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Bree frowned at him, defensively slipping her maligned phone back into her purse. “It might be able to get on, but I really don’t care. I like the peace and quiet of unplugging. I like that people can’t get ahold of me every second of every day. Sometimes, I actually turn my phone off and forget to turn it back on for days!”
She watched Ian’s eyes widen in horror. “Listen,” she explained, “when I go out into the woods to take pictures, I want to hear birds chirping and water rushing over the rocks, not some cheesy symphonic ringtone of an old eighties tune.”
“If you had a cell phone from this decade, you could have ringtones made of real songs.”
She shook her head. This wasn’t the first time she’d fought this battle. As it was, Natalie made everyone in the office use laptops that detached from the keyboard as a tablet. Natalie was very plugged in, as were Gretchen and Amelia. Like most people were anymore. Bree was just resistant to the constant barrage of technology and information.
“No way. I’ve seen people and their phones these days. It’s like an addiction. They’ve constantly got to check it, even if they’re on a date or have all their friends with them. Who ignores their real friends to post stupid messages to people who are only their friends in cyberspace? Everyone, that’s who. I work on computers because I have to, but I prefer to unplug and get away from all that when I can.”
Ian crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head in bewilderment. “Well, congratulations. You’ve stumbled into the perfect storm. I, however, feel like my right arm has been amputated. How am I supposed to get anything done without phone or internet service?”
Bree set her camera down on the coffee table and walked over to him. He was tense and twitchy; the type A personality he’d evolved into over the years paced inside of him like a caged tiger. She put her hands on his shoulders to hold him still, ignoring the heat of his body radiating through his shirt. “Relax. Turn off your laptop. It’s after nine on a weeknight. You don’t need to be working, anyway.”
She felt his muscles loosen under her fingertips. He looked around the house, seemingly at a loss. “What will I do, then?”
Bree shrugged. “Do whatever you like. Watch your big-screen television. Listen to music. Read a book. Talk to me. Play billiards downstairs. Enjoy this incredible home that you’ve obviously paid a fortune to own.” He didn’t seem convinced.
“Personally,” she said, “I was thinking about taking a luxurious bubble bath in my garden tub and reading a paperback I picked up last week.”
Ian chuckled. “Don’t tell me, you don’t have an e-reader, either!”
“No!” she said with a laugh, pulling her hands away from him. Touching him for too long was more comfortable than it should have been. When he smiled down at her, it would’ve been easy to lean in and rest her head on his chest. Not an option. Why did she have to keep reminding herself that she had broken up with him? And for a good reason. A reason that was still very applicable, given how sore he was over losing internet access.
“Maybe I’m just old-fashioned, but I like the smell of the pages and the ink. I like the weight of a book in my hands and the texture of the paper between my fingertips.”
“You’re a Luddite.”
“I have a digital camera!” she countered. She’d only had it three months and she still preferred her old-school SLR camera, but she was getting used to it. She liked being able to take as many shots as she wanted and not worry about wasting the expensive, and getting hard to find, film. “Trust me, that’s progress for me.”
The banter between them seemed pointless, but it had served a purpose. Ian had finally relaxed a little. Making fun of her was apparently a soothing activity for him. Well, whatever helped them pass the time the next few days. If he was mocking her, maybe she wouldn’t notice the full lips doing it or the way his emerald-green eyes watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking.
“You’re just going to read your paperback book and leave me here twiddling my thumbs?”
He looked pretty pathetic, like a lonely child. She supposed the book could wait. “Do you have games or something? Cards, maybe?”
Ian shrugged. “I have no idea. My family might have brought some games up here. I’m usually here alone, so I don’t play games aside from the ones on my iPad.”
Bree walked over to the closet by the stairs. “Let’s see what we can find. A rowdy game of Scrabble or Sorry! could help pass the time.” She opened the door and flipped on the light, which illuminated a stash of cleaning supplies and a bookshelf filled with assorted games, puzzles and crafts. “Yep, here we go. You’ve got Monopoly, Life, Clue, Sorry!, Scrabble and a couple decks of cards.”
“Pick whatever you want. I really don’t care.”
Bree reached out for one of the games and noticed a familiar shape sticking out from behind the shelf. A dusty, old acoustic guitar was propped in the corner. Bypassing the games she’d come in search of, she reached down and picked it up.
After pulling the strap over her shoulder, she made a poor attempt at strumming it. “What have we here?”
“Did you—?” He stopped speaking when he saw her come out of the closet with the guitar. “That’s not Scrabble,” he noted.
“Nope, but I found something better,” she said in a singsong voice, continuing to fumble at the strings. She had zero musical ability. She had an eye for beauty, not an ear for it. That didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate it in others. Few things had ever been as soothing to her as the sound of Ian strumming his guitar and singing to her.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she could get him to play for her again? It would be amazing to hear him after all these years. Then, maybe, for a short time, she could be reminded of the man he’d been before. She missed that Ian.
Ian took a few steps back from her as she came closer with it. Apparently, the idea was not as intriguing to him. “I thought I threw that out,” he noted with a look of distaste.
“I don’t know much about musical instruments,” Bree said, “but I can tell this is a high-quality guitar. Don’t you dare throw it out.”
“It’s old. The same one I had in college, actually.”
“That’s like saying a Stradivarius is an old violin so it should be thrown away. Is it really the same one you used to play at the Coffee Bean?”
