Page 25 of Words of Love

Not that he believed in such horseshit. But obviously she did, so no wonder he was curious. Plus, she was all about romance, and he—

“Sam?” She waved her hand in front of his face. “Do you want something to drink?”

“I’ll get it.” He pushed away from the table and went to get her a bottle of iced tea and himself a soda. When he returned, Brooke was refilling her bowl with more soup.

“When I first moved away from Bliss Cove, the thing I missed the most, aside from my family, of course, was the artichoke soup at the Mousehole.” She slurped up another spoonful. “It’s funny because I don’t actually like artichokes. But when I realized I couldn’t have Grant’s soup whenever I wanted…I really missed it. The first weekend I was back, my parents took me to dinner at the Mousehole. That first bite of artichoke soup was just about the best thing I ever tasted. I guess it was the taste of home. Did you ever feel like that?”

He shook his head, then surprised himself by admitting, “I never had much of a home.”

Her forehead crinkled. “Why not?”

He shrugged. His history was no longer a big deal to him—it was what it was, and being estranged from his brother and father had simplified his life considerably—but Brooke and her family had deep roots in Bliss Cove. She wouldn’t understand the idea of never feelingat home. Worse, she wouldn’t like it.

“I left my parents’ house at a young age and never went back.” He focused on stirring the soup so he wouldn’t have to see the faint distress he knew was rising in her brown eyes. “That was when I started traveling.”

“Where did you go?”

“Wherever I could afford to.” He took a bite of soup. “Europe, Asia. I spent a year traveling through South America, mostly Brazil and Argentina.”

A strange expression flickered in her eyes, like a mixture of admiration and longing. “That must have been incredible. Did you travel alone?”

“Most of the time.”

“Were you scared?”

The question almost startled him. No one had ever asked him that before.

“No.” Tearing his gaze from her, he picked up his bowl and walked to the kitchen. “I wasn’t scared.”

He sensed all the other questions bubbling inside her, felt her push them back down. At one time, he’d have attributed her curiosity to her journalist’s instinct. Now, he had the odd feeling it had more to do withherand theCouragebracelet on her arm.

“You must have some great stories to tell,” she finally said.

Yeah, he had stories. Not all of them “great.” He turned to put the leftover food in the fridge, signaling that the conversation was at an end.

After doing the dishes, he returned to his laptop. He reread his pages over and over, attempting again to ignore Brooke as she bustled around getting ready for bed. The bathroom door closed, and the shower started.

Sam stifled a groan. Instead of John Kane’s next predicament, all he could picture was Brooke in the shower, water spilling through her hair and trailing over her naked body. She’d be rubbing a thick, soapy lather over her—

Stop. It.

He dragged his hands over his face. Three weeks to his deadline wasn’t a hell of a lot of time to finish his revisions and fix the subplot. Which he still had no idea how to do.

The bathroom door opened, and Brooke emerged. She was flushed from the heat of the shower with her wet hair hanging over her shoulders. She wore purple pajama pants and an oversized T-shirt that clung to the damp parts of her body. Her toenails were painted pink.

After folding her clothes neatly and putting them back in her suitcase, she began arranging her mountain of blankets and pillows.

“What’snesting?” he asked.

“Oh.” She gave a small laugh. “Well, usually it refers to a phase in pregnancy when a woman is getting ready for the baby, but in my case, it just means I like to make little nests, like in my bed or on the sofa, where I can snuggle up and read or whatever.”

His mind veered in a dirty direction, imagining her doing “whatever” while spread out over a nest of pillows. With effort, he reined his thoughts back in.

“How did all that bedding fit in your car?” he asked.

“I’m a very efficient packer.” She patted an elephant pillow into place. “I’ve always slept with a ton of blankets…or, even better, in a blanket fort.”

“A blanket fort.”