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Only Gretchen. And he needed to somehow bring a smile back to her face.
***
When he returned to the library, Gretchen’s weeping was under control. Her eyes were still red, but she was moving around, carefully laying out several of the letters on a nearby desk, the surface cleaned off. She glanced up at the sight of him and waved a hand over the piles of letters, Kleenex still clutched in her fingers. “I think I can come up with a system of some kind. Not all of the letters are important, so if I make a pile of the ones—”
“No,” he said, and threaded a husky, enticing note in his voice. He moved to her side and took her hand before she could reach for another one of the letters. “Today, we’re taking the day off.”
“I can’t.” She gestured at the letters and then wiped her nose with the Kleenex in an oddly fragile-seeming gesture. “If I have to recreate the document, I need to get started right away. I can’t afford to lose any time. I—”
He tugged on her hand, shaking his head when she resisted. “Gretchen, you work every day. Even on weekends. You can take a day off. When was the last time you had a day off from writing?”
She looked up at him, a dazed expression on her face. “I’m not sure.”
“You’re stressed and you’re unhappy. I don’t like seeing you like this.” He pulled her closer, pressing a light kiss to her mouth. “Take a day off. I’ve cancelled all my meetings. We can just relax.”
“But my projects—”
“Can wait one day.” At her disbelieving look, he forced a smile to his lips. “You can call your agent in the morning and explain what happened and tell her you need a deadline extension.”
“She’s not going to be happy.” Gretchen’s voice wavered.
He made a mental note to contact the editor he’d hired and have a delay in launch. Give Gretchen another month or two to work on the project—and at his side. That pinched, stressed look would be gone from her face and they could relax once more. Already he missed her cheerful smiles and flirty banter.
He felt like he’d crushed her, and his heart ached at the thought. This was his fault because he was a selfish asshole. Hunter grasped her by the back of her neck and pulled her close for a sudden, fierce kiss.
If he lost her, he . . . he didn’t know what he’d do.
Gretchen looked startled at the vehemence of his kiss, but her mouth softened against his and her tongue stroked into his mouth once more. A soft moan rose in her throat when he lightly sucked on her tongue.
Her stomach growled, ruining the moment. They broke apart, and Gretchen giggled softly, her hand going to her stomach. “I think that was me. I guess I got so distracted that I didn’t eat.”
“Shall I have Eldon prepare something?”
She made a face. “I’m a much better cook than he is. You haven’t tried my three-cheese omelet yet, have you? It’ll make you a believer.” Her eyes sparkled with challenge.
“I’m willing to give it a try,” he said slowly, pleased to see the light returning to her eyes. “But I’m not a big fan of eggs.”
“I’ll make you a fan,” she proclaimed proudly, taking his hand. “Come on. I’ll make you a treat.”
He protested, digging his feet in for a moment. “Today’s about your day of rest, Gretchen. I don’t want you waiting on me.”
She rolled her eyes, a semblance of her normal attitude returning. “Cooking’s not a chore, silly. It’s fun. Now, come on.”
***
Gretchen was right—she could make a mean omelet, and even he, who normally didn’t eat breakfast, cleaned his plate. She didn’t stop with the omelet. Before he could even suggest otherwise, she was preparing a breakfast smoothie and then chopping potatoes for home fries.
This kitchen, she told him, was a shame to waste. So she talked and told him about recipes and things her mother had cooked for them when they were children. She seemed to glow with internal peace while she turned on the oven and picked an overripe banana off the counter, then began hunting for bowls. “I swear, Eldon lets most of this food go to waste. I’m going to make some muffins for the cleaning crew. It seems a shame not to use up these groceries.” She paused for a moment, then tilted her head at him. “This is lame, isn’t it?”
He was surprised by the sudden shyness in her voice. “What do you mean?”
She gestured at the ingredients spread on the marble countertops. “Me. Cooking. You think it’s stupid and you’re probably bored.”
“Not at all.” It was the truth, too. Gretchen in the kitchen seemed to be a whirling dervish of ideas. “I like watching you work. I don’t mind.”
She gave a wry, self-deprecating snort and began to peel the ripe bananas, dropping them into a bowl. “That’s funny. You never want to watch me write.”
“You don’t look as hap
