Page 10 of Forbidden Love

He had expected sharp edges, a woman who wielded cruelty like a blade. But here, sitting across from him in the only restaurant in town, she just looked… tired. And wary. Like she was waiting for him to be just like the rest.

“So, what do you like doing for fun?” he asked, keeping his voice light.

Deb blinked, caught off guard. “Fun?”

She said it like it was some foreign concept, which had him narrowing his eyes. He figured as much. A woman like Deb,someone who carried the weight of her past on her shoulders, probably didn’t take much time for herself.

“Yeah, you know… fun,” he said, watching her closely. “Like reading, taking a walk, putt-putt golf.” He kept his face neutral, but a grin tugged at his lips.

Deb wrinkled her nose. “I hate putt-putt golf.”

The quickness of her answer made Brock chuckle. “That so?”

She nodded, and then, to his surprise, a tiny grin played on her lips. And damn if that didn’t make her even more beautiful.

“Probably because I suck at it,” she admitted with a shrug. “And it’s boring, just like real golf. You hit a ball and then walk after it. Makes no sense to me.”

Brock laughed, shaking his head. “You do realize that’s the entire game, right?”

“Exactly.” She pointed a finger at him, her grin widening. “Why would I want to do that for fun?”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Fair enough. No putt-putt golf. What about movies?”

Deb tilted her head, considering. “Not really movies, but I love the murder shows and true crime stuff. I listen to a lot of true crime podcasts.”

“That tracks,” Brock mused, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“What does that mean?” Deb frowned, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“You don’t seem like a rom-com kind of girl,” Brock said innocently, but his grin suggested otherwise.

“Hey, it’s good to be educated if the need arises.” She replied, sounding as if she really meant that. Then her expression turned teasing. “What do you know about rom-com movies?”

Brock smirked. “Hey, I can appreciate a good romantic comedy.”

Deb raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Name one.”

“TheBride of Chucky,” Brock answered without hesitation.

Deb’s eyes widened in disbelief before her head fell back in a burst of laughter, loud and unexpected. It was real—raw—and damn if it didn’t make something tighten in Brock’s chest.

“You’re serious?” she finally managed between chuckles, wiping at the corner of her eye.

“Yes, I am.” He leaned back, arms crossed, a satisfied grin playing on his lips.

Deb shook her head, still grinning. “That isnota rom-com.”

“Sure it is,” Brock countered, lifting a brow. “You got romance, commitment, a lot of passion, a little drama, Chucky is hilarious—hell, Tiffany literally dies and comes back as a doll to be with Chucky. If that’s not devotion, I don’t know what is.”

Deb laughed again, the sound softer this time. “That’s some twisted logic.”

“Hey, you asked for a romantic comedy, not anormalone.”

She smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Alright, wise guy, what’s youractualpick? No killer dolls, just a straight-up, traditional rom-com.”

Brock pretended to think about it, tapping a finger against the table. “Yeah, I got nothing.” His grinned. “If it doesn’t have blood and evil dolls coming to life, then I’m out.”

“That’s what I thought,” Deb said, shaking her head with a chuckle.

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