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“Why it’s so important to you,” he said softly.
“It is. Theodora was Mom’s middle name. I’ve written other things, stories I thought were more likely to get published. Young adult postapocalyptic zombie novel? No one buys those these days. But I kept coming back to Theo. Not just for Mom, but because this was the story that spoke to me.” Daphne lifted her mug. “How much booze did you put in this?”
“Why? You want more?”
She laughed and then said, “Actually, I might.”
She started to rise, and then he lifted a thermos from under his blanket and passed it over.
“You’re one step ahead of me,” she said. “Thank you.”
As she poured more spiked cocoa, he said, “So you moved up here after your mom passed. Any siblings back home?”
She shook her head. “It was just me and Mom. I have grandparents, all still living, all great, including my father’s parents. He’s in Asia or something. I haven’t seen him in years. But his parents are wonderful to me, and they were wonderful to Mom. It’s not their fault their son grew up to be an asshole.” She passed back the thermos. “And you? Your family?”
Now he was the one shrugging. “Mom, Dad, older sister, two grandparents.”
She peered at him. “I won’t prod if you don’t want to talk about them, but I hope you aren’t holding back because I’m a little lacking in the immediate family department.”
“Maybe. Sorry. They’re great. Well, all except my sister. Gemma’s a pain in the ass.” He smiled over. “Kidding. Mostly. We’re close. In fact, I just saw everyone last weekend, when we went fishing. Which I do know how to do, though admittedly it’s a little different in the Pacific Ocean.”
She smiled. “Just a little.” She curled up, hands cupping her mug. “Tell me about it.”
DAPHNE
She had made up her mind. She was going to have a fling with Chris. Well, if he wanted one, obviously, and she suspected she was being optimistic even thinking she had a chance at that.
Yes, she’d told herself—repeatedly—that she wasn’t emotionally capable of hookups, but maybe she was overreacting. Maybe it was a matter of finding the right guy, one she could trust. Chris seemed like he could be that guy.
As for more than a fling, she absolutely was not ready for that. She’d finally gotten her life on track after her mom’s death, and it was more than “on track.” She was living out her dreams, and she needed to get herself steady in that before she even thought of adding another dream. Especially when that dream—the one of someone to share her life—could destroy the rest. Finding someone willing to move up here and endure the strange lifestyle of an off-the-grid-living novelist? That was too tall an order. Maybe someday. Not now.
“More than a fling” wasn’t an option anyway. Chris was out of her league.
Nia would give her shit for thinking that, but Daphne wasn’t being modest. It was an objective fact, like when a prospective client offered her an architecture job and she had to acknowledge that she didn’t have the skills—yet—to manage something that complex. There was reaching for the stars… and then there was telling someone you can get that star for them.
Chris was the whole package. Gorgeous, sweet, smart, and funny. Maybe someday he’d meet his perfect match—a neurosurgeon who’d modeled her way through med school—but until then, he was building his career and enjoying all the benefits that came with being a hot single guy in a big city. Couldn’t blame him for that.
But while she knew she wasn’t long-term partner material for him, her self-confidence was strong enough to know she was “weekend fling” material.
She’d been celibate far too long, and the more time she spent with Chris, the more she realized how badly she needed some fun. Safe, no-strings-attached fun.
If he made a move, she’d let him know that door was open. Wide open.
CHRIS
After staying on the deck until dark, Chris slept like the dead, not rising until sun blazed through the window, and he realized he’d forgotten to draw the blinds. He leapt up, certain he’d overslept and the crew would be there any moment.
It was six thirty.
Wide awake, he lay in bed, debating whether he could slip out and start coffee quietly enough when he caught the click of Tika’s nails on the stairs and peeked out to see Daphne creeping silently toward the coffeemaker.
An hour later, they were deep into a walk with Tika, slurping coffee from travel mugs as they wandered along a lakeside trail. The water was absolutely still and veiled in lacy fog. Chris was resisting the urge to send photos to his parents and Gemma. He would, eventually. They knew he was “up north” for a few days “with friends.” Nothing wrong with photos.
He hadn’t been concerned that his family might accidentally see a picture of him as Zane Remington and recognize him. But now… well, now it was getting a little more complicated, with this TV segment and the media attention the book was getting. He still wasn’t too worried. Zane didn’t act or sound like Chris Stanton, and his clothing and hairstyles were totally different.
He should discuss all this with Daphne. For now, he was too busy enjoying walking and talking with her, surrounded by landscape where every turn looked like a postcard.
What would it be like to live here? He remembered what Daphne said about coming up and falling in love. He got it, he really did. The problem was that his life was in Vancouver, both personal and professional, and he wasn’t ready to give that up, no more than Daphne would be willing to give up her dream home.
