Ten Million Fireflies (Band of Sisters) Page 9

  “I’m trying to figure out why you’re here.”

  “I take it you’re not on the neighborhood welcoming committee.”

  Brooke’s gaze followed Drew’s hand as he rubbed his palm across his cheek. The sun’s rays shined on his face, highlighting the gold and red in the light stubble. She shouldn’t be checking him out this way. It wasn’t why she came by.

  “A truce.” Yes, that’s why she was here. Brooke swung her backpack around and unzipped the front pocket, pulling out two packages. “I wasn’t sure which kind you liked.”

  Holding a package of plain M&Ms and peanut M&Ms in her hand, she waited for him to take one. Or both.

  “What if I don’t like M&Ms?” Drew crossed his arms across his chest, his brow lifting near his hairline.

  “Helen told me they’re your writing food.” She’d thrown that bit of info at her when they hugged goodbye last night.

  “I didn’t know you and Helen were so close.”

  “I’m an easy person to get along with,” she lied. Or maybe it could be true. She hadn’t a clue. She didn’t hang out with many people. A loner in school and constantly fighting to earn her status and reputation in the military, she never had much practice in actually getting to know someone.

  Until her sisters. Charlie was the ringleader in the group; the social one who practically forced the four of them to keep in touch after meeting. And for that, Brooke would be eternally grateful.

  “Well, I’m not.” Drew swiped the yellow bag from her left hand and tossed it in the middle of the mess on the table.

  “Obviously.”

  “Look, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a lot of work to do. My deadline is approaching, and I’ve got nothing but crap for my agent.”

  “Writer’s block?”

  Drew shook his head. “If an electrician comes across a wiring dilemma in an old house and doesn’t instantly know how to fix it, does he have electrician’s block? If an accountant has a pile of receipts and paperwork and is trying to make sense of a client’s financial records, does she have accountant’s block? No, they have a problem and they work through it. I have a problem and I’m working through it. Nothing is blocked,” he said with a bite.

  “Sorry.” Brooke held up her hands, palms out in front of her, and stepped back. “I see I caught you at a bad time. I only came over to apologize for...” She wasn’t the type to kiss ass, but she could own up to her mistakes when she made them. She had been pretty snippy at Drew when she found out he was a zillionaire. “I’m sorry for being so snarky with you last night.”

  “Okay.” Drew nodded and rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead.

  “Okay?”

  Drew shrugged. “The snark didn’t bother me.”

  “I take it I bother you, though.”

  “It’s not you. It’s...”

  “The camp.” She sighed. Brooke hated that she had stirred up dark memories of his past. That had never been her intent.

  He didn’t argue with her and started rummaging through his pile of notes.

  “Can I help?” He looked up at her with a humorous ‘are you serious’ look in his eyes. “I don’t know. Brainstorm? Talk out the plot points with you? How do you normally work through this?” She waved her hand over the mess.

  “Not with people. No offense.” He opened his laptop and leaned over it, pounding on a few keys.

  “How about a walk?”

  “What?” He closed his laptop and paced across the deck. “I don’t... No.”

  “The first time we met you were out for a run. Were you clearing your mind or just exercising? Do you think about your storyline while you paddleboard? Swim? Do you ride a bi—”

  “Enough.” Drew clutched at his hair as if in pain. “Just stop. Do you have any idea how incredibly annoying you are?”

  Brooke broke out in a shit-eating grin. Sparring with Drew was fun. Getting on his nerves was even more fun. And if it distracted him from the haunting ghosts of his past, then all the better.

  “Actually, I need a favor.”

  “Two seconds ago you were offering to help me. Now you want something?”

  “I think it’s a win-win.”

  “Great. I can’t wait to hear this one.”

  “You’re putting out that I’m a grouchy asshole vibe again. You need to work on that.”

  He tucked his hands under his arms and glared at her, which made her laugh. Apparently, laughter was not the response he was going for.

  “Here’s the thing. I’ve done a lot of hiking over the past few weeks, scoping out the trails and such, but I haven’t been up East Ridge yet. I’ve heard it’s a tough trail and I’m smart enough not to go at it alone.”

  “You want me to go hiking with you?”

  “Yeah.” It hadn’t been her plan when she came over here. A quick talk. Some apologies—going both ways—and then she’d be on her merry way. Spending the afternoon with Drew hadn’t been on her agenda.

  “How exactly is it a win for me?”

  “Well, first off, you’d be getting your workout in.”

  “What if I’ve already done that?”

  “You look like you could use another one.”

  Drew rubbed his stomach, and Brooke’s gaze dropped to his flat core. She remembered it vividly from last week when he’d shown up on her shore with that fitted red tee.

  Clearing her throat, she continued. “To work off the M&Ms and to let off steam. You seem... steamy.”

  Oh lordy. Now she had weird images and thoughts about the millionaire-zillionaire, grouchy, sort-of-an-asshole-sort-of-not famous author walking half-naked across the water to her.

  “The hike will clear your mind.” And hers.

  “My mind is clear. That’s the problem. I need it full,” Drew picked up the pieces of paper, “of ideas.” He picked up his laptop and walked over to the sliding door, opened the screen, and stepped inside.

  Brooke followed him.

  “Water?” he asked, filling two glasses with ice and then filling them at the sink.

  “Um. Sure.” She took the glass, trying not to gawk at the beauty of his kitchen. Charlie would have a heart attack.

  Brooke wasn’t one to swoon over stainless-steel appliances and dark cabinets, but hell. The black marble counter gleamed under the modern hanging lights and the deep, rich cabinets lined the cream-colored walls, looking more like high-end furniture than places to hold dishes and food.

  Drew swiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set his glass by the sink. “I’m going to change.” With that, he turned and left her standing in his fancy kitchen alone.

  “Okay then,” she said to the empty room. Making herself at home, she wandered over to the eat-in area and checked out the pictures on the wall. A cluster of three landscape photographs. One of the water, the other of Sugarloaf, and the third captured them together beautifully.

  The hutch on the far end held small pictures. Family photographs.

  Brooke set her glass on the table and picked up one of the pictures. A gorgeous bride and groom and a set of nice-looking parents on one side, and Drew, dressed to the nines in a tuxedo on the other side of the bride.

  Drew’s sister. The resemblance was striking. The entire family was picture-perfect with their movie star looks, designer outfits—she assumed—and radiant smiles. She wanted to resent the happy family, but she couldn’t help the tug in her chest.

  Why resent something so wonderful just because she’d never have it? There’d be no proud mother or father to walk her down the aisle. No gushing sibling at her side. It was just Brooke. She’d been learning to fend for herself for two-thirds of her life. Nothing new.

  Someday, if she ever got married, she’d have her Band of Sisters by her side. It wasn’t the same, but it would be nice.

  “Ready?” Drew asked, startling her from her sadness.

  Brooke put the picture back and turned. He’d changed into cargo shorts and a new T-shirt.

  “You’re going
to come with me?” When he left her to change, she figured he was going somewhere. Without her.

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  Her heart tugged upward, turning her lips into a smile. “Yeah.” She bit down on her lower lip to prevent it from cracking her face in too wide of a grin.

  “I have a few granola bars and water bottles I can throw in a backpack.” He held up the bag she hadn’t noticed before.

  “I have my bag, too.”

  “You can leave it here. I’ll bring mine.”

  “Is this one of those macho things where you don’t think the little woman can carry her own weight and you think you’ll be carrying her back?”

  Drew laughed and stalked past her to a pantry cabinet. He opened a few boxes and tossed some items in his bag. “If anything, you’ll be carrying my ass back down the mountain. I’m not afraid to admit you’re in better shape and are probably stronger than me.”

  “I’d say we’re evenly matched.” Drew had a runner’s build and could probably outlast her in the stamina department.

  “Doubtful.” He opened the fridge and loaded the bag with water.

  The compliment warmed her. “I can carry my stuff.”

  “I’m sure you can.” He ignored her bag and opened a drawer, taking out a notepad and pen, tossing them in as well. “I already packed bug spray and sunblock. Let’s go.” He trotted off through the living room, which she’d have to appreciate later, and held the front door for her.

  Brooke couldn’t help it if she sniffed deeply as she moved past him—and she definitely couldn’t help it if the scent of soap and woodsy man caused a stirring in her belly.

  THE LAST PERSON DREW had expected to show up at his door—or rather, his deck—was the beautiful brunette who continued to haunt his dreams. He shouldn’t be pining away for Brooke. She wanted to bring his ghosts back to life.

  If she wasn’t so set on opening up the camp, she could have been potential date material, not that he’d been on one in ages. There was something about her that was alluring.

  She protected herself with a thick, high wall, but there were windows she opened from time to time, and her fresh mouth and witty charm came breezing out. He enjoyed being tested by her, even if she got on his nerves with questions about his writing.

  Drew had no idea what the hell he was doing. All he knew was sitting in his office, on the deck, and down by the pond had not helped him with his story mapping. His agent needed a three-book proposal by the end of last week.

  During a business lunch in New York last month, Carl had asked him if he could write a series since they were a hot sell. It had sounded like a great idea at the time, but he wasn’t a series writer. He wrote psychological thrillers that ended with The End. Forever. People died. Some didn’t. Move on to the next book.

  Sometimes a pleasant closing, and other times a disturbing ending. He liked to keep his readers guessing until the very last page, without leaving a cliffhanger. But all the ideas he had for his three books were turning into cliffhangers. Something Carl and his publishing house were adamant against.

  The trick was working in the main character—who he still hadn’t figured out yet—and not making him a clichéd detective or psychologist. What the hell was he thinking when he told his agent he could do this?

  “I’m assuming you know where you’re going?” Brooke said from his right.

  He’d momentarily forgotten about her and the reason he was outside, his legs on autopilot following the path from his driveway to the trail at the base of the hill.

  “Yeah.” He’d climbed it a thousand times before. Only the locals knew of the somewhat treacherous path, and only the diehard hikers actually took it. The trail was too steep to be called a hill, and many referred to it as the East Ridge Mountain Trail. In reality, though, East Ridge was just that—a ridge, a hill but steep. And the view from the top was magnificent. Even more so than the view from his deck.

  In all his stress and frustration, he hadn’t even thought to make sure Brooke had appropriate footwear. He stopped and looked down at her feet.

  She kept walking and then turned around. “What?”

  “Your shoes.”

  Brooke dipped her head then looked back up. “What about them?”

  “They solid? Not worn? The trail is steep. You need good traction.” The last thing he needed was Brooke getting hurt because of his scattered brain.

  “Good sneakers are about the only part of my wardrobe I splurge on. I have boots if you think we’ll need them. I thought this was just a hill, though.”

  “It is, but it’s steep and the path isn’t really a path. More like a wall of rocks. There’ll be a lot of actual climbing.”

  “You don’t think I can handle it?” She huffed.

  Hell, he didn’t mean to offend her or get her on the defensive. “Let’s go.” He sighed and clomped past her. If she wanted to play the tough card, he wouldn’t slow his pace and wouldn’t check behind to see if she could keep up. And he definitely wouldn’t offer a hand at Jagged Edge, even though he’d offered it to his brother-in-law.

  The hike was only two miles long, but a kick-ass workout with the trail going straight to the top of the hill. He’d be feeling the burn in his quads and calves tomorrow.

  The path opened wider, and Brooke appeared at his side. “So, tell me about this book of yours.” There was no trace of exhaust in her voice. Yet.

  “Not much to tell. I haven’t written it.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me? One of those ‘if I tell you, I have to kill you’ sort of secrets?”

  A potential plotline? Maybe. All the others he came up with crapped out after thirty pages. He still had no story. No characters. No protagonist. No villain. And definitely no red herring. He usually came up with that first and then the story would unfold itself.

  “I don’t know.”

  “So, this book about nothing, it could work. It did for Seinfeld.”

  Drew cast her a sideways glance and shook his head. “I don’t write comedy.”

  “Right. You’d have to be funny to do that.”

  That got a smirk out of him. The trail narrowed and Brooke fell in step behind him; her chatter not slowing down.

  “What’s the premise?”

  “No premise.”

  “You’re supposed to write a book, but you don’t have any ideas?”

  “I have plenty of ideas but none that will work for this assignment.”

  “What’s the assignment?”

  She wasn’t going to let up. Drew rolled his head to loosen the muscles in his neck and took a deep breath. Maybe if he ignored her, she’d stop talking.

  “Mafia? Paranormal? Military? I could totally help you out if you’re going to write a military book.”

  Military. He hadn’t thought about that. Maybe a killer among the soldiers? He hated to go that route, though. There was already a stigma about corrupt cops; he didn’t want to be negative about the military in this day and age.

  “Not military.”

  “Can you give me something?”

  The rocky path narrowed even more, and Drew used the challenging obstacles as an excuse not to respond. When he reached the steepest part of the climb where he was practically crawling up the hillside, he gripped an outcropping of rock and looked over his shoulder.

  “You okay?”

  “How can I not be? You’re going slow enough. Figured we were stopping here for a picnic.”

  Again, Drew grinned at her sass. Rolling his eyes, he continued, hefting himself up the side of the rock, searching for grip holds for his hands and feet. Once he cleared the peak, he stood and dusted off his hands on his thighs.

  His first instinct was to hold out his hand to help Brooke over the last lip, but he resisted and watched as she swung a muscular leg over the edge and bounced up on both feet.

  “That was cool. It’s like
rock climbing but without all the gear and danger.”

  There was danger involved, just not as much as if they did a real rock climb. Drew shrugged off the backpack and took out two water bottles.

  The sun was bright and hot at the peak, and they both guzzled their water with abandonment.

  “Wow,” Brooke said, capping her empty bottle. “The view is amazing.” She circled in a three-sixty, walking along the perimeter of the area.

  Back in his early twenties, he and Glen had brought a two-person tent and camped out one night. There wasn’t room for much more than the tent and a small fire on the leveled area as all around the hill dropped off into sheer cliffs of rock.

  “Be careful,” he warned.

  Brooke spun around and grinned at him. “Aww, you care. That’s nice.”

  No, he didn’t.

  Yes, he did.

  He’d heed the warning to anyone he was with. It was dangerous at the top. One misstep and you’d be tumbling to your death.

  “The picture in your kitchen. It was taken up here, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “My brother-in-law has a thing for photography. He took the photographs on my wall.”

  Drew wouldn’t let Glen make the trek by himself, hence their impromptu camping trip over a decade ago.

  “He captured the view beautifully.” She inched closer to the edge and Drew’s heart paused for a beat.

  “Can you not stand so close, please?”

  She tossed him a cocky grin. “Think I’ll fall?”

  “Just move away.” He grabbed her upper arm and tugged her back toward him.

  “Maybe your villain is a hiker or game warden and leads people on adventurous hikes and then pushes them off cliffs? That could make a good story.”

  “You’re relentless.”

  “I’m taking that as a compliment.”

  “And annoying.”

  “I told you I’d help you if you helped me. You paid your dues so now, I’m up.”

  “How did I—”

  “I needed you to show me the trail. You did. Okay, so maybe the game warden doesn’t work. Are you still doing the murder mystery thing?”

  “Murder mystery?” He almost laughed. Almost. Brooke was getting to him... in a feel-good way.