“What was that?”
Shit. The humans had no idea what was happening. I wasn’t going to burst his bubble. Poor Cole had enough on his plate with me invading his life. “Nothing.” I flashed him a brighter-than-normal smile before picking up my hot cocoa and bringing it to my lips. He was right; it was delicious. “Can I bring this on the tour?”
“As long as you don’t dump it on my typewriter,” he teased.
I gasped. “I would never.”
He winked at me before offering his elbow. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I said, accepting the proffered arm.
“All right. This, as you can see, is the kitchen-slash-dining room. Where I’ve enjoyed many a TV dinner while writing.”
“Shnazzy.”
“I do love to embody a stereotype.”
An unexpected bubble of laughter escaped me. “And what stereotype is that? Bachelor?”
“Starving artist.”
I snickered. “Fair. Well done, then.”
He gave me a little bow and then pulled me into the living room. “And here is where I sit alone and watch my stories.”
Another giggle escaped me. “Stories? Like soap operas?”
“Reality TV mostly. I’m partial to the real estate shows. The drama. The houses. The backstabbing. It’s really great for plotlines.”
“What exactly do you write?” I glanced at the bookshelf and caught sight of a row of hardbacks with the name C.J. Hardy.
“Political thrillers. No one is more diabolical than a politician. Trust me.”
“Was that a secret? Because I’m pretty sure everyone knows that.”
He laughed. “No, I guess it’s not. It’s why we’re in this mess now. Climate change.”
“Totally,” I said, taking another sip of my drink to avoid giving anything away.
Cole tugged on my arm again, pulling me into a long hallway. “So this is the”—he paused for dramatic effect—“hallway, where,as you can see, I’ve pulled down every awkward photo of me as a teenager. I did leave this gem, though.” He stopped beside a picture of what I had to assume was him as a child, dressed up in a devil costume and beaming at the camera with his mother beside him.
“I really like the ’stache.”
He grinned. “I’m partial to the goatee. I drew that on with my mom’s eyeliner.”
“Very professional.”
“I know,” he said with a sigh. “I could’ve been a Lucifer impersonator, but I chose the life of a creative instead.”
“I suppose one could argue they aren’t that far off.”
“Hey now.”
“Do you know how many romance novels I’ve read that made me wonder if the author was secretly the devil? Those cliffhangers can be brutal.”
Waggling his brows, he nudged me with his elbow. “That’s what we’re going for.”
Something about being here with him, pretending everything was normal, made me feel less devastated by what had happened only an hour ago. I was still missing four pieces of my heart, but Cole’s presence steadied me and distracted me from the pain I knew would come the moment I was alone. Suddenly, I found myself wishing this tour would never end.
