Page 27 of Exclusive

“True. But there are younger versions.” She winked and led me through the living area to the other side of the house. “The primary retreat.”

I stared in awe at the mostly white and cream room. Retreat it was. A huge California king sat in the middle of the room with a large skylight overhead. Just beyond it sat an entire sitting area with a small sofa and two curvy chairs that I could imagine her curling up in with a book. On the side of the room, closest to the door, stood a built-in granite counter with an actual refrigerator and coffee station. “You are wildly set up in here. You don’t have to leave.”

She raised a proud shoulder. “I like to be comfortable.”

I met her gaze. “I’m learning a lot.”

“Good.”

“And this house is much larger than it looks. From the outside, I never would have known you had all this going on.” I followed her out of the room. “You have a coffee station in your bedroom, Carrie.”

“My little secret hideout. Now tell me more about you.”

It was a broad question, and while I wanted to dazzle this woman and show her that I was every bit as capable, creative, and smart as she was, it was strangely more important to me to be completely honest. “I think I’m a woman still figuring it all out.”

She sat on the living room sofa with her legs folded beneath her, and I joined her on the opposite end, keeping my feet on the floor. “I think that’s identifiable. What are some things you want for yourself?”

“A career that I’m proud of, someone to share it all with. A family one day.”

“And that house on the beach.”

I grinned, enjoying the thought. “Can’t forget the beach.” I paused. “Tell me something that you’d wished you’d known as a reporter.”

“To enjoy every second of the hunt for your story.” She shrugged. “I miss it now.”

I frowned. “You’re in the anchor chair and you miss the field? Unheard of.”

“Don’t get me wrong. There are perks to air-conditioning and studio lighting.” She winked at me. “But I do miss interacting with people, crafting the narrative. The journey. Now I’m a talking head for the most part. Not that I dislike my job. I don’t.”

“Well, you’re certainly more than a talking head. More like the quarterback.”

“Thank you.” She lit up, and so did the entire room. “I like that. I’m going to hold on to the analogy.”

“Please do.” I finished the last of my drink and stood. “And because I want to be invited back to this deceivingly large home someday, I’m going to go.” It was close to dinnertime, and I didn’t want to make her feel obligated to cook or order food for us. Plus, she likely had other plans, and the leave ’em wanting more move felt like a good way to play it. It’s something I’d actually decided on before arriving. I hated the idea of wearing out my welcome.

“You don’t have to go,” she said, watching me from the couch.

“I’m sure you have somewhere exciting to be. It’s the weekend.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” She nodded and an unreadable expression crossed her features. “But I’m glad you came by. It’s nice getting to hear more about you. Make a new friend.”

“Yeah,” I said, hearing the softness in my voice. She did that to me. “I mean it when I say I’d like to do it again. Another drink. Another slice of homemade bread.”

“Now I’ve done it.”

“The bar is so high.”

We locked eyes and suddenly I didn’t want to go anywhere. Was it too late to take it back?

“I will relieve you of that,” she said of my glass. “And I’m sending the rest of the bread home with you.”

“Then it must be Christmas.”

“Just call me Mrs. Claus.”

Nope. Mrs. Claus had never been this sexy. And that’s what Carrie did to me. Sex comparisons with beloved childhood characters. She was that potent. “Well, since I have permission.” We walked to the front door and I rocked back on my heels. “See you soon?”

“Monday. Bright and early for you. A little later in the day for me.” She opened her arms and leaned in, pulling me against her. Was it wrong that I delayed letting go for probably a second longer than reasonable? She smelled amazing, like that same meadow of flowers I’d envisioned when I’d hit my head. I could get drunk on it. When I pulled back, there were her blue eyes looking back at me. Our faces were noticeably close and neither of us went out of our way to amend that.Steady yourself. I’d seen moments like this in movies but had never experienced one for myself. Time suspended, leaving Carrie and me, breathing in the same air, hovering somewhere close to perfect for just a select few seconds of wonder. She adjusted a strand of hair on my shoulder and took a step back. She’d noticed it, too. That little move proved it. I lifted my hand in farewell and wordlessly headed back down the sidewalk in an unfortunate careening to the humdrum of my normal life. I relived that last lingering moment over and over, a little slice of heaven for me to take out and hold whenever I wanted. And I did lots of wanting. Of all varieties.

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