She tilted her head to the side as he spoke. Curiosity flashing like lightning in her eyes.
“And I’ve never been comfortable with the term ‘guru’, even though that’s my favorite of all my current pursuits.”
“What do you call it?” she asked, twisting the lid off her water and watching him carefully.
He leaned back, resting his head on the edge of the window sill and looking to the ceiling. “Mentor, life coach, something like that. I like people. I like getting involved in their lives. That’s my business. I help people transform their present into what they really want it to be. Instead of just wishing for it.”
“You know the definition of guru…?” she said, her tone indicating she wasn’t falling for his bullshit.
He chuckled. “I know. I just don’t like it. It makes me feel…” Like a fraud.
“Hmm,” she replied softly after a minute.
He rolled his head to face her. “Tell me about the snapdragons.”
Lydia set her plate aside and brought her knees up, resting her wrists on them and dangling her bottle of water by the neck. “Not much to tell. I enjoy keeping track of their growth patterns and root systems. The particular type I’ve been following, have been changing at a rapid pace. I haven’t been able to find any other groupings in this area.” She shrugged, a sad smile tugging at her mouth. “I’ll have to start looking more earnestly now that my one sample family has been demolished.”
“By me.”
“It happens,” she said, surprising him. “If it hadn’t been you, it could’ve been animals or kids or weather.”
She aimed her eyes at him, unspoken understanding and what looked a lot like forgiveness shining in the depths he’d mistaken for color. It was unexpected, and his chest both tightened and relaxed simultaneously.
“It’s the risk in loving a wild thing.” She dropped her eyes, her thoughts pulling her someplace far away.
Remington cleared his throat, more for his benefit than hers.
“Does Merrick really pay you so little that you can’t afford…” he made a show of looking around the bare floor and the mattress in the corner. “Oh, I don’t know…a bed?”
Lydia looked around her apartment like she was seeing it for the first time. She made a small humming noise.
“No, I don’t get paid a lot for what I do. But that’s not why I don’t have any furniture.” She inhaled deeply and he had the impression she was editing her words as she spoke them. “I prefer to keep my life as simple as possible. Beds, couches, bookcases—those things would need to be dealt with if I had to move.”
He seized on the opening in her words. “Where would you go?”
“I don’t know.” She rolled her shoulders back like it was all the same but he sensed the pulse of anxiety she sent out into the room before she gained control of it again. “Anywhere. Nowhere.”
He nodded slowly as he considered her answer.
“Is it really so strange not to have furniture?” she asked, a sparkle of a challenge in her eyes. He only had time to smirk before she continued. “I don’t need it. It would be a waste of space for me.”
“And what do you need the extra space for?” he teased.
“My thoughts.”
He watched her, caught in her words and energy. “Most people think inside their heads.”
“I know.” Her exaggerated frown made him laugh. “How weird is that?”
He finished his laugh with a grin. “And the piles of books?”
Her bottom lip pulled slightly to the side. “They’re organized by topic and my interest in finishing them. Or, more accurately, my guilt in not having finished them yet.”
Remington chuckled. “The pile next to your bed?”
“All unfinished. All amassing loads of guilt every night. One day soon I’m afraid they’ll become sentient and…I don’t know.”
“Destroy you?”
She frowned thoughtfully. “No. But maybe give me a very bizarre lecture on neutron stars and herbaceous herbs in relation to why I picture every romance hero as Han Solo.”
Remington tipped his head back and laughed long and loud and deep.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed that hard or that free. The pressure he carried on his shoulders at a steady pace lightened and his lungs filled with new air.
And for a moment, the expectations put on him by his clients, followers, business partners, and himself became irrelevant.
It felt amazing.
Lydia smiled and sucked in a small breath as she watched him. And he reveled in it. It had been a long time since he’d felt…new.
“I was right about you,” she said. “You do have a great laugh.”
He wanted to take her words and make them worth more. But he’d been trying this thing lately where he didn’t get distracted by his wants. Even though “lately” had become years.
It worked. It had worked. It was working.
There were good wants and bad wants. The good ones benefited his goals and his people. The bad ones…didn’t.
“So, you have a thing for Harrison Ford?” he asked around his large grin.
“No. Han Solo. The character. Harrison Ford is a person with a life and a family and none of the things that interest me. Han Solo is a pirate and a smuggler and a scoundrel and the perfect renegade.” She sighed, wistful and cute, her huge glasses sliding down her nose without her noticing.
How had he not noticed the adorable, geeky, hilarious woman? How had she kept this person hidden from him for over a year?
Granted, he wasn’t exactly trying to win her favor or anything. But Remington prided himself on reading people. He could focus in on a stranger in a crowd and read right to the heart of their dreams and insecurities. His entire life relied on his ability to be right about people.
And yet. Lydia sat there, challenging his every belief.
“Sounds like me,” he said, trying to focus on the conversation and not on his dizzying thoughts.
“Yeah, you wish.” She snorted.
“I could be Han Solo,” he said, easy smirk coming out to play.
She eyed him critically, pursing her lips. “Maybe. You do have the scoundrel part down pat.”
“Hey.” He feigned offense to which she snickered.
He glanced at his empty plate and distractedly swiped at some hot sauce with the tip of a finger. “Merrick doesn’t exactly strike me as the Han Solo type. Is that why it didn’t work out with you two.”
It was a risky bet, assuming she had dated Merrick. But it would explain why Merrick was so protective of her. And Remington had already concluded that it was more than likely Lydia who had ended the relationship. But those were all assumptions. He wanted facts.
At the very least, to prove he hadn’t completely lost his touch.
She narrowed her eyes and then sucked in a breath followed by a short laugh. “Merrick? I have no idea what makes you think Merrick was ever my boyfriend.”
Quickly she stood, taking his plate out of his hands.
And confirming the subject at least made her uncomfortable enough to avoid it.
He knew it.
“Okay,” Remington said like it was all the same to him.
He caught the end of an eyeroll as Lydia turned into the kitchen and turned on the sink. “Merrick and I are colleagues,” she called over the sound of the running water. “Just because we work really well together, does not a relationship make.”
Remington laced his fingers behind his head and grinned at the ceiling. He loved being right. “He mentioned you weren’t going to be around for a week or so.”
Lydia leaned over so she could frown at him. Her dark hair almost dry and falling over one shoulder. “Did I miss the moment you had something to do with my job?”
“Well, you’ve been busy with that pesky concussion.”
“Don’t forget the stab wound in my abdomen. Did you know the nurse asked me if she needed to call the police? Apparently, they th
ought you looked a little domestic violency.”
Remington belted out a laugh and sank further into the comfort of her tiny apartment.
Sure, at first, he’d been thrown off by the meagerness and the overall unwelcome vibe she’d been projecting. But since sharing a meal and a few laughs, the feeling had changed.
There was something about her haphazard and sparse surroundings. Homey and mystical. Like he was in a wizard’s secret solitude. Almost as if he’d been there before, but in a dream.
He slid to the side and down the wall, stretching to reach the book closest to him.
Not one he recognized. Though he mostly read books about leadership and dream building. This was about photosynthesis. The next book underneath it was similar. Different title and author. Lots of letters behind their names. PhD, MD, BSA…
“How much do these letters at the end of someone’s name influence you?”
Her bare feet stopped at his forearm and he glanced at them.
“What?”
He stared at her tanned, calloused feet and blinked, forgetting his train of thought. “The letters…”
She sat down cross-legged beside him and took the book out of his hand. “Oh! The post-nominal letters?” She shrugged. “Sometimes. Mostly I don’t notice. This isn’t the one you should read.” She propelled onto her knees and pushed the stack over to get the book on the bottom. “This one is by far more interesting. A little on the fantastical side in some of his theories, but a solid read.”
His focus shifted from the book she’d handed him to the fall of her hair in her eyes. The sun setting around them shone orange and pink on her bare walls and reflected in the glow of her healthy complexion.
Beautiful.
Not overwhelming or anything. The features of her face combined in harsh angles and wide lines and extended to the rest of her build. Her straight nose nearly went unnoticed it was so unremarkable. And of course, the ever-present thick rimmed black glasses.
At first glance, her features were severe in their planes and lines, edged with dark eyebrows and thick lashes. Intimidating because of the obvious regality of her genetic inheritance. This close he could tell her skin wasn’t only tanned from the sun, but was part of her ancestry.
He wanted to ask. But he didn’t know how.
She must’ve felt his eyes on her because hers darted a glance at him.
“Do you want coffee?” she asked.
He blinked, not sure if he heard her right, or if it was morning and he’d somehow missed it.
“Rem?” she asked, concerned eyes scanning his face.
Rem. She’d called him Rem.
“It’s kinda late for coffee, honey.”
“Okay.” She smiled and stood up, bending to turn a small lamp on beside her bed before moving fluidly into her kitchen. “I drink coffee at night. Old habits from old souls.”
He rolled over on the floor, his body protesting with pins and needles; and decided the hell with it. He climbed onto her mattress and propped his head on one hand, elbow in the bed. “If you have coffee at night, what do you look forward to in the morning?”
“Chocolate.”
An image of the small dish of candies on her desk he always took from flashed through his mind.
“If you want anything, you can help yourself,” she said around a tired yawn. “Help me with these pillows,” she instructed, wincing as she pressed one hand to her stomach and bent to rearrange the single sleeping space.
He jumped to his feet, having momentarily forgotten about the stitches in her side. They were probably really smarting by now if he remembered anything from the many times he’d been stitched and stapled.
“What can I do to help?” he asked taking a handful of pillows and blankets away from her.
She sighed in exasperation, her eyes scanning the mattress and finally flickering up to him. “I was thinking we could sleep head-to-toe. I know it’s not super late yet, but in case I get too tired, at least everything will be set up already.”
“That’s a good idea,” he agreed, taking over.
Of course, head-to-toe. Perfect. He used all the pillows he could find and layered the sheets and blankets while she gave him pointers.
After that was all settled, she crawled onto her side, half-propped up by pillows and the wall. “I’m sorry. I don’t have a TV or anything for you do while you’re on concussion watch.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” he said, joining her on the bed but on his designated end. “The conversation has been compelling.”
She looked away and pushed her glasses back up her nose, hiding her pleased smile.
He shook his head as he fought his own. Since the moment his life had collided with hers that morning, he’d found himself a mixture of amused and perplexed.
“Chocolate in the morning and coffee late at night.” He reached for the top of the stack of books nearest his position and read the title out loud. “The Extrapolation of Galileo.”
She sighed and reached out for her book. “It’s a romance.”
“Really? It sounds sciencey.” He said holding it out of her reach.
A wistful smile graced her lips and she looked towards the sky outside. “He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Devoted his life to knowing and exploring her. If that’s not a romance, then nothing is.”
Remington tossed the book to the center of the bed, annoyed and enamored with her. And even more annoyed because it had to be both. “Who the hell are you, Larkin?”
“Just your average, run of the mill goblin.”
His mouth fell open.
She grinned, her overly-wide mouth the happiest shape he’d seen maybe in his entire life.
“Didn’t know I knew about that one, huh?” she asked, squinting one eye.
“I am… so sorry,” he said, the words heavy in his mouth.
She held his eyes, not letting him off the hook for a breath. Then she smiled and picked up her book, opening the pages and settling back in the pillows. “Let me read for a little bit, would ya? Entertaining you is exhausting.”
Remington laid down on his back and stared at the ceiling, disoriented thoughts scattered in his head.
Merrick had been keeping secrets. He’d allowed Remington to state untruths about Lydia. Never correcting him. Letting him believe...
Hm.
Chapter 4
Scoundrel
Lydia
“I told you,” Merrick dropped his voice even lower as a staffer hustled past them in the long-windowed corridor. “You needed to be gone today.”
“Yes.” Lydia rolled her eyes. “I seem to recall that being a demand you voiced.”
“Then why are you still here?” he asked in a gravelly hiss. His hand landed on the small of her back as they careened around the corner towards his office. He removed it quickly but the heat remained.
Ah, Merrick. A forever imprint in her life.
“I had my happy little car all packed up for my very uncalled-for trip to our lovely greenhouse in the mountains—which, by the way, did you realize I’m going to be there with the winter interns for a couple of those days. It’s pretty obvious how you feel about me.”
They came to his office and she hurried to her desk, ignoring the temp that who seated where she normally would be. Because even though she was annoyed by Merrick’s anxiety, it wasn’t unfounded. She wasn’t supposed to be here and she needed to get out as soon as possible.
“They’re all highly skilled young people.” Merrick stopped in the doorway and leaned against the frame. He peered up and down the hall, his concern showing up in the flop of his hair and the tick in his jaw. “I selected them myself.”
Lydia sucked in a breath. She didn’t have time to reassure him. The best form of support she could give now would be to collect the things she’d left here the day of the disaster, which was what she had been calling her concussion and eleven stitches incident.
“There’s my favorite scientist.”
Lydia jerked he
r head up so fast she was certain she heard one of the vertebrae in her neck use the f-word on her.
There, standing in the doorway of her office, was Mr. Too Pretty to Be Real.
She hadn’t seen him since he’d left her apartment yesterday morning as dawn broke. He’d slipped out and left her half-sleeping, a squeeze of her hand and a soft brush of his thumb over the bandage on her head was his silent goodbye.
The entire night still felt unreal. She’d been trying not to think about it. Because when she did, she missed him.
Which was so much stupid she couldn’t measure it. On a scale of any kind, it was so much stupid it would more than likely cause some sort of environmentally catastrophic event.
“I didn’t get your number before I left the other day otherwise I would have called,” he was explaining as he carefully maneuvered around Merrick’s very stiff frame. “Thought you might want to get some lunch?” He lifted his chin at Merrick. “Hey, Mer.”
“Are you two dating now?” Merrick asked, his tone less anxious and a lot more hostile.
Lydia blinked hard and shook her head once. “What? No, don’t be ludicrous. Eleven isn’t my type.”
She hadn’t meant to use her private nickname for him out loud.
“Eleven?” both men asked simultaneously.
She held back her too-long bangs to expose the stitches and bugged her eyes out at the both of them. “Eleven stitches.” She huffed her exasperation and disbelief. “Eleven!”
“Right,” Merrick said, turning slowly towards Remington. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to take Larkin to lunch. If she’ll let me.” Remington’s friendly eyes moved from Lydia to Merrick and she noticed the subtle sharpening of his gaze. “I happen to enjoy my meals with intelligent conversation.”
Merrick’s shoulders pulled back a fraction and the tick in his jaw jumped.
“Lunch sounds good,” Lydia said, wading in.
Merrick’s eyes narrowed on her and bounced back to Remington. He pointed a finger at the two of them, its movement mirroring his eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I don’t like it.”
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