Page 28 of Beautiful Crazy
“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” I reply with a chuckle.
“Have you ever taught anything other than elementary school?”
“No.” I shake my head, taking a sip from my wine. “When I first started teaching, I did second and third grade for a couple of years, but I really enjoy fifth grade. I have no desire for any grade higher than that, though. Likeyou said, right now, I’m cool Mr. Windward. My ego likes to keep it that way.”
She throws her head back and laughs softly, my eyes drawn to the column of her throat. The urge to lean in and breathe her in is strong. “It’s what you know you love, so no sense in veering off that path.”
“Exactly.” I pause, taking a sip of the sweet wine before asking, “How’d you get into writing?”
Gemma smiles to herself before meeting my gaze. “I’ve always enjoyed writing,” she says. “It was one of those things, when I finally wrote a book, everybody in my family was kind of like ‘oh, yeah. That makes sense,’ you know? I never expected it to take off the way that it did, but I’m so thankful. It’s truly what I believe I’m meant to do, and I enjoy it so much.”
“Do you write under a different name?”
Her lips tip up again, cheeks pinkening. “UnderGemma Astor.”
Making a mental note to look up her books later, I ask, “What’re you working on now?”
Breathing out a laugh, she says, “I’m sure you don’t want to hear all about my books.”
“Of course I do.” I hold her gaze. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Swallowing, she rolls her lips together as she grabs her wine. She shrugs and smirks. “I don’t know.” Taking a drink, she adds, “Might be boring for you.”
My heart pounds harder at the mischievous look in her eyes. “Gemma, I don’t think there’s a single thing you could say that would be boring to me.”
Her gaze flies over to meet mine, and she doesn’t say anything for a moment. But then she finally says, “It’s a cowboy romance—well, cowgirl romance. A barrel racer finds love at a horse rescue ranch in Montana after she retires from the sport.”
“That sounds interesting,” I murmur honestly. “I’d love to read it sometime.”
The way her face scrunches up at that is adorable and has a chuckle slipping past my lips. “I don’t know about that.” She laughs, taking another sip of her wine while watching me with amusement over the glass. Grabbing her phone off the table between us, she unlocks the screen, and a moment later, music starts playing from the speaker in the corner. It’s quiet enough that we can maintain a conversation, but loud enough that I can hear the song perfectly.
“Fire Away”by Chris Stapleton.
“Such a good song,” I murmur, meeting her gaze from over the top of her wineglass.
“I love his music,” she replies as she relaxes into her chair. “Georgia and I saw him live last year when he was at a music festival a couple of hours away. His voice is so smoky and soulful.”
“Are you a big concertgoer?”
Eyes gleaming, she smiles and nods. “Yeah. I mean, I haven’t gone to too many, but the ones I’ve gone to have been such an incredible time. What about you?”
“I’m the same. I haven’t been to a lot, but they’re always fun. The Rolling Stones came to Seattle a few years back, and me and my friend from back home went.Suchan amazing show.”
“God, I bet! I want to take Sutton to his first concert, eventually. I think he’d love it.”
“That could be smart for you too,” I tell her, my lipstugging into a grin. “Every concert I’ve been to; the kids in the front row or in the pit always get to go backstage to meet the artist.”
Gemma giggles. “Using my child to meet my favorite singers. How diabolical of you, Mr. Windward.”
Shrugging, I laugh and murmur, “What can I say?”
We continue like this for some time, chatting about this or that while we sip our wine and listen to the music change. It’s not until around the end of our second glass that the conversation shifts to something deeper.
“Is Sutton’s dad in the picture?” I ask. It’s something I’ve been curious about since I first met them. She’s never mentioned him, and neither has Sutton.
Her smile falls, but just barely. If I wasn’t paying such close attention, I probably would’ve missed it. “He passed away when Sutton was a toddler.”
My chest tightens, and it feels like the wind’s been knocked out of me. “Oh, gosh, Gemma. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”