“Good for you,” I tell her quietly.
“Thanks,” she whispers back as I grab a pan from the dish drainer next to the sink, put the bagels on it, then place it in the oven under the broiler.
“So what’s your plan for the day?”
“Umm…” She looks around. “I need to start unpacking, then I have a call with my agent this afternoon.”
“Agent?”
“For my books.” She shrugs. “She’s having a meltdown, because I haven’t given her another series idea, and my last publisher is anxious for her to pitch something new to them after my last series.”
“What kind of books do you write?”
“Science fiction.”
“Science fiction,” I repeat, unable to hide my surprise, and she raises a brow. “Sorry, I thought you’d say romance. I didn’t know you were into science fiction.”
“Well, sir, we don’t know each other, and I actually do kind of write romance. Each of my series are centered around main characters who find themselves tossed together to fight evil. Over the course of each book, they fall in love, which most of the time makes them stronger and impossible to defeat.”
“Got it.” I lean my hip against the counter. “So what are you working on now?” I ask, and my interest piques as her cheeks darken.
“I’m not really working on anything. I… I’ve just been trying to come up with an outline for my agent to pitch.”
“Have you come up with anything?” I turn to the oven and open it to check the bagels. Seeing they are a golden-brown, I grab a towel and use it to take the pan out.
“Not really,” she says, then sounds put out as she continues. “Why didn’t I ever think of using the oven to toast my bagels?”
“Probably because you’ve always used a toaster.” I grin, then mutter, “I’m also single and don’t have a toaster.”
“You don’t have a toaster?”
“Don’t say it like I’m some kind of monster. I had one when I was living with my ex, but she took it when she left, and I didn’t bother buying a new one after I realized I could just use the oven.”
“That seems very logical in guy thinking.”
“I’m just gonna pretend that’s a compliment.” I open the cream cheese, then ask, “Smoked salmon, or honey pecan?”
“Smoked salmon, please.”
As I start to slather her bagel with cream cheese, I meet her gaze. “So how do you normally come up with a new series?”
“Until now, it’s always just kind of happened.”
“I’m sure getting settled here will help.”
“Maybe,” she agrees, taking the plate I hand to her, then I watch her place the two pieces of her bagel together like a sandwich and set the plate down. After making my own bagel, I do the same, then take a bite.
“Leo still makes the best bagels.”
“His grandson actually makes them now.”
“His grandson?”
“Babe, when we were in school, Leo was pushing seventy. He retired about seven years ago. Everyone was worried his shop was going to close, but his grandson, who used to spend summers helping him in the shop, decided to move here and take over.”
“That’s cool.”
“Yeah,” I agree, finishing off my bagel then rinsing my plate. “Since I didn’t get anything done last night, I’m gonna paint today. Then tomorrow evening, I’ll lay the carpet.”
“You don’t have to do that. I know you have other jobs that need your time.”
“Yeah, but this job needs my time right now.” I pick up my coffee, walk around the stack of boxes, and head toward the living room. “Shout if you need me to lift anything.”
“You know, I could help you paint if you want.”
At that statement, I turn to look at her. “All right, but you’re gonna have to put something on that you don’t care about.”
“I can do that,” she says excitedly as she hops off the counter. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
I watch her ass as she heads for the stairs and know I just fucked myself, because the more I’m around her, the more I want to kiss her. And I don’t think I have the kind of willpower that will prevent me from doing just that.
Chapter 6
Aria
HIS LIPS HOVERED over hers as his hand roamed down her side and her eyes slid closed. As their breath mingled, she knew she would never be the same if he kissed her…
Sitting at my desk my fingers hover over the keyboard before I groan and press Delete, watching the last two sentences I wrote disappear. When I first thought about writing a romance novel, I figured it would be easy, then Tide showed up and screwed everything up. Now, instead of picturing my characters kissing, I’m imagining what it would be like for Tide to kiss me, realizing I never felt true attraction until he came around. Every time I’m near him, my stomach dances and my heart pounds. The worst part is that he has no idea the effect he has on me, and I’m scared to death that one day when he does something as simple as push some hair out of my face, I’m going to throw myself at him like a crazy woman.
Using the tips of my toes, I spin myself in a circle, first watching the window pass, then my bookshelves, followed by my office door. Maybe if I spin fast enough I’ll somehow be able to come up with a new series idea for my agent so I can stop trying to pretend I know how to write romance.
“Oh my God!” I scream, almost falling out of my chair when I spot Tide standing in the doorway of my office.
“Sorry.” He laughs as he steps into the room. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I forgot you were here.”
“I guessed that by your scream.” He takes a seat on the side of my desk. “Did you come up with a series idea?” He leans over to look at my computer screen, and I slam my laptop closed.
“Nope, not yet.” I clear my throat and push my chair back when I see how close we are. “Is everything okay?”
“I finished with the carpet.”
“You did?” Really, I shouldn’t be surprised. Yesterday when I helped him paint, I learned firsthand how efficient he is when he’s working.
“I did.” He stands, then walks around the desk to the bookshelves that line the wall, grabs one of my books I unpacked this morning, and flips it over to read the blurb. I watch him, fighting the urge to rush across the room to smack it out of his hand. “This sounds good.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Not at all.” He looks up and grins at me. “Can I have this one?”
“If you want it.”
“I want it.” He walks toward me, and my pulse starts to race as he grabs a pen from the holder on my desk and hands it to me. “Can I get your autograph?”
“You’re ridiculous.” I laugh.
“Can you write, ‘Tide, you really know how to lay some wood. Love, Aria’?”
“I’m not writing that.” I shake my head as I sign my name with a heart and a quick XOXO. Closing the book, I hand it back to him, then meet his gaze, unsure what the look in his eyes means. I do know it makes me feel warm all over. “So.” I move my chair back, because once again, we’re too close, then stand and head for the door. “Can you help me move my couch out of the kitchen?”