His hands fisted in frustration. “What do you mean not? I thought you knew what you wanted.”
“I did. I do.” She sighed as if he’d just asked her to explain quantum physics. “I don’t know. It’s complex.”
Her sudden uncertainty rubbed him the wrong way. Now was not the time for her to be hesitant. “And yet you’ve insisted I look the part of your idea of the perfect man. As in, you knew what you wanted in a guy, and you demanded your way or the highway.”
“I am not a demander. I am a suggestion-er. And no offense, but you’ve not mastered the ways of a cinnamon roll.”
“Says who? I’ve seen myself in a mirror.”
“Sure, you’ve got the clothes, but not the right attitude, or the easy-going body language, nor the low-key energy. You are way more a wrong-side-of-the-tracks guy than a cinnamon roll.”
“Considering I’m a brat abandoned at a fire station—because my birth mom decided three boys were too much trouble to raise—and then trapped in the foster system for five years, there’s no big surprise in that revelation.”
A slow smile tugged her lips, confusing the hell out of him.
“What?” He’d said nothing that would make a normal person smile.
“Sorry. Your story is tragic.”
“Then why the smile?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Did I ever tell you, Stone Blackthorn, in my fantasies—my naughty ones—I like my guys with a tragic backstory?”
He clamped down on his back molars to keep from speaking. Women. They were as unpredictable as his current magic situation.
Chapter 20
One week later, a week in which Stone had started acting uber-professional toward Sophie, she sat at the corner bar down the street from her apartment with Donna.
“Thanks for meeting me at the last minute,” Sophie said, her voice betraying some of her turmoil.
Stone sat at a table across the room, scanning the surroundings with professional vigilance and occasionally staring at her. She knew this because every time she checked on him, their gazes met.
On the one hand, she was reassured knowing he took his job so seriously. On the other, it was a bit much. Her apartment had become a fortress. She now had a front door camera. This allowed her to, via an app on her phone, look to see who was there without placing her body in front of the door to check the peephole.
Also, the front door now possessed a triple lock system, and the patio doors were double locked with a bully stick in the sliders. Her place had a state-of-the-art alarm, and Poppie’s place had been outfitted the same way.
“Tell me what’s going on and don’t leave out any of the details,” Donna said.
“I’m in a real reading slump,” Sophie confessed. “Ever since I started hunting for real-life boyfriends for the column, my usual reads just don’t captivate me anymore. It’s like I can’t dive into any story.”
“Maybe you should try a different genre for a while.”
“Like what?”
“A thriller, maybe? Something edgy and intense to shake things up,” Donna suggested, her eyes lighting up with the idea. “It could be a refreshing change from the usual romance and might just jolt your system.”
“Hmm. That’s a great idea,” Sophie mused. “And maybe I could rope Stone into reading it, too. It might give us something more substantial to talk about during our mostly silent meals.”
“I take it things are still strained?” Donna asked.
“I miss our fun, flirtatious conversations. Lately, he’s been determined to keep me at arm’s length. He even tried to get me to ask one of my interviewees out on a date instead of featuring the candidate in a column.”
“Interesting.”
“Maybe from where you sit. From where I sit, it’s annoying.”
Donna leaned forward, placed her elbows on the table, and cupped her chin in her hands. “What happened right before this switch in him? Can you pinpoint the moment he went quiet?”
