Page 45 of Love is an Open Book
I smile at the thought of my nephew turning into a master fisherman. “Bet he’s proud. Tell him I’ll show him the best spots when I get there.”
The mention of the lake reminds me of what I stand to lose when Dad sells. No more nights at the cabin and fall bonfires.No more hiking in the snow to find the biggest balsam fir for Mia, one that makes Frank look like a seedling. Mom will still be close by, and I’ll see Dad when I fly out to visit Scott’s family, but we won’t have our central hub without the farm. Am I ready to sacrifice my life here to keep it?
Riley pulls up behind the trailer of equipment parked on the street and she and Morris climb out, followed by a few of the summer hires, college kids home for break. Riley passes me a gyro and when I ask Morris for change, he pulls out empty pockets. Typical.
“So we finally get to meet the famous Mia Brady on Friday,” Riley says around a mouthful of pita. “Or did she get second thoughts about pulling weeds for charity?”
“She’s coming.” Unless she’s thought better of it.
“I hear season four is filming soon,” Riley says. “Think I can get the inside scoop?”
My stomach twists. I should’ve thought twice before inviting her to hang out with someone who’s super into the show. “Don’t bring it up, okay?”
Morris glances up from tying his boot, sunburned face shiny with sweat. “Why not?”
I wrack my brain for a good excuse that doesn’t involve her writer’s block. “Because she wants to fit in. Be one of the crew. She’s never done anything like this before.”
“Want us to go easy on her?”
“No.” Mia would hate being coddled. “I mean, yes. Don’t throw her in the deep end. But don’t assume she can’t handle something. Just act normal.”
“Right,” he says, dragging out the word.
“And don’t grill her about the show.”
“You’re acting weird.” Riley stuffs her trash in the paper sack. “Is something going on between you two?”
If only. “Nope.” I tug my hat down and call out to the group scattered on the grass. “Ten minutes, everyone. Let’s finish up sowe can head back.” Taking a big bite of my gyro, I turn my back on Morris and Riley before they can ask anything else about Mia, the book, or the tightrope we’re walking.
A couple days later, on Friday morning, I’m idling at the curb by Mia’s building to pick her up for the Community Give-Back event. These experiments are her way of containing the situation, but I’m dying to see what happens if we forget about the rules. Would she flirt with me if it wasn’t just a box to tick?
We agreed no touching for the trope tests, but she wasn’t in any hurry to get off of me when she toppled into me in the escape room. What if Joe is right and she’s been waiting for me to make a move? I won’t be able to test that theory with all my coworkers around, and I wish I’d thought of a more romantic trope for today. But when I got the sign-up email, it struck me as the perfect way for Mia to try fish-out-of-water.
There will be too many eyes on us for real or fake flirting, but I hope today helps Mia get a break from agonizing over the book. I want her to remember that she’s more than her career. She’s an accomplished author and that won’t change. But she’s also an amazing person and a great friend, even though calling her a “friend” feels like too small a word for how I feel about her, like a root-bound plant that’s outgrown its pot.
Emerging from her building, she climbs into my truck and pulls her oversize sunglasses down over her eyes, then powers the seat into full recline as if evading paparazzi, looking every bit the famous author she is, even though it’s just daylight she’s hiding from. I’m so amused by her grumpy, pre-coffee persona that it takes me a second to notice her outfit.
She’s wearing a baggy T-shirt, a decent choice given the heat, though long sleeves would protect her arms from scratches. What catches my eye are the nylon shorts paired with crew socks and hiking boots. The rounded swoop of her thighs does something to me that’s not platonic in the least, and the long expanse ofbronze legs between the hem of her shorts and white socks has me more distracted than a woman’s body has in, well, forever.
Since the farthest Mia ever hikes is from her house to the coffee shop, I’m guessing she bought the boots especially for today. I forgot to mention that the crew usually wears pants and long sleeves, and don’t have the heart to tell her now, since she’s clearly put a lot of thought into looking the part.
“I can’t believe I thought this was a good idea.” She hoists herself up on an elbow to take a sip out of her giant travel mug before settling back with a groan. “It’s way too early to be awake.”
“Even for a good cause?”
“Only for a good cause.”
I ease back onto the busy street, full of commuters in a rush to get to the train station or headed toward the freeway into the city. “How late were you up writing?”
“Two a.m.,” she says. “The story is actually going somewhere. I sent Evie the latest chapters.”
Normally she sends pages to me, too, but I ignore the pang of jealousy. I can’t give her anything close to Evie’s professional level of critique, and she probably doesn’t want the pressure of extra eyes on it yet. “Since you’ve found your rhythm, we could’ve called off this trope test.”
“I might’ve found my groove, but I’m not going to mess with the process. You don’t shave your beard in the middle of the World Series.”
Can’t argue with baseball logic. “I’m happy you’re coming along today, experiment or not.”
“My lack of gardening skills might make me a liability.”
