Page 2 of Beyond Question

She slips her arm through mine and I begrudgingly allow her to lead me across the lawn, narrowly avoiding a collision with three small humans on our way. As I dodge aside to let them pass, it occurs to me that this might be what life looks like for Cabot going forward, and…

What does that mean for me?

But if I’m honest, our lives—and friendship—changed long before the pregnancy. Once he met Rylan, the Cabot Reed I’ve known for over two decades began to morph into something else. This family man, I guess. As time went on and their relationship developed, he spent less time in the city, joined me for fewer happy hours, and began turning his grandmother’s house into the home he now shares with his fiancée. When Cabot’s grandmother’s pink and gold 1970’s wallpaper was ripped off the walls, I knew I’d lost him to Rylan for good.

And I’m happy for him. Forthem. I truly am.

But to say I don’t miss the old days would be a bald-faced lie.

We stop in front of a rented picnic table draped in more yellow, then Rylan grins up at me. “This game is perfect for your brain.”

“Perfect for my brain, huh?” I look down as one of Rylan’s girlfriends sets a large basket in front of me. “Is it a counting game?” I wonder aloud.

“Nope. But I think you’ll be good at it anyway.”

Draped over the handle of the basket and covering the contents within, is a crocheted baby blanket in shades of gray and more of that god-awful yellow. “You’re really going hard with the whole yellow thing, aren’t you?”

When she doesn’t respond, I turn to look at her, but she’s been pulled away. In her place stands her boss, who must have just arrived, because I would have noticed her earlier.

Paige Matthews is the kind of woman you can’t help but notice.

The owner of Turn the Paige, a boutique romance publishing house that has quickly become a household name, Paige is a knockout. With long, silver hair and big, ice-blue eyes framed by bright purple glasses, she draws the eyes of anyone she passes. She’s always dressed for a business meeting, taking fashion cues from Hillary Clinton’s famous pantsuits, and though she’s more often than not seen in black or navy, there is always a pop of color. A colorful red and orange scarf—like the one she wore to the Reading Around the City charity banquet last fall—or, like today, those bright purple frames.

I realize I probably shouldn’t notice those details, but again, Paige is someone I notice.

I’ve never said more than five words to her, but I’ve always found myself curious. Intrigued.

And, even though I doubt I’m the kind of guy a woman like her would go for, maybe today’s my lucky day.

“Is Rylan forcing you to play?” Paige asks. “Or are you just a sucker for baby shower games?”

I grimace. “Definitely not the latter.” Inclining my head to her, I ask, “How are you, Ms. Matthews?”

She leans closer conspiratorially and her scent teases my nose, a mixture of coconut and rose petals that is delicate and sultry.

I want to press my nose against her throat to get a deeper hit.

“I’m doing well, Mr. Wilder.” Her lips quirk up at the corner and she adds, “Certainly better than you’re about to be.”

My eyebrows creep slowly up my forehead. “I’m sorry?”

She motions to the basket and her lips quirk up on one side. “I’m afraid this is my game.” When that smirk morphs into a full-blown smile, my gaze falls to her mouth. “I just hope you’re a gracious loser, because I’ve never lost.” She pauses, then adds, “And you can call me Paige.”

Publishing is a smaller circle than most people realize, and as the former CFO of Reed Publishing, I’ve attended multiple events where Paige was also in attendance. We know one another in passing, but not personally. I’ve never been close enough to Paige to see those flakes of midnight in her pale blue eyes. I’ve never been near enough to pick up on that rose and coconut scent that makes my chest tighten with something indiscernible every time the breeze sends it my way.

And I’ve certainly never been gifted with this playful smile.

Now that I have, I’m not sure I can go without.

But back to the gauntlet she just threw down. “Are youthreateningme, Paige?”

She brings her wine glass to her lips, takes a long sip of the pale pink liquid while holding my gaze, then shrugs one slender shoulder. “I guess we’ll just have to see how it plays out, Travis.”

I’m struck with the strangest desire to hear my name on her lips again.

But then she flashes that knockout smile again, and my breath stalls in my lungs.

When she turns away from me to chat with another party guest, I’m left staring at her profile, desperate for another glimpse of that smile.

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