Page 37 of Holly Freakin' Hughes

Itlooked like absolute hell too. There wasn’t any amount of makeup to cover thatthing up, so I didn’t bother. Instead, I hoped the book I brought would shieldmy face sufficiently enough to keep anybody from wondering if they needed tocall the police.

Thanksto the efficient pain meds, Story Time resumed as usual. Being just days beforeHalloween, Jessie had selected a few appropriately themed books to entertainthe kids while Anna played quietly with Giraffe until she fell asleep.

WhenJessie had finished reading, I remained seated with my nose glued into the bookI had brought—a steamy romance between a blacksmith named Maxwell and a saloongirl, Heidi. I had just gotten to a particularly saucy scene, when I heard thefootsteps that I instantly knew to be Brandon’s. Forgetting entirely about thebruise that consumed my face, despite the pain that continued to radiate fromthe spot, I looked up at him from the pages.

“Arethey getting it on yet?” Brandon asked absentmindedly, as he sat down next tome, not yet taking the chance to look at me.

Irolled my eyes defensively. I had begun to say something about how it wasn’tallabout sex, that it was actually a very educational novel about living as a barmaid in the 18th century—and then, I saw the look of horror on his face.

“Whatthehellhappened to you?” he asked with concern, speaking slowly toenunciate the words.

Iwas glad then that he had showed up late and couldn’t cause a scene in front ofthe other parents and kids. His hand flew to my cheek, turning my face to get abetter look. I tried swatting him away, but he was relentless, tilting my headback-and-forth and side-to-side.

“Comeon, you’re not helping,” I whined, wincing and pushing his hands away.

“Didsomeone do this?” he asked. His eyes stormed over with murderous intent.

“Yes,someone jumped me to try and steal my millions, and now the police are on theprowl looking for the bastard,” I said, and laughed at my own poorly made joke.

Hedidn’t. “I’m serious. If someone hit you, I want to know.” His hands balledinto fists and dropped to his lap. He suddenly looked helpless—and angry, Inoted, as his jaw set tightly in place.

Isighed. “No, nobody hit me. Anna bashed me in the face with her head,” I said, suddenlywishing I had a better story to go along with an injury that looked sohorrendously epic.

Heshook his head and grumbled something about being right back, and he went toget something from the café. I saw him talking to Scott, who glanced over in mydirection and it wasn’t long before his face contorted into a look of shock. Hedisappeared beneath the counter, then reappeared, handing something to Brandon.He walked back over to me with an icepack in hand, and knelt beside me, holdingit to my cheek.

“You’recute when you’re protective,” I said, teasing. “Thanks, by the way. I’msupposed to keep these things on my face pretty much constantly and I don’thave one with me.”

“Cute?I promise you, there’d be nothingcuteabout me beating the crap out ofsomeone who laid their hands on you,” he replied with a touch of agitation, andI thought maybe he was angry with me—but the gentle hand against the side of myface said otherwise. His eyes locked with mine. I wanted to look away toanywhere, just to keep myself from drowning, but he held me in place. “And …you’re welcome.”

Annabegan to stir, and I pulled myself from his grasp, welcoming the distraction.

Savedby the kid.

“You’revery lucky you’re not a big bad man, Anna,” I said jokingly, reaching to smooththe stray hairs out of her eyes. Brandon sniffed a laugh, but the smile wasmissing from his face. I assured him that I was only kidding. “I know you’rejust looking out for me,” I said with sincerity.

“Isit broken?” He still held the pack against my face, and I nodded with as muchof an eye roll as I could muster. “Holy crap. What is her head made of?”

“Mytheory is that she has a metal plate back there that we don’t know about, butthe jury’s still out on whether it’s true.”

“Hmm,you might want to look into that before she does more damage,” he said beforestanding.

Hehanded the pack to me and shook his hair out, letting it fall freely around hisperfectly structured face, and I stared like a horny guy watching a wet t-shirtcontest. I wondered if this was some sort of mating dance, because if it was, Icould see how it could be very effective.

Withhis hands held to the back of his head, he caught my gaze and—there was that smile.The charming little half-smile that never failed to tug at my heart. “What?”

Isat there, stunned at the sight of him, and feeling as though I had neverreallylooked at him before that moment. He stood with his long legs hip-width apart,his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. Under his jacket, the whitet-shirt he wore was just fitted enough to show off the definition of his chest,and I’d be lying through my teeth if I said I wasn’t curious about how hisstomach was fairing under there.

Withoutany care of how he would take the compliment, I finally replied, “I have noidea how you’re single.”

Hisjaw dropped with mock insult. “I am more than a pretty face, thank you verymuch.”

“Exactly,”I muttered, giving him a sidelong glance. I took another look at him and added,“You should give up writing and get into modeling before you lose your hair.”

Hiseyes dropped to the floor as a crimson flush took over his cheeks. “Actually, Ido model on occasion.”

Jesus,take the wheel.

Herubbed a hand along his jaw, divulging the information without question.“Before I got settled into my job, I modeled a lot more often than I donow—mostly artsy stuff at FIT. It was another way to make extra money while Iwas bartending.” Then with a shrug, he added, “I still do some from time totime, but not as much.”

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