Page 20 of Off the Record

“Are you finished scheming now?” I ask. “We have work to do.”

His smile is knowing, like he can sense both my attraction and how my sister cottoned on to it. He pins me with a look whilesliding his sunglasses back on. “No scheming. Just some friendly planning.”

“To-may-toe, to-mah-toe.” I climb into the car and buckle my seat belt. It smells like leather, coffee, and man—a faint sage-y whiff of cologne and fresh air. He reaches for one of two to-go cups and hands it to me.

I bring it close to my nose and inhale. Caramel macchiato. Holy caramel coffee, did I just fall in love? “How did you know my drink order?” I ask, taking a heavenly sip.

“You had one the other day in my office. I’m not a creep for glancing at the label.”

Not a creep at all. “That was incredibly thoughtful.” I take another sip. Yep, definitely in love with this guy. “Where are we heading?”

He pulls onto the road and glances at me. “You’ll see.”

“Am I at least dressed for it?” I take his casual clothes to mean I don’t need to be in professional attire, but still.

Hudson’s eyes remain on the road. “You look perfect.”

I scoff playfully. “You didn’t even look at me.”

“I looked.”

My stomach turns into molten lava right there. Such a shame, really, that I’m going to burn a hole in his elite SUV, but I’m melting. I make a weird, noncommittal noise in my throat.

Hudson’s eyes flick to me, holding mine for a brief moment before sliding back to the road. “Don’t worry. You look great, and you’re going to love him.”

Not sure I’ll survive the day, but for now, I put that concern aside and enjoy the yellow, orange, and red trees lining the roads and sprinkling leaves all over the ground.

A sigh slips from my lips. “I love these fall colors.”

He shoots me a glance. “Tennessee does autumn well.”

The air through the open window hovers just between warm and crisp, the color palette is cozy and vibrant, and the drink in my hands warms me up physically and emotionally.

I guess I lied to my sister, because I’m very much in danger of falling for his charm.

Hudson pullsthe car onto Main Street in Franklin. The historic downtown is lined with tall shops stacked together, the street ending in a Civil War memorial. Dried leaves litter the sidewalk and skate across the road when the wind picks up, and people mill about the shops and restaurants. It’s one of my favorite local places to grab a bite and shop for gifts, and there’s a fissure of something warm inside me since Hudson seems to like it here, too.

We walk down the sidewalk at a decent pace. I finish my drink and toss the cup into a garbage can, then follow Hudson into a boutique shop. The bell jangles over the door as we step inside. Women’s sweaters and high-end T-shirts line one wall, while home decor and kitchen signs line the other. Stands dotting the room have everything from gimmicky coffee table books to rooster-shaped measuring spoons. It’s the exact sort of shop I can find anything or nothing, depending on what catches my fancy.

“Hudson!” The man behind the counter beams, coming out to pull Hudson into a hug. He’s tall and lanky, his sweater hanging from his shoulders. Gray wiry eyebrows that could do with a trimming frame his expressive eyes, and his head is bald and shiny. The best part is the bowtie peeking out from the collar of his brown sweater. “This must be your friend Paisley.”

“Hello,” I say, holding my hand out to shake. I’m utterly charmed.

He looks like the type of man whose resting expression is a smile. “I’m Linus. Welcome to our shop.”

Our shop? I look behind him, but there’s only a teenage girl stocking gimmicky mints at the counter.

“My wife isn’t with us anymore,” he says kindly, his tone dropping with reverence. “Liver disease took her from me just over four years ago.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He smiles. “She was a very bright light. We met in Sweden, and it was love at first sight for me. She took a little more convincing.” He winks.

“Wow, Sweden.” He knows I’m here for a story, but I have a feeling he’ll keep sharing bits of himself with me whether or not I encourage him. There’s something romantic about a man who gets starry-eyed talking about his wife.

“I was there as an exchange student. She lived next door to my host family.” His smile becomes dreamy. “I decided I was never leaving Sweden again.”

Yet here he is. I can feel the beginning of his story taking root and growing, sensing the blooms ahead are going to be gorgeous.

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