Page 46 of Strictly Pretend

What age were you when you were potty trained? – Emma

I woke up this morning to his snarky reply.

I’m not. – Brooks

According to the time stamp, it was sent at two in the morning. Which was seven hours ago. I know for a fact that even with the best traffic it takes two hours to get here from New York. Which means he got about five hours sleep at best.

“Um, can somebody help me?” Granddad says in a thin voice. And I immediately feel guilty because I’d forgotten he was there, and trapped.

“What’s happening?” Brooks asks, as though he’s finally worked out that this is NOT normal business in a bookshop.

“We got a delivery. The driver’s an asshole,” I tell him.

“Uhuh.” He runs his hands through his hair and then turns to look at me. “Can you get us some coffees? I’ll move the boxes.”

I take one look at his designer suit and tie. What kind of person wears a suit on a plane to Montana?

“Um, why don’t you get the coffee and I’ll move the boxes,” I suggest.

“Because I’m a man. And it’ll take me half the time it takes you.”

“But I know where they need to go,” I say, smarting at his words because technically he’s right, but my feminist ego hates it.

He lets out a sigh as he takes his jacket off and lays it carefully on the box closest to us. Then he unknots his tie and hangs it in the same place. I’m about to make a wisecrack about it being too early in the morning for a stripper when he unbuttons his shirt.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice lifting, because as he slides his shirt off I’m blinded by the rise and fall of his bicep muscles. Thankfully he’s wearing a pristine white undershirt, but it leaves very little to the imagination. The man obviously works out.A lot.

“I don’t want to get dirty if I’m moving boxes.”

“You gonna take your pants off too then?” I ask him sweetly.

He rolls his eyes.

I’m in a slight conundrum. Because I don’t like blue and pink jobs. I don’t like the men doing the grunt work while the women do the kitchen work. But he’s doing me – and Granddad – a favor that he doesn’t need to do. If the man wants a coffee, shouldn’t I get that for him?

“What about our flight?” I say, suddenly alarmed. “You should get it. I’ll catch a later one.” If I can find the money to pay for it. Because I cleared my account out last month to pay the shop’s rent.

“It’s a private flight. I’ll call them and ask to delay.”

“You can do that?” I frown. He lifts a brow and I feel a bit like an idiot. Of course you can do that. If you have enough money.

“Okay. I’ll get those coffees,” I mumble.

“Thanks.” He gives me a nod then turns to look at Granddad. “You hanging in there okay, sir?”

“I’m doing fine. Just enjoying the entertainment,” Granddad says, winking at him. “You should get Brooks a pastry too,” he tells me. “The man deserves it.”

Brooks hasn’t put his jacket or shirt back on and it’s very distracting as we drive toward the airfield where our plane is waiting for us. The sun is blasting through the windows of his sports car, and he’s wearing a pair of aviators, his window is down. He looks stupidly relaxed.

“Thank you,” I tell him. “And I’m sorry.”

“What about?” He turns to look at me and I can see myself reflected in the mirrored glass of his lenses. Where he looks calm my face is red and I can see the tightness in my jaw that hasn’t let up any since I hugged Granddad and made him promise not to buy anything else while I’m away.

“I didn’t know he’d bought all those boxes,” I say. “And I definitely didn’t know they would be delivered today.” I swallow hard. “He has a bit of a problem…”

“What kind of problem?” Brooks asks, sounding interested. An image flashes into my brain of him carrying all those boxes into the back room. Which was already full of boxes that Granddad hasn’t had the chance to go through and catalogue yet.

“An old book kind of problem,” I say.

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