Page 32 of First Love, Second Draft

“Well, if you must know, I scaled the maple tree, swung branch to branch, then somersaulted through the window. Nailed the landing too. Should’ve gotten all tens, but the Russian judge only gave me an eight.”

From her peripheral vision, she saw Noah fold his arms as he crept closer into her central vision, nailing his own perfect landing with a prop of his rear end on the corner of her special writing desk.

Surely she’d called it her special writing desk enough times in her mind by now to truly make it her special writing desk.

“My my,” Noah drawled. “I’d say someone’s wearing their sassy pants today, but considering you’ve given up wearing pants all together, I’ll just assume you’re wearing your sassy undies.” He leaned down and whispered, “Which, as I recall, is the red pair.”

Gracie clutched her robe tight at her neck and swung her gazeto meet his. “Don’t you dare”—her breath rushed out of her, which didn’t take long since she’d lost all capacity for deep breaths ever since her accident—“shave.”

His palm scraped across his smooth cheek, over his mouth. Like a magician’s trick, a devastating smile appeared beneath his fingers. “I think I already did.”

Oh, he certainly had. Shaved. His face. His stupid handsome face. No beard. No scruff. No... Oh my. Goodness. Oh... everything.

Gracie forced her gaze back to her laptop. Lifted the lid. Tried typing something. A sentence. A word. A punctuation mark.Something.

Ajdskfsa;lkdfjdka!

Well, that was something.

She closed the lid again. Why did he have to be so stinking hot? She didn’t need that. No ex-wife needed that.

What she needed was for him to go. Away. Far away. Far enough away she wouldn’t have to look into his eyes and be reminded of everything she’d ever felt for this man. Especially not the good parts. She refused to think about the good parts with this man. Not when the bad parts had nearly destroyed her.

Clearing her throat, Gracie shifted in her seat and opened her laptop. “I need to... You should really. . .” She angled her head sideways toward the door without taking her eyes off the computer screen where the cursor blinked, taunting her as much as the scent of Noah’s aftershave.

Because, oh no, it couldn’t be enough for him to look wonderful.Of coursehe had to smell delicious too. She tried not to inhale any more of whatever scrumptious scent he was wearing. A scent that was definitely not sandalwood. From now on all her heroes would smell like that—whateverthatwas. Not that Noah should be setting the bar for her heroes.

She was going back to sandalwood.

“So which part of the story are you working on now?” He slid from the desk, then grabbed the back of her chair and leaned down to look at her computer screen.

“Nothing.” She slammed the lid shut again. “You know I can’t work with you—”Smelling like that. “Hovering next to my nose.”What?

“Nice picture. Did you draw this?” He reached around her shoulders and picked up a flyer lying next to her computer.

Oh, how that smooth-shaven, delectable face was crowding her space. Seriously though, what aftershave had Bobby put on him? It took all her willpower not to bury her nose into Noah’s neck.

“Gracie?”

“Huh?” She blinked. He’d asked a question, hadn’t he? “Uh, yes. Doodles. Those are my doodles.” Is that what he’d asked? “Matt, um, asked me to design something to help promote the animal shelter. He wants to pass those out at the Alda Pumpkin Festival this Saturday.”

She grabbed the brochure, then started to fan herself with it. When had this room turned into a sauna?

Noah perched back on her desk. “You’ve gotten better, you know that? You were always talented, but that—” He pointed at the flyer. “That’s really clever.”

Gracie tried not to let his praise seep past her defenses. “Yes, well, doesn’t exactly pay the bills, though, does it? Now are we done playing fifty questions? I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than grill me over my animal doodles.” She waved the brochure toward the doorway. “Time to go.”And take that glorious yummy-scented face with you.

“How long do you think you’ll be up here?”

“Hours. Days. Long time.”

From the corner of her eye she caught him rubbing the bare spot around his left ring finger. How long had it taken before he’d removed his wedding band?

“Promise you won’t take the stairs again without me?”

Where did he put it? Sock drawer? Desk drawer? Snack drawer?Did he ever lose sleep in the middle of the night wondering when she’d taken her wedding ring off? Or where she’d put it?

“Gracie?”

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