Page 76 of Love on the Byline

A note of melancholy hung in the air, one he wanted todispel.He’d no doubt conjured memories of her grandfather, and knew she’dget lost in them as she ran her hands over the leather.

“Hey, are you hungry?”

“I am, actually. I was going to run out and grab a tacosomewhere.”

He frowned. “Why would you do that? We have plenty of foodhere.”

She laughed nervously. “It’s not… I mean, that’s Bran’sfood. I mean your food. Whatever. I didn’t want to presume.”

He had to laugh. “Blake, I know we lost touch for a while,but I thought… Well, we’re friends. Right? That’s what you said.”

“Yes, of course. We’re friends.”

He loved the twinkle in her eyes that said she was curiousabout what that friendship could lead to later. Loved that he’d been able topush away the sadness she wore like a veil around her, at least for a fewminutes.

“Great. Well, then, friend,” he said as he got tohis feet, “what’s mine—uh, Bran’s—is yours, at least in the kitchen. Use thehot tub, watch TV, go for a swim. You have the run of the house while you’rehere.”

“I’d only planned to be here for a day or two.”

“You have a deadline?”

“I…no, but—”

“Then live a little.” He gestured for Blake to follow him tothe kitchen and was unreasonably pleased when she took a seat at the counter.

The whole scenario was entirely too domestic, and he likedit. A lot.

“Are you allergic to shrimp?”

“No.”

“And what’s your stance on garlic? Yea or nay?” He pulled acutting board out of the cupboard and opened the fridge to grab the shrimp.

“The more the better, unless I’m planning to kiss someone.”

He nearly dropped the open bag of shellfish and ice on thefloor, which would have been a smelly mess to clean up.

She peered over the counter. “You okay?”

“Yep. It’s slippery.” He got his shit together and grabbed acolander, placing it in the farmhouse sink. “Hans insists that Bran’s seafoodbe really fresh, so I grabbed these while I was out.”

“I thought Hans was the cook?”

“Sometimes. He’s the nutritionist, and he isn’t able to staywith us all week.” He filled a bowl with ice water and removed a small paringknife from the block. “Hans runs a catering company. That’s his main job,actually.”

“Not celebrity chef to the stars and their executiveassistants?”

He turned to smile at her over his shoulder. “Hardly. Hecatered a party for us once. Bran loved the food so much, he asked Hans to cookfor him a few times a month. That turned into a few times a week, and then intohim preparing reheatable meals on a weekly basis.”

“Does Bran always get what Bran wants?”

“I feel like that’s a gotcha question.”

“It’s not. I’m genuinely curious,” Blake said. “Hollywood isstill something of a myth to me. I’ve lived here for almost nine months, andI’ve yet to see the truth of it.”

“What truth are you hoping to find?”

“The why of it, I suppose. Why people are willingto give up their privacy, their hometowns, their families in some cases, theirdignity in others, in order to be famous.”

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