, a pride he didn’t deserve to feel for her, sadness…and God knew what else.
He didn’t know what to do with her openness and honesty in telling him about her past. Not to mention the fact that she was confessing it all tohim.
He’d spent the past year struggling to keep his distance, not to stare whenever he saw her, to act as if he hadn’t noticed everything about her. In return, instead of shutting him down the way he deserved, she opened up like a book and gave him all her stories.
Even more surprising, he understood. He could relate. Though her guilt hadn’t come from anyone else, he knew how hard it was to meet other people’s expectations and to feel as if you’d disappointed them.
He also knew that Bliss Cove was a place where residents both respected and protected their own. It was just one of the reasons he’d moved there. He’d known instinctively that if he indicated he wanted to be left alone, people would leave him alone. So far, that had proven more or less the case, though the mayor and a few other ladies had gotten overly inquisitive about his marital and dating status.
Telling himself he didn’t want a relationship or even to date casually, he’d politely turned down all matchmaking efforts. Only now, in such close proximity to Brooke, was he forced to admit thatshewas the reason for his lack of interest in other women.
He’d been avoiding her so her inquisitive reporter’s nose wouldn’t sniff out the truth, but he was beginning to realize it was more than that. She could make his heart beat faster, soften his resistance, loosen the persistent tightness in his chest. If he let her, she could ease herself right inside him the way no one had done before.
Maybe she already had.
He stomped back to the house, leaving the shovel on the porch before going inside. He studiously avoided her gaze as he shucked off his coat and boots. He went into the bathroom to clean up before sinking onto the sofa. A hot cup of coffee sat beside his laptop again.
He stared blindly at the document on the computer screen. He’d never be able to work. Under normal circumstances, he’d have seen the appeal in being stuck in a cabin with no Wi-Fi or cell service—if he were alone. If things had gone as he’d planned, he’d have been concentrating on his book with the precision of a laser.
Except things had gone totally wrong, and he was far from alone.
He made a superhuman effort to focus. He eked out a couple of pages of crappy writing. The hours dragged.
By contrast, Brooke’s productivity didn’t appear to be at all hindered. For the rest of the afternoon, she scribbled out a list of freelance ideas, made lunch, cleaned the kitchen, dusted the bookshelf, worked on a jigsaw puzzle, read one of her romance novels, and performed another seriously distracting yoga session. She went through at least three more boxes of animal crackers and two bottles of her fancy “wellness” iced tea.
As evening approached, she sat at the dining table, shaking up stones in a little pouch and tossing them onto the table.
Sam had been rewriting the same paragraph for hours. It still sucked.
The stones rattled and clanked on the table. He clenched his jaw.
“What are you doing?” He forced his voice to stay even.
“Rune casting.” She peered at the stones and opened a little book. “Destiny has been teaching me. It’s a method of divination and fortune-telling. I’m just practicing. Want me to do one for you?”
“No.” He pushed abruptly to his feet, suppressing a snide comment about the futility of endeavors like fortune-telling.
Brooke put the stones back into the pouch and went to the kitchen. “Soup okay for dinner?”
“Fine.”
She opened several cans of soup, poured them into a bowl, and started it heating up in the microwave. Sam shoved his feet into his boots and pulled open the back door. He slogged to the woodbin and brought in more firewood.
“Have a seat.” Brooke placed the soup and a basket of bread rolls on the table.
Feeling not unlike a bad-tempered stray dog lured by food, Sam pulled out the chair opposite her and sat with a grudging, “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, sunshine.” With a smile, she handed him a bowl.
He’d gotten accustomed to his heart doing a crazy spinning thing when he caught sight of her smile from afar, but he had little experience with it up close…and directedat him.
After filling their bowls, they began to eat. Sam tried unsuccessfully not to notice the way her lips pursed as she sucked up spoonfuls of soup. Though she’d been needling him with her description of her “perfect man,” he couldn’t help wondering how much of it was true.
Sure, she’d want a guy like that—someone who was essentially the male version of her—but had she ever come close to finding him? Did her ex have any of those qualities? Had she ever met a guy whom she thought could be her “One True Love”?
