“No…I mean to tell me about your date with Brooke.”
“But…it’s not a date,” he quickly stammered. “It’s…coffee. We’re merely going to talk. It’s not a big deal.”
“Owen?”
“Yeah?”
“Consider it an informal date, and be happy about it. A beautiful woman asked to have a coffee date with you. That’s a good thing.”
“But—”
“I have to go. You’re going to be fine. Just remember…a good thing.” And then he hung up.
Owen wasn’t so sure he believed his brother because now that he was looking at Brooke’s coming to his office as a date, he felt even more nervous than he had before he’d picked up the phone! But, on the flip side, he’d bonded with the one brother he normally had nothing in common with. And that made him feel better.
About everything.
If his overly confident and cocky brother believed in him, why couldn’t he believe in himself? Brooke wanted to have coffee with him. She seemed to enjoy talking to him, and, if he thought about it, he felt like the ice had been broken between them. If he looked at this as an informal job interview rather than a date, he’d be fine.
Because at the bottom of all of this, that was what Brooke was doing. She wanted to come and work with him in Nevada for her own personal reasons. He was the means to an end. And Owen was okay with it. It wasn’t as if she were interested in him as a man. If anything, this knowledge would make social interaction with her easier. This was strictly a business relationship, and as long as he remembered that, he would be fine.
He kept up that line of mental reasoning as he went about straightening his desk and going over his schedule for the following week. For a minute, he even managed to let himself imagine how his schedule would change if he had Brooke working with him. He tried to figure out how much of his time would be spent on training her on the things she’d need to know about the meteor shower and the rules in place for the students. Then he tried to imagine them switching places while Brooke taught him how to be more at ease leading such a small group.
He had a feeling her job would be tougher.
And before he could second-guess that thought, there was a soft knock on the door. He took a steadying breath, turned around, and faced her.
And forgot to be nervous.
* * *
Beside her, Brooke’s cell phone rang, and she almost couldn’t hear it over the sound of laughter.
Hers and Owen’s.
He had been telling her about one of his first attempts at teaching, and it had been a comedy of errors—something he could laugh about now but at the time had been pretty traumatic.
“Excuse me,” she said, trying to contain her lingering giggles. Looking at the screen she saw it was her uncle. “Hey, Uncle Howard!”
“Hey there!” he replied. “I was wondering if I’m supposed to be holding dinner for you.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s after six, and you and I normally are sitting down to eat at this time. When you didn’t call or text, I figured maybe you were sidetracked at the art department again,” he teased.
“What? Oh…no,” she said, chuckling. “Owen and I are having coffee and talking, and I guess I lost track of time. I’m so sorry. Please go ahead and eat without me. I’ll probably just grab something on the way home.”
“Are you sure? I was only going to do some soup and sandwiches tonight, but…like I said, I wanted to make sure you were all right and that you didn’t want me to wait for you.”
“I’m so sorry I didn’t call. It was very rude of me.”
“Nonsense. I’m glad you’re spending time getting to know Owen. Remind him that I have those applications for next year if he’s interested.”
“Applications for what?”
“For him, if he wants to come back next year to teach again.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, enjoy yourself, and I’ll see you when you get home.”
“Okay, Uncle Howard. Thanks!”
“Oh…and, Brooke?”
“Yes?”
“I noticed the studio door was shut. Does this mean you started painting?”
She blushed and looked over at Owen, who was watching her with curiosity. “Um…yes. I started it yesterday and finished it today. I didn’t realize I had shut the door.” Actually, she had. She still was coming to grips with the fact that she had painted Owen. She wasn’t ready to explain that choice to her uncle yet.
“Wonderful! Well, I can’t wait to see it.”
“Um—”
“No, no, no…I understand. You’ll show me when you’re ready. I’m just glad you’re putting the room to good use.”
“I am, I am,” she replied and smiled. “Thank you for setting it up for me. It was nice to be able to just go in there and paint when the mood struck and to have such wonderful equipment ready for me. It was very thoughtful of you.”
“Nonsense. You’re my favorite niece.”
“I’m your only niece,” she reminded him playfully—it was a game they’d been playing with one another since she was a little girl. “Go have your soup, and I’ll see you when I get home.”
Brooke hung up, placed her phone back down on the desk, and smiled at Owen.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
“Everything’s fine. He was just concerned because I wasn’t home yet and he was making dinner.” And then she started to giggle again.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“I guess I can’t believe we lost track of time. I mean…I can believe I did. You’ve witnessed me doing that already. But I guess I thought you’d be watching the clock to see how fast you could get rid of me.” Then she smiled at him. “I’m kind of glad you didn’t. I’ve enjoyed talking with you, Owen.”
He dipped his head as if trying to hide the slight flush of his cheeks, but it was too late. She thought it was very sweet.
With a happy sigh, Brooke stood, cleaned up the wrappers from the brownie and marble pound cake they’d eaten, and then threw away their empty coffee cups. Owen stood as well and straightened the chairs.
“I enjoyed talking with you too,” he said softly, and Brooke heard the uncertainty in his voice and had to fight the urge—again—to just wrap her arms around him and hug him. She was that kind of person, a hugger, and she couldn’t help it. But she also knew Owen probably wouldn’t be comfortable with her doing that.
“I’m glad,” she replied and gripped her hands together to keep from touching him.
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry you missed dinner with Howard.”
She chuckled and shook her head. “Don’t be. It was only soup-and-sandwich night, and I got to have a brownie.”
Confusion was written all over his face. “That’s not your dinner, is it?”
Brooke shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe. Probably not. It seems like enough right now, but I have a feeling once I get home and relax, I’ll regret not eating more. There are some great takeout places I pass on the way home. Maybe I’ll grab a salad or something.”
What she really wanted was pizza but figured that wouldn’t sound very flattering—even though she just admitted to being satisfied with a brownie for dinner.
Owen nodded. “I’m probably going to grab some pizza. I still haven’t gotten used to the whole Chicago deep-dish thing, but it’s growing on me.”
She could only stare at him.
“Um…what? Did I say something wrong?” he asked after a moment.
Shaking her head to clear it, she nodded. “I…” She stopped and laughed at herself. “I was actually sitting here thinking I probably wasn’t going to get a salad because I wanted pizza. But I was afraid to admit it.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“I thought it
would make me look bad,” she murmured and looked away, feeling a little ridiculous.
“Being honest will make you look bad? I don’t…I don’t understand that.”
Brooke rolled her eyes and looked at him. “No woman wants to admit that a brownie is her dream dinner with pizza for dessert, Owen. We’re trained to say things like we would love a salad for dinner when really what we want is a bacon double cheeseburger with fries and a milkshake.”
“I thought you wanted pizza?”
And then she couldn’t help it—and she didn’t even want to.
She hugged him.
Hugged him hard as she laughed.
When she pulled back, she saw he still looked confused. “In a perfect world, we’d be able to eat them all at one sitting and never gain weight and never be judged. I’m just saying society has taught us that women aren’t supposed to love food—even though we do. So,” she stated as she stood up straight, “I’m going to stand here and tell you that I love food. All kinds of food. Junk food. Healthy food. Foreign food. All of it.”
“But you do like pizza,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
She nodded.
“Good,” he said with a quick nod of his head. “Would you like to go and grab some deep-dish pizza with me?”
Brooke readily agreed.
Maybe hugging him hadn’t been such a bad decision after all.
* * *
It was after ten when Brooke tiptoed down the hall toward her bedroom. She knew her uncle well enough to know he had gone to his bedroom at nine and was probably reading, and as much as she wanted to talk to him about her night, Brooke figured it could wait until the morning. For now she’d just—
“Brooke? Is that you, sweetheart?”
Busted.
Walking over to his door, she gently knocked and waited for him to invite her in. She stepped into the room and smiled. “I hope you weren’t waiting up.”
“I may be getting old, but I believe I can handle staying up past ten o’clock at night,” he said with a chuckle and then held up the latest James Patterson novel. “I think this one is going to keep me up much later than usual. I’m having a hard time putting it down.”
“That’s the sign of a good book.”
“It is, it is.” He sat up straighter. “So…how was your night?”
She wasn’t even going to try to pretend she didn’t know what he was asking. Instead, Brooke walked over and sat on the corner of his bed, her smile broadening. “I had a lovely evening.”
Howard’s eyes widened slightly as his own smile grew. “A lovely evening? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that phrase before.”
“That’s because I’ve never had a lovely evening before,” she said reasonably. “After you and I talked on the phone, Owen and I grabbed some pizza.”
He nodded approvingly.
“The place was loud and crowded, and it didn’t take long for me to realize Owen wasn’t enjoying himself. And, to be honest, I wasn’t either.”
“So what did you do?”
“The restaurant was close to campus, so once we were done eating, we walked back and just sort of wandered around.”
“So you walked the entire time?”
She laughed. “No, silly. We eventually found a quiet spot near the library and then just…talked.”
“That does sound lovely,” he said. “Did you find it hard to listen to him talk about astronomy?”
“Actually, we didn’t talk about astronomy.”
Howard’s eyes went wide. “Really?”
She nodded. “I don’t know if it was a conscious decision on his part, but we spent a lot of time talking about painting. He was very curious about what kind of paints I use and why and what kind of brushes and canvases…” She looked at her uncle and gave a happy little shrug. “And when we exhausted that topic, we talked about artists we both like and admire, we covered some current events, and it was just—”
“Lovely?” he teased.
Brooke nodded and then her expression turned serious. “Uncle Howard…I know we’ve talked about this before, not judging a book by its cover, but never has that hit home more than tonight.”
“Really?” he said and then relaxed a bit against his pillows. “Do tell.”
“I think it’s fair to say that at first glance, Owen comes across as being quiet and shy. He’s not comfortable in his own skin, it seems.”
“Sounds accurate.”
“But it’s so wrong,” she said. “I think he spends so much of his time surrounded by his peers that he tends to be in work mode more than anything else, and he’s comfortable with it, but once he relaxes and you get him out of that environment?” Pausing, Brooke tried to think of the perfect phrasing to describe Owen. “He’s…he’s charming. And funny—even though I don’t think he’s trying to be most of the time, but he is. He knows so much about so many things, and I could have stayed and talked to him all night!”
“So why didn’t you?” Howard asked with a hint of humor.
Brooke made a face at him. “You did not just ask me that.”
“I believe I did.”
Sighing, she reached down and took her shoes off. “For starters, it wouldn’t have been appropriate.”
“Brooke, I’m not a prude. I know your generation isn’t quite as concerned with propriety anymore. No one’s old-fashioned like they were in my time, and I didn’t say you were going to be doing anything you would be ashamed of. I was merely pointing out if you were truly enjoying your time talking with Owen, then you should have stayed out later. You don’t have a curfew here.”
“I know, and I probably would have stayed out later, but he said he needed to leave.” And now she wondered if he’d had to or if he was done talking to her. Well, that took a little of the wind out of her sails.
“I can hear you thinking from here,” Howard said, chuckling. “Don’t overthink this. If Owen said he needed to leave, then he needed to leave. Personally, I’m surprised you got him to spend so much time with you today. Between the class and coffee and then dinner—”
“Well, to be fair, I don’t think he counted the class as spending time with me.”
Howard gave her a look that said he didn’t agree, but he said nothing.
Pasting a smile she didn’t quite feel on her face, she stood up and gave her uncle a kiss on the cheek. “Anyway, I enjoyed myself. And even if Owen decides he doesn’t need or want an assistant on this project, I’m very happy to have met him. I can see why you think so highly of him.” She straightened and yawned. “I’ll let you get back to your book. Good night.”
She closed the door behind her and made her way to the guest room at the end of the hall. Flipping on the light, she walked in, placed her shoes by the closet, and went to close the blinds.
It had been a lovely night. And spending hours talking to Owen Shaughnessy had left an impression on her. From the things her uncle had said to her and the very few comments Owen had made about himself, she had the impression he didn’t often engage in casual conversations—not because he didn’t want to, but because most of the people he surrounded himself with didn’t.
She knew the feeling. The frustration.
She’d been a local pageant queen and cheerleader for so many years that people naturally assumed she wasn’t smart. And because of that, so many conversations bored her to tears because she felt as if they were being dumbed down.
And far be it from her to correct anyone.
Maybe she should have, but when? Was there ever a good time to look someone in the eye and say, “Hello? I have an IQ of 136! I’m not completely clueless!” As much as she hated to admit it, Brooke knew she probably could have tried harder to make people take her seriously. But Neal had been the smart one, and she was the pretty one, and that was the way things always seemed to be. For whateve
r reason, it made her family…work.
Until it didn’t.
Sighing, she wandered around the room, collecting pajamas and a hair clip, and then walked into the en suite bathroom and closed the door. This was her routine—change into pajamas, pull her hair back, wash her face, brush her teeth, floss, apply moisturizer, and stare at her reflection. Brooke knew who, and what, she saw looking back at her, but tonight she couldn’t help but wonder what other people saw.
Okay, that was a lie. She knew what most people saw—the pretty girl with a nice smile, a pointless hobby, and no real direction for her future.
But what did Owen see when he looked at her? Did he make that same blanket assumption, or was he able to see more? He was the first person—other than her uncle—who seemed to take a real interest in her painting. And not just about her love of it—he wanted to know about the actual mechanics of it and why she chose the materials she did. He seemed to want to delve deeper and get beneath the surface.
And he listened when she spoke.
“Ugh,” she groaned as she walked back into the bedroom. Within minutes she was propped up against a pile of pillows and had her Kindle on. As much as she loved reading, tonight she just wasn’t in the mood. Tonight she felt… Well, she didn’t feel the need to escape. Not really. Normally a good book was the perfect way to end the day, to put all of her worries behind her and clear her mind.
But tonight she didn’t want her mind cleared. She wanted to remember everything that had happened today. Tapping the Scrabble app on the screen, she booted up a game against the computer.
And smiled as she spelled out her first word.
Lovely.
* * *
“Dude, it’s like eleven o’clock. What the hell? Are you all right?”
Owen immediately regretted calling Quinn. By the sound of his brother’s voice, he was half-asleep and had forgotten he was the one who had asked for the phone call. “Um…you told me to call.”
“I… Wait, what?” Quinn paused. “Oh. Oh yeah.” He yawned. “Sorry. So? How did it go?”
For ten minutes, Owen spoke—almost without stopping for breath—about his night with Brooke. Even as he relayed all of the things they’d talked about, Owen could still hear her voice in his mind as she said them and wished he was still sitting, talking with her rather than sitting alone on the phone with Quinn.
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