Page 11 of Roughing It

“You’ll see. I’ve got a good feeling about you two, though. And my gut is rarely wrong.”

Kirk hangs up, leaving me staring at the phone and wondering what in the name of Johnnie Walker Blue I’ve gotten myself into.

CHAPTER FOUR

blakely

Heavy pounding on my front door wakes me from a deep sleep. I bolt upright and shove the sleep mask up my forehead. A second round of knocking has me checking my phone screen for the time. Who on earth is here at seven-thirty?

“BB! Come on!” Kirk’s muffled voice snaps me out of my sleep hangover.

Shit.Today is day one of my Austin exodus. Kirk told me—a few times—he’d be here early. We have a long day ahead of us to wherever he’s taking me.

At another hard knock and Kirk’s mumbled threat to pick the lock, I stumble out of my bed and scramble for the door, my colorful curses melding with the steady knocking.

Wrapping my robe around me, I fling the door open, and Kirk gives me a knowing look. “You overslept.”

“I swear, I set an alarm! Just give me?—”

He kisses my cheek. “I knew you’d be late. The good news is, I’m here thirty minutes early. This isn’t my first Blakely Bradshaw rodeo.”

I bump his shoulder in mock anger and jut my lower lip outin a pout. “Then the least you can do is make coffee while I get ready.”

Like magic, Kirk pulls one arm from behind his back, revealing a travel mug. He waggles the cup out of my reach. I make grabby hands, desperate for the nectar of life the tumbler holds.

The first sip of coffee, rich and creamy with the perfect amount of caramel, helps push the haze of sleep from my mind. I whisper to the lid, “Ah, my beloved. How I’ve missed you.”

Kirk snorts. “I hope for your sake, and his, you have access to a coffee maker.”

I freeze. “Wait. Is there a chance it won’t?”

“You’re going from here,” he gestures around my apartment, “a luxury high-rise with all the amenities you could ever want, to a one-bedroom, one-bathroom cabin in the woods. Yeah, BB, there’s a chance there won’t be a coffee maker.”

“That doesn’t work for me.” I trail off, trying to figure out if I can cram my Nespresso into one of my overstuffed suitcases. “The place surely has a percolator, at least. No one’s that savage.”

Under his breath, he mutters, “Seriously, Mr. Brooks, I wish you the best of luck.”

Thirty minutes later—exactly as Kirk predicted, the clever bastard—I’m ready. As I fasten oversized hoops in my ears, I say, “My bags are in here.”

Kirk stares at me for a beat.

“What? Do I have a stain or something?”

“Remember when I said today would be a long day of travel?”

“Yes.”

“And remember how we talked about leaving the full Blakely Bradshaw look here in Austin?”

“Yes.” I smooth my palms over my belly-baring top and high-waisted wide-leg jeans.

He gestures to my heeled boots. “You’re a little overdressed. You look fantastic, don’t get me wrong.” He ducks his head at my scowl. “We have a flight to Albuquerque and then a three-hour car ride. Are you sure you don’t want to wear something a little more casual? Maybe tennis shoes? Those boots cannot be comfortable.”

Shit. He’s right. I dressed the way I usually do. This is fine. No biggie. Not a massive setback and a sign I’m destined to fail at this wholeback-to-basicsexperiment. “Give me five.”

He nods, and I scramble to my closet, searching for a cute but comfortable travel outfit. When I rejoin him, I’m confident I’ve nailed it. How can you go wrong with athleisure wear?

“Come on, Kirk. Be a gentleman and help me with these bags. Marcus will kill you if he finds out you didn’t offer to help.” I bite my lip to keep the smile off my face. He loves me.

---