I can’t tell if she’s kidding. It doesn’t feel funny. But then she laughs. Soft. Warm. “Loosen up, Brody. I’m not going to leak your medical records toTMZ.”
And just like that, the tension breaks.
I lean back against the headboard, the cheap hotel pillow bunching behind me. My shoulders relax for the first time in days.Admit you’re wrong. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I?—”
“My brother used to get in a little funk after losing a game. I get it.”
That’s not what I was apologizing for, but she continues, and I let her. “How’s Vancouver looking?”
“Cold. Wet. Canadian.”
She laughs again. “Wow. You really know how to sell a city.”
“I’m a man of many talents.”
“Clearly.”
We fall into sudden, weird silence. Like maybe she’s thinking about the kiss—I know I am. I clear my throat. “How’s the wedding prep going?”
“Good. Chaotic. You wouldn’t believe it. I went with Maya to pick up her dress from the bridal shop, and theydidn’thave it. Apparently, their seamstress had it sent to a facility to be pressed, and it somehow didn’t end up on the truck to be sent back. Took five hours for them to track it down, during which Maya just about imploded. I think fifteen minutes and we’d have needed to sedate her.” She’s smiling, I can hear it in her voice. “It’s terrible. I shouldn’t laugh. It wasn’t funny at the time…but now that we’ve got the dress back, I can’t help it. Other than that, it’s pretty much your standard prewedding chaos.” She pauses. “Oh, and I got a call from the Blue Ox publicist. She asked if I’d be interested in doing an interview with someone about the wedding and the company.”
Felicity. The conversation in the car park. She must have followed it up.
“That’s great,” I say, trying to sound casual.
Chloe stops. “Did you have something to do with that?”
“She asked me about your business a few weeks ago. Offered to get in touch with some people who could boost your visibility. That’s all.”
“Oh.” She sounds surprised. Pleased. “Well, thank you. Both of you.”
I shrug, still trying to play it cool, even if she can’t see me. “You’re talented. You deserve the exposure.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “Thank you.”
The words hit different. Softer. Deeper. Like she’s thanking me for more than just the interview.
“Always,” I say, and I mean it more than she knows.
Another pause. “What are you doing right now?” I don’t want this conversation to end. Don’t want to go back to the silence of this generic hotel room, with its beige walls and meaningless art.
“Drawing.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ve got a new story in my head. I’m trying to sketch it out before I lose it.” She sounds almost embarrassed. Self-conscious. “It’s probably silly.”
“Tell me about it.”
Hesitation. And then, “It’s about a dragon. He’s a special dragon. He’s got these beautiful scales—iridescent, blues and greens, all sort of colors—that make him stand out.” Her voice picks up, relaxing a little as the story pours out of her. “But everyone’s always trying to steal his scales. Take pieces of him. So he hides away in his cave, keeping everyone away. They think he’s this grump, but he’s just protecting himself.”
I may not be a genius—if my behavior the last week is any indication—but it doesn’t take a lot to see where she got her inspiration. A grump dragon with flashy scales that everyone seems to want a piece of.
I may not breathe fire, but if it looks like a dragon and sounds like a dragon…
“That’s not silly,” I say quietly.
“I don’t know where it goes from there. Just that image. The dragon alone, because he’s too scared to let anyone in.”
