Page 25 of Smoke and Fire
“Of course.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but stopped. I hadn’t expected a quick capitulation. He clearly wanted me to help him.
“Okay,” I whispered. “I’m happy to help.”
“Why?”
Somehow, I knew what the question encompassed. Why would I help a total stranger? A huge name in the publishing world that terrified me to even think of knowing in person? My general lackof knowing him? My uneasiness around the topic of relationships in general?
All of them could be answered with one single reply: I had a gut feeling about this guy, haunted terror and all.
“Because I’m here in Pineville to try to find myself after said relationship crashed and burned earlier this year,” I said. “And this seems like an unexpected path worthy of exploring.”
His shoulders deflated like a balloon.
“I’ll take it. Give me half an hour to finish up here and I’ll meet you back at the coffee shop to show you what to do.”
NOT A SINGLE PERSONshowed up to buy coffee and distract me from what I had just done. The void of something to do left me to fidget behind the counter with nothing but my own thoughts to help me pass the time.
Had I just made a huge mistake? No, the mistake wasn’t in helping Bastian. The mistake was picking up those blasted romance novels in the first place. If I hadn’t read them, I would have happily saidyesand all this turmoil about Jakob wouldn’t have followed. My mind wouldn’t have already been thrilled by fantastic love stories in the first place.
Thirty minutes passed in between my acceptance and his appearance, and every minute felt like a lightning storm. Fraught with moments of terror, but more often with a general sense of uneasiness. Thoughts of this going awry plagued me, but I backed myself out of those. I couldn’t predict the future, and even if I did, how bad could it be?
Moments before he appeared in the parking lot with that long stride, computer under his arm, I had finally settled my nerves down. This was nothing but assistant-level work, done on a computer, from the privacy of the RV. Not a path I’d ever seen for my life, but it was going to be just fine. Pineville had been an exploration into the new and unknown. So far, it hadn’t disappointed me.
“This is okay,” I whispered as he stalked toward the shop. My voice turned to a squeak. “This is totally fine.”
The bell jangled as he let himself inside. My gaze darted to his second romance novel splayed on the counter. The strange dichotomy of a man like him writing books likethatstruck me. Lovely romance. Not even the hot-and-heavy, although he had moments of that too. His women were imperfectly strong, his men were out-of-the-box but not creepy, and somehow the whole thing felt like walking through a park with Jane Austen. Minus the dresses and societal expectations and overabundance of caution around the opposite gender.
Which I could also use more of, perhaps.
I couldn’t blame his uncertainty around revealing himself as Jess, now that I thought about it. What would I have thought if Lizbeth tried to convince me that a wildland firefighter like Bastianhad penned Rodrigo? I would have laughed and laughed and laughed, then told her to knock it off. And, in essence, I had done that right to his face.
Was it ridicule he wanted to avoid?
The spotlight?
If so, why?
These were questions that bubbled restlessly inside, but I wouldn’t ask them. Not yet, anyway.
Bastian’s gaze caught the book in front of me as well, but I couldn’t read the expression that followed. Was it amusement? Uncertainty? Not sure. If he’d really been hiding behind Jess’s name, did he ever get feedback on his novels? Or did they just sprout fully formed from his mind?
With eyes that stormy and beguiling, I didn’t doubt magnificence came to him unaided.
“Hey,” he said, and I realized I’d been staring at him for an awkward amount of time. I shook the last of my thoughts free and managed a smile.
“Want anything to drink before we get started? Black, straight, decaf?”
He nodded.
Nailed it,my inner voice sang. My intuition had never let me down.
After pouring the coffee in a mug that saidI’d rather a book, thanks,I joined him with a bottle of orange juice at the table. No one lurked in the parking lot and a bell would ring if someone approached the drive through, so I sat across from him. The Frolicking Moose wasn’t usually open this late, but things had been so slow I wanted to give it a little more time to pull in money.
Bastian opened his computer, typed in a password, and turned it to face both of us. His gaze met mine.
“You ready?”
