Page 68 of Happily Ever After

“The beginning,” he said. “Or wherever you want.”

She took a breath and began talking. First, about the driver waiting for her, the paparazzi, the gifts in the car, then all about the studio and the outfits, the pace of the day, the way Marco Alvarez had directed everything like a conductor. She told him about the fans and the lights and the constant touch-ups, about the crew, about how good it felt to be taken seriously.

Brick listened without interrupting, nodding occasionally, asking one or two questions that showed he was actually paying attention and not just humoring her.

The server returned with their drinks, setting her latte down, then Brick’s coffee. He took a sip immediately, like it was necessary for survival. They gave the server their orders, then she went back to telling him about Miami.

When she mentioned the wrap dinner, he gave a low whistle. “Private room and champagne?”

“Very fancy,” Blaise said, amused. “I felt like I should have been wearing diamonds.”

Brick’s mouth curved. “Woman like you doesn’t need diamonds.”

Blaise felt warmth creep into her cheeks and reached for her water. She didn’t shake off the compliment, she just enjoyed the moment for what it was.

After the water, she picked up her latte and took a drink. It was so much better than the airport coffee it wasn’t even a contest.

Then Brick said, “You said it went really well. I can see that. But it seems like you’re holding something back.”

Blaise blinked. “Am I?”

He shrugged. “Are you?”

“Oh! You’re right.” Blaise reached into her bag and pulled out her phone, unlocking it and sliding it across the table toward him. “I got an email,” she said. “From a publisher I’d queried. They want to know if my book is still available. I’m talking to them tomorrow.”

Brick nodded once, slow. “That’s good.”

“It is,” Blaise admitted. “It’s the kind of email that could turn into something. Then again, the others didn’t. Although the first one could still be a possibility.”

“Whatever happens, I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks.” Blaise’s throat tightened, and she looked down at Beau, who was now lying on his side in complete relaxation, paws stretched out like he owned the patio.

“I’m excited,” Blaise said. “I really am. But I’m also a little nervous.”

“Sure,” Brick said. “Because it’s important. But you’ll be fine. Better than.”

Their food arrived, the smell of eggs and toast and syrup rose between them, comforting and familiar. Blaise cut into her eggs, the steam curling up, and took a bite that tasted like exactly what she needed.

For a few minutes, they ate in easy silence, Beau occasionally lifting his head to see if either of them might drop something worth investigating. She fed him a tiny piece of pancake, which disappeared in one gulp.

Blaise took a sip of her latte and looked at Brick. “Thanks for coming to get me,” she said.

Brick lifted his gaze from his plate. “Where else would I be? Besides, I had your dog. And you know where I live.”

Blaise gave a little chuckle. She really had missed him. “I was looking forward to seeing you,” she admitted. “The whole time.”

Brick’s mouth curved and his eyes softened. “Same,” he said. “I was counting the hours.”

Blaise laughed, shaking her head. “You’re a lot more sentimental than you pretend to be.”

“Don’t start rumors,” Brick said dryly, then reached down and scratched Beau behind the ears.

Blaise watched him do it, watched the way Beau leaned into that touch the same way he’d leaned into hers at the airport.

This, she thought, was what mattered. Not the lights. Not the champagne. Not the private rooms.

This.