Page 12 of Love In Translation

No fuss, no drama.

But then he found Rheo.

And during their brief introduction, he’d discovered she hated all the things he loved and kept secrets from her family.

Other questions buzzed, as unrelenting as midges enjoying a warm summer evening in the Scottish Highlands. How many languages did she speak? Why was she taking a sabbatical? Why was he so bloody intrigued by her?

Irritated by Seb’s pronouncement, Carrie’s delayed arrival, and his unwelcome attraction to Rheo, Fletch walked over to the wide windows. Despite having stood on the summit of some of the world’s highest mountains, watching the northern lights dance across the sky, and witnessing the fierce fury of an African thunderstorm, this view made his soul sigh with appreciation.

The deep, mysterious green of the forest contrasted beautifully with the blinding white snow on the upper reaches of Mount Hood. The sky was such a thick blue, dense enough to push his fist through it. The blue lakes glinted in the summer sun.

Man, he couldn’t wait to get out there. Nature, somehow, always managed to soothe his soul, to smooth away his jagged edges, to give him a little perspective. He’d wake up to that view every morning for the next few weeks. A soft, warm breeze wafted into the room, tinged with a hint of roses and wildflowers and sweet, hot summer air.

“God, amazing,” he muttered.

“Glad you like it.” Rheo stood next to the bed, a pile of soft-looking towels in her hands.

She smiled, and his heart flip-flopped around his chest like a hooked rainbow trout.

She gestured to the door to her right. “There’s a small en suite bathroom through there. It’s not big, but it’s got everything you need.”

He nodded his thanks. He spent most of his year in cramped tents, and an en suite bathroom was an unexpected luxury. As was the wide bed, roomy enough for his long frame. At six four, his feet often hung off the ends of hotel beds, and he appreciated one he could stretch out in.

“The kitchen is downstairs to your right. Help yourself to coffee or anything in the fridge.”

Fletch suspected Rheo was running through a mental checklist, trying to remember how to be a good hostess.

“There’s a sitting room as well, with a TV.”

Yeah, he wasn’t a big TV watcher; he preferred to read. He’d caught a glimpse of an old-fashioned library earlier, complete with ceiling-high shelves stacked with books and ladders to reach the top. Would there be any books detailing long-ago expeditions?

“Can I use the library?”

Rheo looked at him as if he’d asked whether aliens were on the roof. “Of course you can. It’s alibrary, the books are supposed to be read.”

He’d visited houses where libraries were just for show, where books—special editions and collector’s pieces—were seldom handled, sometimes never touched. No matter the cost or how rare, if he bought a book for his collection, he always read it. Oftentimes, he read it again.

“Thank you.”

She pushed a tendril of thick hair behind her ear and nodded. “Sure. Um—” Her eyes landed on the bed, and a bright splash of pink hit her cheekbones.

Her eyes met his and skittered away. When she spoke again, her words tumbled over each other. “I’ll leave you to unpack, and settle in.”

He assumed he wouldn’t see her again that day, and he cursed the wave of disappointment rolling over him. She wasn’t more than a B and B host, an innkeeper. They were sharing a house, but he wasn’t entitled to her company. Or to share her bed.

And why did he want to? While he liked people and could throw back a couple of beers in a bar or join the guys for a pick-up game, he was equally content to spend time on his own. He’d done numerous unsupported expeditions in his early years—without a backup of any sort, filming his own trials and tribulations—and was comfortable in his own company.

He should take a walk, explore the town, and grab some food. He needed to give Rheo time to get used to him—he was little more than a stranger.

Rheo sent him a tight smile and whirled on her heel, but her foot caught the edge of the rug. She stumbled and, despite being across the room, he lunged to grab her but missed by a foot. She hit the deck, her arms still at her sides. Her forehead bounced off the rug and she let out an inelegantwhoof. She lay there on her stomach, her fantastic butt in the air, her head turned to the side. Her mouth opened and closed like a drowning fish.

Fletcher dropped to his haunches, rolled her over onto her back, and immediately clocked the panic in her eyes.

“Keep calm, you’ve just had the wind knocked out of you. Your breath will come back when you relax.”

Her eyes narrowed. Irritation and embarrassment swirled.

“Better?”

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