Page 28 of Love is an Open Book
“I signed up to flirt with you. That’s been the highlight of my day.”
I thought we’d dropped the pretense of role-playing. Was that Gavin talking, or the smitten coworker he was pretending to be?
“Also, what I do in my yard isn’t fiddling. One wrong snip with the pruning shears and...” He draws a finger across his throat.
“A perfectly good rosebud loses its life?”
“Number one cause of accidental death among roses. Reckless pruning is no joke.” He gives me a lopsided grin. “Unlike your complete disregard for workplace ethics.”
“Those emails were the most productive part of my day.” Even though I did some good character work, I need to be checking off scenes by now. “You were right. I need to get away from this book, mentally and physically.”
He not-at-all-subtly inclines his head toward the screen, where the bungee jumping video is paused.
“Technically speaking, that would work,” I admit. “But less peril, please.”
His eyes light up. Swiveling back to the desk, he navigates to an ominous-looking website.
I squint at the header. “An escape room?”
“Faye’s been asking me to schedule an escape room for team building, but I’ve never tried one. It would be good toexperience it before I take the group there.” The owners of the garden center place a high priority on a quality work environment, and this wouldn’t be the first team-building event Gavin’s led. “No time to stress over the plot if you’re working to beat the clock, right?”
I highly doubt figuring out puzzles will be enough to free up my creativity, but the whole point is to get out of my routine. I can’t keep staring at my laptop, willing words to appear. “An escape room it is.”
Forced proximity always was a favorite trope of mine. Maybe spending an afternoon locked up with Gavin will shift my focus enough to get clarity. Either way, we’re keeping this experiment between us and there will be no need to flirt. All that’s required for this trope test is two people stuck together. What could be simpler?
Ten
Gavin
I pull a paving stone off the bed of the truck and stack it atop the others in my driveway. It’s Saturday afternoon and Scott and I are headed into Chicago for the Brewers-Cubs game today, but before he gets here, I need to unload these bricks and grab a shower. My gloves are gritty, shirt damp with sweat, but I’m grateful for the physical exertion to keep my racing thoughts at bay.
Flirting with Mia the other day felt so real. To stop myself from replaying the memory of her leaning close, lips parted and gaze sultry, I stopped by the garden center this morning and bought a load of paving stones, even though I took the day off for the game.
The task should keep me occupied, but my mind keeps returning to Mia’s declaration—“The only surprising thing is you thinking I haven’t already imagined how good you’d taste.”Was she just playing a role, or was there truth in her words? Either way, her confession sent me into a tailspin of desire that left me delirious enough to volunteer to be locked into a confined space.
Three hundred square feet. That’s the size of the escape room. I’m not sure which I’m more worried about, the tiny space we’ll be stuck in or acting like I didn’t mean every word I said.
I slide another paver off the bed of my truck and catch sight of my brother’s car pulling up to the curb.
He steps out, wearing a jersey, sandy-blond hair ruffled by the breeze, and scans the torn-up yard. “Thought we could get to Wrigleyville early and grab a drink before the game, but I guess not.”
“Next train into the city isn’t for another hour, but help yourself to a beer. Won’t take me long to finish.”
He shakes his head, already unbuckling his watch, the pale skin beneath the band a contrast to his sunburned arms. He’s probably spent the past week outside chasing after Paxton and Brett. “What, and get grief for standing around watching you work?”
I grin at him. “How are Amber and the boys?”
“Good,” he says, climbing up onto the truck bed. “I feel bad leaving her with the kids all weekend, but she practically shooed me out the door.”
“Dad’s there to help.” And I know for a fact his wife doesn’t mind, especially since Scott and I don’t get to see each other often anymore. She thanked me once for pushing my brother to get out of the house and have fun. Parenting two young kids turned him into a hermit for a while.
“Speaking of Dad...” Scott says, with a casualness that has me on high alert. “Have you talked lately?”
“Not since last week.” Once again, I get the sensation something’s up. But every time I’ve called recently, my dad seemed to be doing great. Would he hide something serious from me? “What’s wrong?” All sorts of scenarios fly through my mind, none of them good.
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing if you’re asking.”
