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“Only the best for my favorite blogger.”
She took the coffee. “You know others?”
“Breathe already.”
He had a point, and she dipped her head to smell the coffee, keeping her eyes on him.
He shook his head. “Forget the ladylike BS, Ella. Stick your nose in there andhuffthe coffee beans.”
Self-consciously, she raised her eyebrows. “I did.”
“Try again,” he urged.
“Why?”
“Breathe deep, babe.”
When she didn’t move, he did for her. Before she could say, “what the what,” Bishop had her nose deep in the bag of coffee. And with a mocha-blast to the nasal passages, the meat scent that had taken up residence in her nose was gone.
With that, she even relaxed a little despite the forced beans in her nose. Then, slowly, she moved back. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she expected the sick feeling from the meat to come back. It didn’t.
“Old cop’s trick,” Bishop said.
Ella raised her eyebrow. “You were never a cop.”
“Go with it. If you get a whiff of a dead body that’s been waiting to be found for a few days, well, I guess it’s like a vegan surrounded by meat skewers.”
Resourceful and, oddly, very thoughtful. “Thanks.”
“Give it a go again.”
Nose in the bag again, shehuffed. She let out the coffee bean exhale and noticed she didn’t have the disgusting leftover meat smell stuck in her nose anymore. She gave him an approving chuckle and did it again.
“Now she gets how well it works.”
Nodding, she took one more sniff then folded the bag closed. “Wow. That really helped.”
“Now.” He took the coffee, set it down by his well-polished shoes, and cracked open the Vicks. “You have awards to go win. Put this under your nose. Notinyour nostrils. It might burn.” He offered her the container. “And don’t touch your eyes. That’ll definitely burn.”
Not one to question him twice, she did as he said. He handed her a napkin to wipe her fingers. Her nose felt menthol-fresh, maybe a little too tingly as though some Vicks had travelled a little too high.
Bishop watched, holding his hand out for the used napkin. “What’d you think?”
“I think…” She wrinkled her nose. “Can you tell that I have anything under my nose?”
He shook his head.
“I think that you’re a miracle worker.” A kind-hearted, out-of-the-box, never-saw-it-coming miracle worker.
“Come on. I want to watch you win.” Wrapping a strong arm around her waist, Bishop turned her. His hand drifted slowly across the small of her back until he let her go.
The moment he lost contact with her, a tinge of disappointment made her arms hang heavy and her steps feel as though the red carpet clung to her heels, slowing her entrance.
Bishop took her elbow. “Careful.”
Absurdly enough, that step felt perfect. “Thanks.”
She cast a glance up. Whether she won any of the awards tonight or not, the coffee-and-Vicks moment would likely be her favorite.