Page 18 of Love In Translation

Maybe they could talk about the weather. Or Gilmartin.

“So why don’t you want Carrie to know you are here? Where are you supposed to be?”

His questions sliced through the space between them and landed on her skin, hot and unexpected. The words took a moment to sink in. Her coffee machine made its customary rude belch and dripped a few more drops into his cup. Fletch picked up the cup, took a sip, and joined her at the table, stretching out his long legs.

She cleared her throat. How should she answer his question? She couldn’t, obviously, tell him she’d been at odds with her family for as long as she could recall or that she was the drab cuckoo in a nest of brightly colored macaws. Unlike her, he clearly didn’t wrestle with the world, and didn’t need to fight for his place in it. He seemed happy in his skin. Would anything faze him? She couldn’t imagine him feeling insecure or being able to understand the uncertainty of always standing on the outside looking in.

She eventually answered him. “It’s complicated.”

“Aren’t families always complicated?” he replied before lifting his cup. “Great coffee, by the way.”

It was a monthly delivery from a specialist coffee shop in Brooklyn. “Kenyan. It’s a blend I stumbled across a few years ago.”

“I like it,” he stated, looking past her counters and through the back door onto her garden. “The garden is magnificent. Your work?”

Ah, he’d noticed he’d hit a nerve and was attempting to make her feel comfortable. Sweet of him. And it was working. “God,no. I once tried to grow herbs in pots on my foot-wide balcony in Brooklyn, but I never remembered to water them. And I don’t cook.”

Amusement jumped into his eyes. “Right. You live in Brooklyn?” he asked.

“Yeah, up until four months ago. I’m hoping to go back soon, if I can work my way through the madness of the last few months.”

He tapped a blunt finger on the rim of his mug and pounced on her statement. “What happened?”

Rheo pulled a face. Why had she said that? She wasn’t in the habit of blabbing about her work screwups. Wasn’t in the habit of confiding in strangers, period. But Fletch didn’t feel like a stranger. Not now and not when they’d kissed. Indescribably delicious, he’d sent blood flowing to parts of her she’d long forgotten. Despite never having met him before, she recognized him. Being in his arms, her mouth under his, felt right. Normal.

Wild!She didn’t believe in instant connections, nor did she believe in love at first sight.Coup de foudrewas French romanticism. Magnetism and desire she understood, as they were biological impulses, but wandering off into Romance Land was silly.

And she wasn’t silly. She was practical and pragmatic, a planner. Anythingbutsilly.

Needing to change the subject, Rheo tossed out a question, hoping his answer would assuage her curiosity. “So, what work do you do for Carrie, Fletcher?”

He sent her a low, slow smile, the mental equivalent of being dipped into a vat of rich, warm, silky dark chocolate. She loved dark chocolate...

“Why do you think I work for Carrie?”

Um...she was sure there was a reason.Oh, right.“Earlier you said you’d worked as a sound guy and a cameraman.”

“I have, but not for Carrie,” he told her. “I make my own documentaries.”

Great.Fletch being someone who flitted around the world, exploring, documenting his travels, made complete sense. She’d felt the wildness in him earlier. Another nomad.

That he and Carrie were friends didn’t surprise her. Carrie avoided nine-to-five men and held a great deal of disdain for anyone who wore a suit and worked set hours—Rheo especially. Corporate men bored Carrie. She always said they were insanely tedious, and she’d rather hook up with a store mannequin. Since Rheo enjoyed set hours, loved coming home to the same apartment, and knew what her next week, month, and year looked like, she took exception to her cousin’s statements.

Carrie didn’t give a rat’s ass whether she was offended or not.

“What’s your show called?” Rheo asked, mostly to be polite. She wasn’t into watching anyone wandering around old cities, eating street food, and taking in the tourist attractions. Occasionally doing a bungee jump or zipping from tree to tree.

“My most recent one isA Year in the Jungle.A Year in Ice and Snowwill be released in a few months.”

She’d never heard of them and told him so. Fletcher shrugged and didn’t seem annoyed that she’d never seen his work. Unlike Carrie, who thought everyone should watch her being brilliant.

“They have a bit of a following with people who like adventure. I’ve done some hardcore expeditions.”

She wrinkled her nose. According to Carrie, most adventure/travel content creators weren’t half as tough as they claimed to be. “So, do you only pretend to sleep in a tent and sneak off to sleep in a big double bed in the nearest five-star hotel?”

Fletcher took another sip of his coffee and smiled. “There weren’t any five-star hotels where I went.” He stood and nodded to her cup. “Would you like a refill?”

Grateful he’d asked, she nudged her cup in his direction. Fletcher turned away and Rheo looked at his broad back and spectacular ass. It took a lot of time and effort to get as fit and as strong as he was. Unlike her. If she was ever found dead in a gym or on a jogging trail, the most likely explanation was that she’d been murdered elsewhere and her body dumped.

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