Page 25 of The Nook for Brooks (Mulligan’s Mill #6)

brOOKS

It made perfect sense to me that the body clock of someone who constantly travels has one or two loose wires. As such, I was fully expecting to wake up before Cody.

Which gave me a little extra time to admire the handsome Australian in my bed.

Cody was sprawled diagonally across the mattress, taking up far more space than his fair share, one arm above his head.

The sheet was twisted around his hips in what looked like a losing battle to hide his morning glory.

His hair was a disaster, his skin golden in the morning light, and his mouth open just enough to make him look indecently pleased with himself.

I told myself I was simply taking stock of the situation.

No touching, tempted as I was.

No kissing.

And definitely no licking… although running my tongue over my lips was an acceptable compromise.

Ever so gently I slid out of bed—careful not to wake him—and put the kettle on. The tower creaked as I moved about, but Cody only snorted once, rolled onto his stomach, and stole what was left of my side of the mattress… as well as my view of that gorgeous stiff dick of his.

Ass up, he ground his hips against the bed, murmured something completely indecipherable, and settled again.

I straightened a chair, picked up his discarded clothes, and stopped myself before I folded them. Progress. Instead, I draped them over the back of the chair. They were still unfolded, but at least they were off the floor. A nice compromise, I thought.

The kettle bubbled and Cody finally stirred, stretching like a man auditioning for a calendar, his grin slow and smug.

“Morning,” he rasped as he wiped the sleep out of his eyes.

“Good morning.”

He sat up, raked a hand through his wild hair, then padded barefoot and naked to my tiny kitchen.

With one hand he scratched one perfect ass cheek, as if waking it up, while he opened and closed my cupboards with the other hand, eventually finding a couple of teacups which he set down beside the kettle.

His ease in my space felt so incredibly surreal… yet… something I kinda liked.

He poured his tea, then asked, “Milk? Sugar?”

Instead of answering that question, I pointed down. “You do know you’re walking around naked in my kitchen… with a hard-on that could take out someone’s eye?”

Casually he looked down, grinned, and then back up and chuckled. “That’s because waking up in your place and making tea is sexy as fuck.” He leaned in and pecked a kiss on my cheek. “That okay?”

He trotted back to the bed to drink his tea, and I smiled.

“I… suppose… so,” was all I could say, my heart blooming in a way it had never done before.

We drank together, me in the chair, him back in the bed as though it was a throne he had just claimed for himself like a mischievous Puck with no boundaries.

I was still trying to decide if this was terrifying or tolerable when his phone buzzed on the table.

He glanced at the screen and lit up, the grin spreading before he could stop it. “Sorry. Editor. I need to take this.”

“Of course,” I said, far too quickly.

He swiped the screen and turned away toward the window, voice bright, sharp, professional in a way I had not yet heard.

“Hey! What’s up?… You’re kidding me, it’s approved?

Are you serious… Patagonia?… long-form, feature spread?

… glaciers, gauchos, ferries through the fiordos , yeah…

no, I can pitch culture angles too… three months? Maybe four?”

I stood and headed back to the sink, as though I wasn’t even in the room. But it was impossible not to hear him.

He laughed into the phone, that reckless, boyish sound I loved. “This is the dream, Marcie. I’ll need a couple of days to confirm, but yes, yes, pencil me in. And thank you!”

My tea had cooled.

The call lasted another minute… ”I can’t wait to catch up again in person,” and “I’m gonna start planning the itinerary tonight,” and “Yeah, the cross-country trip is great so far, I’m seeing parts of the States I never even knew existed.” But the damage was done.

I could hear the excitement in his voice.

I could feel it in the air.

The room suddenly felt more closed in with him in it now.

It was clear how vast his world was. I didn’t need him making my world feel so much smaller.

He ended the call, turned, and his grin softened when he saw me at the sink. “So… big assignment. Patagonia. Feature-length. It’s the kind of story travel writers wait their whole career for.”

I nodded. “Congratulations.”

“I didn’t say yes yet.”

“Not yet,” I corrected.

He crossed the room, placed a hand on my shoulder, warm and real and entirely too temporary. “It’s three months. Maybe four. Brooks, this is what I do. I’m a travel writer. I travel… and I write about it.”

“You don’t need to explain your job to me. I’m not the village idiot.”

“I never said you were.”

“I think I’d like you to put some clothes on and leave now.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re strutting around here stark naked taking work calls. I’m not sure how entirely appropriate that is.”

He looked down at himself, then back up at me. “You liked it ten minutes ago.”

“That was before Patagonia waltzed into my kitchen.”

He gave a short laugh, the kind people use to cover discomfort. “Brooks, come on. You can’t honestly be mad at me for taking a call. This is what I do.”

“Yes,” I said. “You travel the world. You eat exotic food, sleep in unfamiliar beds, write it down in a notebook, and send it to your editor. It’s all very impressive.”

“And you make it sound like a crime.”

“Only because you seem determined to do it while standing in my kitchen with an erection.” I turned, tipping my tea into the sink and rinsing my teacup.

He laughed again, softer this time, then stepped closer. “You know what I hear in your voice right now?”

“Disappointment,” I said crisply.

“No,” he said, touching my arm. “Fear. You’re scared this means I’ll vanish.”

I set my teacup on the rack and looked at him squarely. “If vanishing is what you do best, then by all means, excel at it. Just don’t expect me to clap.”

That silenced him. For once, the man who always had a line ready was speechless.

The Nook opened at nine sharp, because it always opened at nine sharp, even when my stomach had been tied into knots by one maddeningly independent Australian whose compass apparently pointed to everywhere except me.

I unlocked the door, flipped the sign, put out the chalkboard, and tried to convince myself I felt perfectly fine, despite the fact that my hands couldn’t stop fussing at my cuffs and smoothing my bow tie.

Clearly, I needed to keep those hands of mine busy.

I dusted a shelf that didn’t need dusting. I switched the History section with the Geography section, then switched them back again. I adjusted the cash register by half an inch, polished the bell above the door and finally made myself a cup of peppermint tea.

None of it changed the churn in my chest.

Cody’s voice had been so damn bright when he’d said the word Patagonia .

It had filled my little turret with something big and daunting, as though glaciers and gauchos had muscled their way into my quiet little world of books.

He hadn’t said yes to the assignment, but he hadn’t needed to.

The excitement in his voice had said it all.

The bell above the door chimed and in swept Aunt Bea like she was late to her own coronation. Today’s outfit comprised an iridescent purple halter-neck dress, gold hoop earrings big enough to double as hula-hoops, and a handbag shaped like a pineapple because of course… why not?

“Brooks, my bootylicious bookworm! I’ve come for updates on that gorgeous hunk of Australia you’ve been spending all your time with.

Have you tied your kangaroo down yet? Tell me all your joyous news, my gossip gauge is pointing to ‘dangerously low.’ If I don’t fill the tank immediately, I’ll turn into a pathetic middle-aged man who sits on the couch watching football on a Friday night.

Save me from a fate worse than death, I beg you? ”

She leaned in close, eyes narrowing on me. “Wait a New York minute… is that a sad puppy face I see? Do I sense trouble in paradise? Sugar-pie, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing good. Everything bad. Heart hurt.”

Bea gasped. “Good lord, have you just lost the ability to use the English language in your usual snarky, sparkly way? What on earth has happened to you? Did that bronzed Aussie demigod hurt you? Did he make you eat Vegemite on toast? Did he throw a boomerang for you to catch and accidentally hit you in the face? Did his didgeridoo leave stretch marks?”

“No, nothing like that.” I exhaled like a lovelorn damsel in a Scottish highland romance. “He got a phone call from one of the editors he works with. They want him on assignment in Patagonia.”

“Patagonia? Isn’t that something you fix with a course of penicillin and a little hemorrhoid cream?”

“No, it’s a place. On the other side of the world. Apparently he’ll be there for three months, maybe four.”

Bea pursed her lips and laid a hand on my forearm. “Oh honey, I know you’re hurting. But you have to remember, Mulligan’s Mill was never the destination for a man like that. It was a stopover. A scenic detour on the way to his next glossy feature.”

Although her tone was soft, the truth hit hard. “A stopover? Is that all I am?”

“Now, now. Don’t go looking at me like I just kicked a squirrel.

I’m not saying he doesn’t care for you—he does, sugarplum, anyone with a functioning eyeball can see that.

But sometimes it’s hard to keep man like that from moving on.

Like my Grammy always said—just because a rolling stone gathers no moss, don’t mean it ain’t too slippery to hold. ”

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “So, you’re saying I should just let him go? You’re saying I was always just something… temporary? Just a cozy little motel on the highway of his life. Lovely curtains, hot shower, please leave the key in the box when you check out.”