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Chapter 22
Brooke’s default setting washappy, but the next week with Sam turned the dial up to a whole new level. Neither of them brought up her L-word declaration again, but Sam was excelling at the Romance 101 course.
He planned a picnic on a hill overlooking the cove, he brought her daisies because he knew they were her favorite flower, he cooked her an elaborate breakfast of French crepes, and he took her to a club featuring her favorite band. He helped her make chocolate-chip cookies and he bought her a necklace with a silver snowflake pendant as a memento of their snowbound adventure.
She was happy, all right. And certain that herfalling in lovefeeling was making a smooth, straight landing directly onto theoutright loverunway.
She and Sam balanced their romantic dates with work, though evenings usually found her on the sofa in his living room while he hashed out anotherTripwireplot issue. At night, they fell into bed, hungry and hot for each other.
Brooke had enjoyed sex with previous boyfriends, but it had never beenlike this. For all his “no romance” attitude, Sam was the most attentive lover she’d ever had. He was especially good at making her want it in any number of ways—sweet, dirty, tender, intense, and everything in-between.
Though the wordsI love youpopped into her mind at any given moment—during sex, or when they were laughing at a bad joke, or even when she was watching him scowl in concentration at his manuscript—she didn’t say them aloud.
The purpleCouragebracelet on her wrist reminded her that the mere act of telling Sam about her growing love had taken bravery. Maybe it had even been her first real act of courage for the new year.
Late on Friday afternoon, she arrived at his house and found him on the back porch, his elbows on the railing as he gazed at a couple of squirrels rustling in a grove of trees. She slipped her arms around him from behind and rested her head between his shoulder blades. She’d never known a man who was so warm and strong.
He turned, gathering her into his arms and pressing his lips to hers in greeting. “You hungry? It’s getting close to dinner.”
“Sure.” She squeezed him around the waist.
They headed out into the chilly evening in search of food. Always mindful of their need to maintain secrecy, which so far hadn’t appeared to be endangered, Brooke suggested an Italian cafe in neighboring Rainwood. They indulged in a lengthy meal of wine and pasta, followed by a shared tiramisu that was so good Sam asked for one to be boxed up to take home.
While he paid the bill, Brooke excused herself to use the restroom. As she was heading back, her cell phone buzzed. Pausing in the corridor, she took it out of her purse.
The nameMichaelflashed on the screen. Her nerves tensed as she answered the call. “Hello.”
“Hey, B.” His voice was cheerful and upbeat. “Got your email. I like thisLifelong Flingconcept. It’s great that you’re focusing on Bliss Cove couples, but this has a lot of potential for our February edition, what with Valentine’s Day and all.”
Her heart gave a sudden, hard bump against her ribs. “Really?”
“Yeah, really. Let’s talk when you get into town. Did you get your flight?”
“Yes. I’m arriving Monday morning and leaving Friday. I’m at the Granger Hotel.”
“Call me when you get in. My panel is on Wednesday morning, but I’ll see you before then.”
“Okay. Thanks, Michael.”
She ended the call. A sudden tension ran down her spine. She looked up to find Sam standing right beside a server’s station, a cardboard box in his hand.
Her insides twisted, though she had no reason to feel guilty or ashamed.
“Ready to go?” She tried to infuse a light note into her voice.
“I was just getting the extra cake.” He indicated the box, his eyes narrowing. “You gave him the story?”
“What did you think I was going to do with it?” Brooke started back to the table. “If I can’t sell it to another periodical, I’ll publish it inThe Gazette. But I’d really like to get paid for it and to have a solid credit for my freelance work.Empireis a great opportunity.”
“He doesn’t deserve it.” Sam sounded as if he were speaking through a clenched jaw.
“You don’t get to decide that.” Brooke pulled on her jacket, hating the old uncertainty rising in her chest. “In fact, you don’t have any say in what I do with my career.”
His features hardened. “Ishould.”
“Why, because we’ve been working together?”
“Because I—” He stopped and shook his head hard. “I hate that you’re selling yourself out.”
