Her mouth begins to curl up into a smile. “Perhaps.”
The moment our fingers touch, a spark that should be a warning hits me. I want to retract my hand instantly, but I move past it, and we shake quickly with subtle smiles on our faces.
“Come on, you’re lucky that I know the area. We can follow a few shortcuts and head to Main Street so you can look at boutiques and probably grab green ice cream or something for you to take a photo of.”
Now she seems amused because she can tell that I’m teasing her. “Funny.”
I nudge her shoulder as we begin to walk into the forest. “We should take a detour. I really just want a milkshake,” I admit.
She seems to ease, and I decide maybe our walk won’t be so bad. “Do they have oat-milk smoothies, maybe with a little spinach in it?”
My face screws up. “Really? You want to go to a soda-shop-styled place with a jukebox in the corner and order a damn smoothie?”
“Yes,” she says, remaining firm.
I take another deep breath, reminding myself of our truce.
When we walk farther and are under the trees, I glance over my shoulder to see the hotel is nowhere in sight and I inhale the fresh air.
“Do you actually believe in your romance crap? What the hell are the tropes again?” I ask her. My expectations are low for the genre.
“We can all escape to a fictional world, and maybe there is a lot of truth behind it. Well, actually, I’m not sure true love happens,” she admits.
“Yeah, you sound convincing,” I respond flatly.
“Maybe we haven’t met anyone to make us believe,” she strikes back.
“Hmm, maybe. I’m not sure my history with women has given me any outlook on the matter. It’s a wild ride when people discover you are an overly handsome retired hockey player.” I can tell she grasps that my cockiness is only half serious. I’m not that big of an ass.
She gives me wide eyes. “There you go. You just need someone to prove you wrong.”
I scoff a laugh. “Not many options in Lake Spark.”
“Really? I had bouncy back there pegged as wife material.”
I look at her, unimpressed.
“You’re living in a small town. That’s romance subgenre number one.” She raises a brow at me. “A lot of fictional men live in small towns.”
I shake my head at this. “So, tell me, Harlow. Why don’t you just write romance, you had to take it up a notch and write the dirty stuff?” I don’t mind. It makes me want to unlock the filthy thoughts that must be floating in her head. I bet she has a wild side.
She stops right in her tracks, and a tightness seems to hit her entire body. I get the feeling she isn’t going to tell me, and if she opens her mouth, then anything she says will be a lie.
Secrets can be fun. It gives me something to unravel.
“For two people who went into this walk a little shaky on how the mood would go, you sure are inquisitive.” She brushes past answering and diverts us into a different road of our conversation as she begins to pick up her pace.
“Sorry if I’m trying to get to know my inspiration partner.” I follow hot on her heels, except she’s in sneakers, and still they suit her. I’m still chill as a cucumber, so I bite into my apple that I took out of my pocket.
“Why do you write? Surely, playing hockey would have set you up for life.” I sense a tad of sarcasm in her words.
I chuckle at her thought as she continues to walk in front of me. “Listen, sweetheart, did we not just agree to start on a new foot?” Truthfully, it made me financially set, but I wanted to keep busy.
Harlow pauses again and glances over her shoulder, a small grin forming on her luscious lips. “We did. My bad.”
“My guess is you are bad,verybad.”
She laughs at my sentence. “Gosh, am I going to have to listen to romance jokes all day now?”
