Page 34 of The Broken Heart Playlist
“Toughest shoot?” he prods.
Right. Toughest shoot. “I worked on a refrigerated set once for an ice cream commercial,” I say. “It took us hours to shoot and I’ll never forget how frozen I was.” Even talking about it sends a shiver through me.
“Cold?” he asks.
“A little.”
“I imagine talking about an ice cream shoot doesn’t help,” he comments with a smile, like he’s reading my mind. He reaches into a large wicker basket on his side of the bench and pulls out a soft gray throw blanket, handing it to me. “Here you go.”
Although I’m wearing a jacket, I take the blanket gratefully from him, wrapping it over my legs. I’m instantly warmed. The winters in Brown Oaks are mild, but there’s still a chill in the air. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
The wine has mellowed me and I’m feeling uncharacteristically playful. “You don’t seem the type to keep blankets on your porch.”
He looks amused. “I don’t?”
“It feels like a feminine touch.”
“It’s winter. It’s a practical touch.”
“An outdoor heater feels more your style.”
“I haven’t got around to buying one yet.” He puts his beer to his lips, his smile lingering. “Is this a subtle way of asking me if I’m seeing anyone?”
I sense my cheeks reddening. “No! Not at all. I mean, obviously you can see whoever you like. It has nothing to dowith me. And I’m not curious about whether or not you’re seeing someone.”
Well, maybe I am, just a little.
Gideon watches me while my mouth takes on a mind of its own and rambles away, finally coming to an embarrassing stop. I lower my eyes and stare at my knees. This is not me. This feels like a moment Tess would totally own.
“Kate,” he says softly.
He says nothing else, simply waits in silence until I finally raise my eyes to meet his. He pins me with his gaze.
“I’m not seeing anyone.” His voice is both deeper and rougher than normal.
There’s a sudden thickening in the air. I have to take a moment to remember how to breathe.
As the night closes in on us and the porch lights switch on, he says amiably, “I assume you have a reason for coming over.”
I’m thankful for the change of subject, but also a little surprised. How does Gideon know when to nudge and when to retreat with me? It’s as though we’re dancing to a tune only he can hear and I’m the oblivious amateur clumsily following his lead.
“Maybe I’m here because I’ve run out of wine at home.”
A quiet chuckle rolls out of his chest. “If you were that desperate, you would have driven to the grocery store.”
“True.”
I tuck a leg underneath me and take a small, careful sip of my wine, knowing how easily I can shift from buzzed to tipsy to my filter crumbling, and who knows what truths will spill out of me then. I receive the impression Gideon is equally careful. He’s nursing that beer like I’m nursing my wine. Both of us so careful with how much we consume. Both of us guarding our secrets.
So much for temporarily putting to rest my mistrustful mind.
I pick at a loose thread on the blanket. “I came over because I’d like to know more about the Reading Dog Program you’re involved in.”
“What do you want to know?”
“I want to understand it better,” I answer, trying to tread delicately. “Do you see much success with it? I like dealing with facts and if I have more information about your sessions maybe I’ll have a better grasp of how the program works.”
