work.”
Oh. She could understand that. Eden tilted her head towards the journal, not wanting to push, but unable to help it. Bay, here, was a mystery—a gorgeous, dog-loving mystery—and she wanted to know more about him. Couldn’t help it actually. She hadn’t been lying about being nosy. “Do you mind?”
He opened his mouth and then closed it soundlessly. Finally, he shook his head. “Just not that one. It’s really rough.”
She could deal with that. Despite her curiosity about her picture she could bug him about that another time, if there was another time, but she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to at least read something. She flipped back a few pages and then frowned at the dates. Dang. Before yesterday he hadn’t written in a year?
“You work intermittently?”
He made a rough sound, almost a laugh. “Yeah. Only when inspiration strikes. Guess I wouldn’t make it as a real writer.”
She didn’t know about that. There was some good stuff here. She wasn’t normally a big reader, and definitely not first person books, they just felt weird to her. But Bay had talent. She read another paragraph, unable to help herself.
I can’t remember much of the dream. Not beyond the blood. Blood, and the woman, her hair blacker than any raven’s wings, her lips the color of blood, her eyes—utterly soulless. Black pits that sucked and pulled, I’m beginning to think she’s not a savior. More of a demon. Maybe that’s why the nightmares started. Why my dream-self is always a monster. Why I can’t remember.
“I don’t know about not being able to make it as a real writer,” she said and looked up at him, just in time to see Bay holding out a steaming cup of cocoa. “You’re good. I’d read it, and that’s saying a lot. I’m not much of a book person.”
“Thanks.” He reached forward and flipped the notebook shut, sliding it over to the other side of the table. Then he leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, his mug braced between his hands as he looked at her. “What kind of person are you, then?”
The intensity blazing behind his stare when he asked that gave her heart a solid kick and Eden found herself leaning into the table herself, answering automatically. Their conversation fast dipped into laughter. He had a quirky sense of humor, was definitely a bit of a geek, something she discovered long before he admitted to his comic book collection.
“You played Dungeons and Dragons in high school didn’t you?”
“I did. At a doughnut shop once a week with friends, but,” he said, throwing heavy emphasis on the last word, “I also took shop class.”
“As if that would save you from geek-dom,” she teased, but at the amused twist of his lips, she caved. “Ah, hell. I can’t talk. Through college I had a stuffed dog collection that filled two book cases in my dorm room. But I played hockey most of my life.”
Bay gave a soft laugh. “Guess that makes us even.”
Eden glanced at her watch and sighed. “And on that note, I should be going. I have a class coming out to meet the dogs and thankfully I have a spare sled to do a few fun runs for the kids. Thank you though for the cocoa.”
Her heart skittered as Bay rose with her, moving around the table to beat her to the door. Eden shook him off. “I’m good. Thank you.”
Then, with a whistle to Smuggler, she let herself out. But she could feel Bay’s gaze on her as she walked toward her truck, heat seeping through her coat despite the frigid blast of the winter wind.
***
Bay leaned against the doorframe watching as the white truck reversed down his drive and disappeared. He’d watched that slim body of hers slide out of her chair, tug on her coat, and trudge down to her car. He’d itched to open the door for her, follow her out, and kiss her. Damn, but something about the way those pale pink lips of hers curved into a smile had him dying to lean in and taste her.
Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he’d
Oh. She could understand that. Eden tilted her head towards the journal, not wanting to push, but unable to help it. Bay, here, was a mystery—a gorgeous, dog-loving mystery—and she wanted to know more about him. Couldn’t help it actually. She hadn’t been lying about being nosy. “Do you mind?”
He opened his mouth and then closed it soundlessly. Finally, he shook his head. “Just not that one. It’s really rough.”
She could deal with that. Despite her curiosity about her picture she could bug him about that another time, if there was another time, but she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to at least read something. She flipped back a few pages and then frowned at the dates. Dang. Before yesterday he hadn’t written in a year?
“You work intermittently?”
He made a rough sound, almost a laugh. “Yeah. Only when inspiration strikes. Guess I wouldn’t make it as a real writer.”
She didn’t know about that. There was some good stuff here. She wasn’t normally a big reader, and definitely not first person books, they just felt weird to her. But Bay had talent. She read another paragraph, unable to help herself.
I can’t remember much of the dream. Not beyond the blood. Blood, and the woman, her hair blacker than any raven’s wings, her lips the color of blood, her eyes—utterly soulless. Black pits that sucked and pulled, I’m beginning to think she’s not a savior. More of a demon. Maybe that’s why the nightmares started. Why my dream-self is always a monster. Why I can’t remember.
“I don’t know about not being able to make it as a real writer,” she said and looked up at him, just in time to see Bay holding out a steaming cup of cocoa. “You’re good. I’d read it, and that’s saying a lot. I’m not much of a book person.”
“Thanks.” He reached forward and flipped the notebook shut, sliding it over to the other side of the table. Then he leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, his mug braced between his hands as he looked at her. “What kind of person are you, then?”
The intensity blazing behind his stare when he asked that gave her heart a solid kick and Eden found herself leaning into the table herself, answering automatically. Their conversation fast dipped into laughter. He had a quirky sense of humor, was definitely a bit of a geek, something she discovered long before he admitted to his comic book collection.
“You played Dungeons and Dragons in high school didn’t you?”
“I did. At a doughnut shop once a week with friends, but,” he said, throwing heavy emphasis on the last word, “I also took shop class.”
“As if that would save you from geek-dom,” she teased, but at the amused twist of his lips, she caved. “Ah, hell. I can’t talk. Through college I had a stuffed dog collection that filled two book cases in my dorm room. But I played hockey most of my life.”
Bay gave a soft laugh. “Guess that makes us even.”
Eden glanced at her watch and sighed. “And on that note, I should be going. I have a class coming out to meet the dogs and thankfully I have a spare sled to do a few fun runs for the kids. Thank you though for the cocoa.”
Her heart skittered as Bay rose with her, moving around the table to beat her to the door. Eden shook him off. “I’m good. Thank you.”
Then, with a whistle to Smuggler, she let herself out. But she could feel Bay’s gaze on her as she walked toward her truck, heat seeping through her coat despite the frigid blast of the winter wind.
***
Bay leaned against the doorframe watching as the white truck reversed down his drive and disappeared. He’d watched that slim body of hers slide out of her chair, tug on her coat, and trudge down to her car. He’d itched to open the door for her, follow her out, and kiss her. Damn, but something about the way those pale pink lips of hers curved into a smile had him dying to lean in and taste her.
Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he’d
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