Page 5 of The Road Trip Romance

I look back to see that George has been joined by a woman about his age with purple hair and bright pink glasses. There’s got to be a story there.

Her gaze is fixed on my small rolling backpack that I’ve set on the ground. I look down at it and back up at her.

“Uh, not exactly,” I start but then have no idea what else to say.

“Oh? Tupperware? Is Sophia having a Tupperware party without me? I just love Tupperware,” the woman says.

I frown as I try to think of what to say. I hadn’t exactly even come up with a good speech for when Sophia opens her door, let alone what to say to her clearly nosy, older neighbors.

“N-no. I…am a work colleague. Just here to talk business,” I stammer and immediately regret my decision.

“Oh? Do you work for the charity too?” George asks, lifting the rim of his hat.Shit. Do they know she writes romance novels?She does use a pen name after all.

“Yep. That’s exactly right,” I say with a smile. I lean down and pat my bag. “Just looking at some samples for brochures for a program.” Damn, Iama good actor.

“That’s lovely,” the woman says. “Well, she should be in there. You have a wonderful day…” She trails off, clearly wanting my name.

“Brooks,” I say because it’s true and she won’t know who I am.

She frowns. “Huh, you look like someone…” She pauses as if trying to think of a name. Then her eyes light up and I know she’s making a connection in the brain residing under that purple hair.

“Tate Anders. You look just like him!” she exclaims.

Fuck. My. Life.

“Yeah, I get that sometimes. Gotta go,” I say as I hurry to the front door. I can hear George behind me.

“Wanda, why’d you have to do that? You clearly scared him off. If that’s him, he’s probably here for some kind of charity gala. Now, you better not tell any of those ladies down at the rec center. You know they’ll all be over here spying on Sophia,” George hisses.

So much for being incognito. I march back up to the front door with much more resolve this time. But then I think of Sophia.

What do I even know about her? I think she’s married, maybe? She has two kids. That I remember reading. She does something with grants for a children’s charity. I found her work profile online, although she goes by a pen name for her books. And George and Wanda unintentionally confirmed her charity job. I admit, when Carol sent me the address, I scoured the internet looking up everything I could about her, although there’s not a ton of information. I only knew her as Sophie Price. But she’s actually Sophia Walsh.

Fuck it.My finger hovers over the doorbell. Sophia Walsh, I hope you can help me. ’Cause I think you might be my only hope.

CHAPTERTHREE

Sophia

“Cal! Help your sister! I’m going to throw her hockey stuff in the car,” I scream as I walk to the front door. After shoveling food into the kids’ mouths, I almost forgot that their summer hockey league starts tonight. And the door into my garage from the kitchen somehow got reverse locked, so I need to use my spare garage door opener to get inside. But of course, it’s no one’s fault here. Or at least, that’s what the kids swore. I groan to myself as I grab the opener from the table by the door. As I reach for the doorknob and begin opening it, the doorbell rings, and I scream.

Everything that happens in the next ten seconds will forever be burned into my brain like a CD-ROM circa nineteen ninety-nine.

In my fright over the doorbell ringing, I toss the garage door opener and it goes sailing somewhere in the living room. My eyes take in large feet, long legs, an extremely, like ridiculously fit torso and chest, and then my vision is clouded by a face, a very, very familiar face.

Tate Anders is standing at my door.Holy shitballs! Tate Fucking Anders, the Hollywood heartthrob, is standing at my door!I blink several times as if he’s a mirage and will disappear. But he doesn’t. No, he’s very much standing here.

“Uh, hi,” he says after a beat, holding up his hand in some sort of waving motion. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he adds with a sheepish smile as he takes in my appearance.Oh, God!My appearance.I probably look like a lunatic. I’m wearing…I look down. WhatamI wearing?Oh, my cleaning clothes.Why did I decide to put these on early tonight? Oh right, because I was cleaning. I’m wearing old leggings with a black-on-black unicorn pattern on them and a cotton t-shirt that says, “I brake for mythical creatures.” My hair probably looks like a rat’s nest on top of my head. And the nail polish I applied last weekend is most definitely chipped. Why am I even caring about that right now? I internally groan. Because Tate is staring down at me as if he just encountered a rare animal in the wild. I certainly look like one.

I close my eyes for a second in hopes that this is a nightmare, and when I reopen them, I will be getting up to take the kids to their hockey camp’s evening program. In three…two…one…

I open my eyes and find Tate Anders giving me a curious look.Fuck.

“Hi,” I finally manage.

“Mom! I can’t find Lizzie’s tape!” Cal yells loud enough for even the Fitzsimmonses next door to hear. How he already got upstairs, I have no idea.

Tate’s eyes widen as he looks up at the top of my stairs.

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