Page 54 of An Unexpected Kind of Love

And she hangs up. I scuff unhappily at a gouge in the floor, aged wood splintering under my sneakers.

Later, Blake rings me on a break from filming. His voice cuts through the gloom of my day, holed up in my office where I’m trying to make miracles happen with the accounts. In truth, it’s more like shuffling papers around and pulling at my hair.

“Hey, gorgeous,” drawls Blake teasingly in my ear. “Miss you.”

Even with the impending financial ruin, my spirits lift at the sound of his voice. For a minute, I can close my eyes and pretend we’re still wrapped up in each other.

“Hey. I miss you too.” Even with being happy to hear from him, I can’t entirely keep a shadow from my voice.

“What’re you doing?”

“Nothing exciting, I promise you.” Unable to keep a sigh at bay, I shake my head. “It’s tedium.”

“Tedium? That’s serious.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“You’re not arranging a private bean collection alphabetically or anything terrible like that, I hope.”

I laugh. Something frees up inside my chest. “No. I’d be useless at that without you. Even if I had a bean collection.”

“Give it time,” he teases.

Something in me leaps at the idea of more time with Blake. He says it so casually, like of course we have unlimited days before us, unlike the current clock ticking on his days before going back home to America. It’s a thrill to think of doing anything with Blake, even organizing a hypothetical bean collection.

God, I have it bad.

“’Kay, so no bean organization. Book organization?”

“Well,” I say glumly. “You’re close with that one. Except my shop’s still mostly cleared out from filming, my stock in boxes somewhere on one of your film crew’s lorries. And the problem—one of them—is the floor. Apparently my assistant, Gemma, saw the damage happen. Alice Rutherford left an apologetic note, but I have no idea if they will actually fix this. Or how much it will cost me. Or how long it will take. Because every day the shop’s closed is a day I’m losing money. They’re not filming, so I don’t think I’m getting any money for the location, either.”

“Shit.” Blake’s frown is audible. “That’s fucked.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” he says with authority. “Let me help.”

“Blake, it’s brilliant that you fixed my sink, but the floors—”

“I’m not going to fix the floors, don’t worry—but I’ll talk to Alice to make sure they do right away.” His voice is tense. “They should have fixed it already.”

“Well…”

“Leave it with me,” Blake assures me. His easy confidence provides some comfort. I’m not used to letting anyone help me. Everything always needs to be sorted on my own. I want to protest, but it’s a strange, comforting feeling knowing that he wants to help me.

“Are you sure?”

“’Course.”

“’Kay.” I draw a deep breath. I’ll give him a chance to sort this out. “See you later to make plans for the weekend?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. And don’t worry, I’m going to talk to Alice right now.”

With that, I hang up and sit back in my office chair. I’m still stressed, but with Blake’s help, I feel less overwhelmed. Like maybe this is fixable after all.

When Blake arrives later, the shop has heated to the surface temperature of the sun. The usual curtains that cover the windows were packed away during the filming prep, and the curtains for filming taken away. The door’s propped open for any hint of a breeze. A couple of ancient fans attempt to circulate air.

“Aubrey?” Blake calls into the mostly empty room, his voice echoing.

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