Page 36 of Trip Me Up

14

NIALL

As I pulledSam’s suitcase from the trunk of the car, I gazed across the street at Centennial Park. It was warmer in Nashville than it’d been in Chicago, the afternoon sun lighting up the still-bare trees. I’d go for a run. Maybe the sap starting to stir in the trees would wake Lobelia and Nieven from their wintry sleep, and they’d speak to me.

I thanked the driver and heaved Sam’s suitcase onto the curb. Clutching Bilbo’s carrier, Sam stretched out a hand for the suitcase.

I waved her off. “I’ve got it.”

She jutted out her jaw. “No, I—”

“Sam. You take care of your dog. And your”—I waved at the computer bag slung across her petite frame—“equipment. I’ve got this.” She was rich. She had to be used to other people carrying her shit.

But she hesitated. Even with her bulging satchel weighing her down and that dog of hers whining in his bag, she glared at me. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can.” I tightened my grip on the handle of her suitcase. “But let me carry this for you. My mother would have my head if I didn’t.”

A hint of a smile teased at the corners of her mouth. “I liked your mother.”

I eased my grip. “She liked you, too. Now go on in. I’m right behind you.”

She glanced again at the heavy suitcase but shifted the weight on her shoulders, turned, and walked into the hotel.

Focused on her regally straight back as I followed her inside, I didn’t see him until he called my name.

No. There was no wayhewas there, in a Holiday Inn in Nashville. Not when I was lugging suitcases like a bellhop and rumpled and sweaty from our early-morning flight. The universe couldn’t be that cruel.

“Niall.” But that was his voice, stirring up long-ago memories of curling into his side on Grandpa’s worn couch while he and my mother talked about grownup things.

I took a second to blank my expression, to roll back my shoulders, before I turned to him. “Paul.” I used to call him Dad, but that had ended along with his visits to the farm. I held out my hand for a shake.

Irritation tightened his expression before he flashed me a tight smile. He gripped my hand, his palm smooth against my rough one. He wore one of his signature black dress shirts, the sleeves rolled up, with a stiffly pressed pair of black jeans. “Good to see you, son.”

“What brings you to Nashville, Paul?” I’d seen him a few times in San Francisco and New York. Occasionally L.A. But never anywhere in the center of the country, not since he’d left Ohio for the last time when I was twelve. It couldn’t be me he’d come to see, could it? Unless he’d finally read my book. I hadn’t asked him before I’d inserted him as the villain.

His gaze flicked behind me. “Is that Samantha Jones?”

I turned, and she was at my elbow.

She stuck out her hand. “Good to see you again, Mr. Swift.”

Again? Oh, right. Sam and my father traveled in the same circles of rich techies. I stepped to my left to give her more space.

He shook her hand. “What a surprise to find you here in Nashville with Niall.”

“We’re on a book tour together. She’s Sam Case.” I watched him carefully, and although his eyes widened theatrically, the surprise didn’t extend to the rest of his face. He knew. Why was he there?

“I saw Audrey last week. She didn’t mention your writing career.”

“No, it’s”—she looked down at her boot, her cheeks pink—“on the down-low.”

“I see.” And those sharp green eyes, harder than mine, saw everything. “Why don’t we sit down and catch up?” He gestured behind him at a seating area screened by a gas fireplace and a few potted ficus trees.

“Sure, I’ll just check in.” Sam took a step back toward the hotel desk.

“Join us. Please.” And he smiled, showing his teeth.

“Oh, um.” Her gaze flicked to mine.

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