Page 33 of The Broken Heart Playlist
He doesn’t stir and I pull myself up short. What is happening here? Am I really talking to a dog?
Gideon returns with a glass of white wine. His fingers brush mine as he hands it to me and goosebumps dance over my skin. The hint of spice in his aftershave unfolds memories of childhood Christmas get-togethers, of log fires, frothy hot chocolates, and raucous laughter.
“How was your day?” Gideon asks, settling on the bench and facing me.
“I had a tortilla chip shoot this afternoon,” I say, taking a sip of my wine. “It was a success, but I had to make so much guacamole I never want to see another avocado again.”
He gives a half-grimace, half-smile. “I love guacamole. Don’t ruin it for me.”
Oh, there’s no way I’m passing up this opportunity. “So I shouldn’t tell you that no one could eat the guac because of all the lime juice we had to put in it to stop the avocado from becoming brown.”
“You couldn’t resist, could you?”
“Nope,” I reply unapologetically.
“What other food will you try to ruin for me?”
“Be careful,” I warn him. “I have quite the list.”
His eyes gleam with the challenge. “What about raspberries?” he throws out. “I should mention that raspberry smoothies are my go-to breakfast.”
I don’t even have to think about it. “I once had to pluck the hairs off an entire bowl of raspberries. It was my most boring food shoot to date.”
He laughs. “You win. I guess it’s blueberry smoothies from here on out.”
I swallow back the laugh in my chest. This feels easy and comfortable. Dangerously so.
I take another sip of my wine. “This is delicious,” I say, the wine in all its complex flavors sitting smoothly on my tongue.
He holds up his beer. “Here’s to the weekend.”
I tap my glass to his bottle. “I’ll drink to that.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, enjoying our drinks.
“What about your day?” I ask him.
He gives a relaxed shrug. “Just a day of answering emails and getting on top of admin.”
An interestingly vague answer. But suspicion is not the mood I want to sit in tonight. I sip my wine and instruct my wary mind to take a breather for a short while.
“Where’s Lisset?” Gideon asks.
“At a sleepover.”
“An evening all to yourself. Anything planned?”
I give a rueful laugh. “I’ll probably be asleep before ten. The life of a single mom.”
The statement slips out of me and I can’t take it back. His eyes are brimming with questions and I stiffen, fully expecting him to pursue the opening I inadvertently and stupidly gave him.
Instead, he asks, “I’m curious, what’s been your toughest food shoot?”
My shoulders relax a fraction. I’m relieved not to have the evening spoiled. “Are you interested in my work, Gideon Walker?”
“I’m interested in everything about you, Kate.”
Our eyes hold for a heartbeat. A new kind of tension spreads through me. This man. Forever flicking a lazy finger at the boundaries I keep having to prop up.
