Page 18 of Love is an Open Book
“That my best friend lured me into a life of crime?” His eyes are sparkling irresistibly, but I won’t be lured into agreeing with him.
“You had a key,” I remind him. “And to be fully accurate, we didn’t know each other back then. You let a total stranger lure you into the life of crime. Shows a lack of judgment on your part, really.”
“Victim blame much?”
“Now you’re a victim?” I give him a skeptical look. “Thought you were the hero of that story.”
“I was. Am.” He sends me another irresistible grin, and for a moment I imagine what we’d be doing tonight if I hadn’t met him fresh off of finding out my boyfriend was in love with my sister. Certainly not talking, not when he’s sitting there looking delectable as a cologne ad. “Sorry,” he says. “You were explaining how making babies will help your writer’s block, which to be fair, is worth a try—”
I cut him off by closing the binder on his hand. “You don’t deserve access to this information.”
“C’mon, Mia. I’m kidding. I want to help. And this idea is sounding more unhinged by the moment, which is a good thing. I like seeing you daring and reckless.”
Reckless? That’s the opposite of what I’ve got planned. “The whole point of this is to keep things contained.”
“Things being our feelings.” His gaze is intense, voice rich, like the last bite of a caramel sundae.
“I just want to make sure we keep in mind this is an experiment for the sole purpose of determining if switching up my routine can free up my creativity.”
He scratches his temple, the streaks of summer gold in his hair illuminated by the slanting evening light. “So we choose a trope at random, act it out, and see if it inspires you?”
“We could do that,” I say, hedging. “Or we come up with a list, ranging from easiest to hardest to test. Hopefully we’ll only have to try a few before I get into a rhythm and we can call it off.”
“Okay, so if not secret baby, then what?”
“Mmm...” I pretend to give it thought, like I haven’t spent hours ranking the tropes already. “Road trip? We could visit everyone at the farm.” His brother’s family is staying with his dad, and things seem to go more smoothly when I’m there as a buffer to Dennis’s unsubtle hints about Gavin moving back. The two-hour drive to Wisconsin could double as a trope test.
“Been there, done that,” he says. “Last time you made us listen to an audiobook instead of music.”
“I was moderating a panel with the author that weekend.”
“You sped it up to three times the normal rate.” He fixes me with a glare. “It was like listening to caffeinated chipmunks.”
I swallow a laugh, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Enemies-to-lovers?”
“Like Tiffany and Dylan’s book,” he says. The feuding booksellers in the first book of this series, who made more and more outrageous window displays in their attempts to one-up each other. I had a blast writing their story because I had no trouble encouraging them to go all-in for love, unlike Sydney and Victor, who stand to lose it all. “The scene in the back room when they were unpacking stock...” He trails off.
I’d forgotten that one. “You remember my books better than I do.”
“Because unlike you, I’m not dreaming of new plots. I get to sit with yours for a while after I read them,” he says offhandedly, like that isn’t the highest compliment a writer could receive. “But we’re friends. How would we act out enemies-to-lovers?”
“Remember that time we tried to build furniture together?”
He laughs. “Yeah, that would work. A little too well. I’m actually not sure our friendship could survive it.” He flips the page. “Celebrity romance? Nah, that’s our daily life, minus the falling-in-love part.”
“You make it sound like I can’t walk down the street without getting recognized.”
“There was a line around the block at your last signing,” he says.
“But it’s not like I have to go incognito for a night out.” I point at the next trope on the list. “Also, no need to do snowed-in. Remember last year in Colorado Springs?”
He flops backward. “The ratings for that vacation rental were a total scam. Four-point-nine stars my ass.”
Despite myself, I chuckle. “The hot tub alone.”
“Don’t.” He gags. “The sound of sludge churning out of those filthy jets still haunts me.”
I’d flown to Colorado at the end of his trip to visit his brother last year so we could spend a long weekend in the mountains.The vacation rental was a nightmare, but we got snowed in and had to stay the night. Needless to say, no romance ensued, but there was an epic battle with a cockroach who lived to fight another day.
