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Though Sam had always made her feel off-balance, nervous, and sometimes even a little prickly, something inside her responded to his frustration. She knew instinctively that he wasn’t the kind of man who asked for help—which was probably part of the reason he stayed away from people. If you didn’t get close to anyone, you didn’t have to rely on them.
“I can help you.” The offer came out in one breath, and her heart knocked anxiously against her ribs.
He narrowed his eyes. “With what?”
“John and Patricia’s romance.” Her throat went dry. She darted her tongue out to lick her lips and indicated the stack of romances on the table. “I’ve been reading romances since I was thirteen. I still read at least one or two a week. I’ve written articles about the romance industry, and when I was working forThe Wisconsin State Journal, I did a profile piece on a local bestselling romance novelist. I’m exceedingly familiar with the arc of a romance, all the different plot points that make up a good love story, how to show that your characters are falling in love. I can help you make the romance better.”
Though Sam didn’t respond, he didn’t look as if he were about to fall off the sofa laughing. He was watching her, his forehead creased.
“Why would you do that?” he finally asked.
“Have you ever heard Destiny say there are no coincidences? I think this is the reason you and I ended up in this cabin together.”
With a huffed groan, he lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
Okay, she couldn’t do the “fates and furies” thing with him.
She reached out and grabbed his arm. Her breath caught at the sensation of his warm, muscled forearm under her palm. His body heat burned clear through his sweatshirt sleeve.
“My point is that Iknowromance.” She tightened her grip. “YouknowI know romance. Not only have I read a metric ton of romance novels, I’m the chair of the Valentine’s Day Festival. I wrote my senior thesis on the most famous lovers in history. I’ve been on more bad dates than I can count, to say nothing of my lousy break-up, which means I also know exactly what comprises agooddate and a great relationship. I’ve even been known to assist Destiny with her matchmaking efforts since I have a knack for divining romantic energy.”
He rolled his eyes. Barely, but definitely aroll.
“Hey.” She gave him a little shake. “I know you’re a bigshot author and I’m…not, but I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss me, if I were you. Do you know why I didn’t review the last two John Kane novels for my Brooke’s Books column?”
“I suspect you’re about to tell me.”
“Because of John and Patricia’s romance…or lack thereof.” She curled her fingers into his rock-hard arm. “Do you work out? Because, really, you have the most…anyway. I totally agree with your editor and fans and whoever else is telling you that John Kane is brilliant, super sexy, and brave as hell, but he treats Patricia like a cardboard cutout rather than awoman.
“Which isn’t really a surprise since when she’s with him, she gets so…one-dimensional, you know? She doesn’t react to him like a real woman would, which is no wonder considering he’s such a dolt around her. And their sex scenes? Don’t get me started. People areright, Sam. The romance is bringing everything down when it should be lifting the storyup.”
He was silent. A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“You can’t be surprised that people wanted you to bring in a romantic interest,” she added. “How else were you going to have John overcome his fear of personal connections?”
Sam frowned. “Well, he adopted a dog. And there’s his relationship with his grandfather.”
“A dog isn’t a person, and he and his grandfather don’t like each other. John needs someone to love who loves him in return.”
“You mean a One True Love?” His tone held just enough derision to spark her irritation.
“Patriciacouldbe his One True Love, if he’d start treating her like an actual swoon-worthy man should.”
He snapped his eyebrows together. “Awhatman?”
“A man who’s worthy of swooning over,” Brooke explained. “Basically, a romance hero.”
“Like your ideal man, who is apparently perfect.”
Brooke slowly shook her head. She was beginning to think her definition of an “ideal man” rather inexplicably involved a grumpy, unshaven thriller-writer-turned-bookstore-owner who indulged her blanket-fort obsession and whose glowering looks made her toes tingle.
“Sam.” She took a breath, trying to pull them both back to the subject at hand. “I can help you with John and Patricia’s story. If there were a Romance Expert job, I would be a highly qualified candidate.”
“Being an expert on romance doesn’t make you an expert on novel writing.”
“Which is whyyou’rewriting the novel,” she persisted. “I might not write fiction, but I know good writing when I read it. I can help you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What do you want in return?”
