One More Kiss

by Samantha Chase

  “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 whatever 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.

  “Okay!” Quinn said excitedly. “So it sounds like you had a good night. Are you just getting home?”

  “No. I got home about an hour ago.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh? What does that mean?”

  “It’s just kind of early. Did she need to get home?”

  “Well…no.”

  “So whose idea was it to end the night?”

  “Uh…mine.”

  “Owen!” Quinn snapped. “Why? Why would you do that?”

  “I… I um… I thought maybe it was time to call it a night. Maybe she goes to bed early. I know I enjoy going to bed early. Not that this is early, but when I’m not on the telescope, I’m in bed by ten-thirty. You need a solid seven to eight hours of sleep a night to replenish your body and give it the rest it deserves. Studies have shown—”

  “Studies have shown that this is why you used to get wedgies,” Quinn said with a huff. “When you are out with a beautiful woman—to whom you are attracted—the last thing you should be thinking of is whether you’re going to get seven to eight hours of sleep!”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really,” Quinn said with an irritated sigh. “So when are you seeing her again? Did you make plans for the weekend?”

  “Uh—”

  “Please tell me you asked to see her again,” Quinn said slowly, and Owen could tell he was fighting hard not to clench his teeth.

  “Uh—”

  “You’ve dated women before, right? I mean, I know you’ve dated other women! How on earth did you get anyone to go out with you a second time?”

  Part of Owen wanted to just hang up the phone in total embarrassment, but suddenly another part was clamoring to be heard—the offended part. The angry part. “Hey!” he snapped. “You know what? I get it that you’re disappointed in me—as usual—but I don’t need to sit here and be insulted. Yes, looking back, I should have asked her out again. But I didn’t. And you know what? That’s okay.”

  “Owen—”

  “And do you want to know why?” he asked, completely ignoring the fact that Quinn was trying to speak. “Because I am going to see her again. I have her number, and I’ll call her. Not everyone has to do things like you, Quinn. Not everyone has been fortunate enough to never have to work at getting a woman’s attention.”

  “Owen, look—”

  “And you know what? For a guy who seems to have all the answers, need I remind you how you were completely clueless for years about how Anna was in love with you and you were the one who looked like a…a…jerk!”

  Wow, did that feel good!

  There was silence on the other end of the phone, and Owen wasn’t sure if he had gone too far. He was just about to speak when Quinn cleared his throat.

  “Are you done?”

  Owen let out a breath and said, “I believe I am.”

  “Good.”

  More silence. Was he supposed to say something next?

  “I’m not disappointed in you, Owen,” Quinn began, his voice softer and calmer than it had been a minute ago. “Not really. I just… I was excited for you. And it was cool how you called and asked for my advice.”

  “Probably won’t be doing that again,” Owen muttered.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah… And I don’t blame you. My first instinct is to get mad when something doesn’t go the way I think it should, and then I realize what an ass I sound like. Anna reminds me of it all the time.”

 
; “She’s right.”

  “Okay, so somebody’s coming into their own,” Quinn chuckled. “It’s about damn time.”

  “Wait…what? What are you talking about?”

  “You! Do you realize you just stood up to me? You never do that! Ever!” A hearty laugh interrupted his praising. “Normally you’re quick to apologize, or you just sort of…I don’t know…disappear. And yet today you took a stand. And you know what? I am proud of you.”

  “You are?” Owen asked hesitantly and immediately hated that he needed—and wanted—the validation.

  “Dude, I think you are at a crossroads here.”

  “How?”

  “How did it feel to tell me off?”

  “Honestly? It felt…good,” Owen said with a laugh.

  “I know it had to,” Quinn agreed. “And how did it feel to go out with Brooke and not talk about your work?”

  Owen thought for a minute. “That felt kind of good too.”

  “You’ve been on this path, dude, for so long. Everything has been about your education and your job and how smart you are and all that. So let me ask you—are you happy with your job?”

  “Yes. No. Maybe”

  “Right. That was clear,” Quinn murmured. “Let me rephrase that. Are you…aspiring for something more?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “So? Maybe it’s time for you to put some focus on another part of life. Like your personal life.”

  Could that be it? Could his brother be that insightful? Again? Twice in one day? Maybe…

  “Listen…I am glad you called, and I’m glad we had the chance to talk. But Anna hasn’t been feeling well, and neither of us have been getting much sleep, so…can we talk over the weekend?”

  “Why didn’t you say anything sooner? Is she okay? Has she gone to the doctor?”

  Quinn chuckled. “Yeah. And you know what the doctor told us?”

  “No. What?”

  “That Anna’s eight months pregnant.”

  “And?”

  “And that’s it. That’s what’s wrong. The baby is growing, and so she can’t get comfortable, and it means she doesn’t sleep well, and then being on her feet all day at the pub…”

  “Maybe she should start her maternity leave early.”

  “Dude, don’t even think of telling her that. She will bite your head off.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Quinn sighed. “She loves that place, and she loves her independence and thinks she’s superwoman. Honestly, I cannot wait for the baby to be here so she’ll be forced to take it easy.” And then he yawned loudly. “So…can I call you this weekend?”

  “I’d like that.” Owen hung up after saying good-bye and roamed around his hotel room. It was more like a suite—it had a small kitchenette and a sitting area along with the bedroom and bathroom—and it suited him for these short-term guest lectures. Could he even call them that? Technically he was teaching, but no matter how he looked at his situation, it wasn’t permanent. That was something else he needed to focus on—finding something permanent. Traveling so much and staying in hotels was starting to get old. Hell, if he had his way, he’d back out of the Red Rock project and go home to his father’s house for a while to try to figure out where he wanted to concentrate his job search.

  Then you wouldn’t need to spend time with Brooke.

  And that’s when Owen knew he was in trouble. Clearly, he was infatuated with her. Other than when he was back in middle school and thought he could overcome his shyness, Owen hadn’t allowed himself to feel this way about a woman. He had learned to be practical, and while, yes, he had been involved—seriously—with several women over the years, none had made him feel quite like this.

  Happy.

  Carefree.

  Hopeful.

  He snorted with disgust. It had been only eight days since he’d first met her. How was it even possible he was feeling such a strong pull toward her? It wasn’t logical. It certainly wasn’t practical. And no matter what Quinn had said earlier in the day about how he and his brothers had all fallen in love at different rates—from first sight to over twenty years—it did little to comfort Owen.

  Why? Because Owen didn’t do…first sight. Didn’t believe in it.

  Even as it was trying to stare him in the face.

  It’s not that Owen didn’t believe in falling in love. He did. He knew it was possible but…more so for other people. Like his brothers. They were normal. No one ever looked at any of them and called them strange or weird or…awkward. Yeah. Those were all reserved for him. How was it possible in such a large family that they could all be so different from one another and yet he was the only one who managed to be different in such an off way?

  He sighed.

  How many times had his mother held him close and told him there was nothing wrong with being different? That he should embrace it because it made him special? Too many times to count.

  And that was saying something for him—a man who had a knack for counting everything.

  But when Lillian Shaughnessy died, there was no one there to remind him that it was okay to be different. Or that he was going to make a difference in the world. Not that his father hadn’t tried. But with six kids, he had been more than a little overwhelmed and didn’t seem to know how to do and say all the things his wife had.

  Emotion clogged his throat, and Owen tried to will it away. It had been a long time since the memory of his mother had brought him to tears. And as he sat on the upholstered chair in the corner of the room, he felt overwhelmed. And confused.

  With his head thrown back, Owen tried to focus on the logical—he knew his father and his siblings would all offer him any encouragement he needed. That had been proven over and over again. And even though it wasn’t the same as hearing it from him mother, he was still extremely grateful for his family. But he also knew that this—how he was feeling about Brooke—was something he had to deal with alone. It was too difficult to explain his insecurities to his brothers. After all, none of them ever struggled the way he had with insecurity. And, really, he was glad that they hadn’t.

  He wouldn’t wish this on his worst enemy.

  So where did that leave him?

  Right where he knew he was—back at square one. Women like Brooke didn’t go for men like him. She was sweet and friendly…and nice to him because she wanted the position as his assistant. He needed to remember that. He’d seen it before—people sucking up to you in order to get a job or a recommendation. It was just that this time he had allowed himself to develop feelings for the person doing it.

  Was he going to see her again like he’d just told his brother he would?

  No.

  Was he going to offer her the job?

  No.

  As much as Owen appreciated Howard’s attempt at helping him, he wasn’t going to take him up on the offer. Owen was who he was, and no matter how much the faculty and the administration hounded him about learning to be a little less “stiff” with his students, he wasn’t going to change. He couldn’t.

  Or wouldn’t.

  He knew he was a damn fine astrophysicist, and at the end of the day, that’s all that mattered. He could tour every college campus with a telescope and teach and share his wisdom. It wasn’t a particularly fun subject—the creation of the cosmos was serious business. And if Owen chose to take it seriously and treat it with the respect it deserved, then why was everyone having an issue with that? There was no need for an assistant or someone to help him be less…awkward.

  Damn it, he was beginning to hate that word.

  Standing up, he stalked over to his closet, kicked off his shoes, and started to get ready for bed. His mind made up, he quickly decided he would seek out Howard in the morning and explain that he wouldn’t be hiring his niece. It was the coward’s way out—Owen was awar
e of that—but it was the best way to handle it.

  Was he disappointed?

  Yes.

  But better to be disappointed now than to get even more attached to or involved with Brooke and then have all of his suspicions confirmed—that she had only been nice to him so she could get the job and do her painting. Which still seemed a little weird to him. She was a grown woman. Why did she need her family’s permission to paint in the desert? If she felt that strongly about her painting, there must be other ways for her to go about getting there. He understood the need for safety, but it seemed like she was going through an awful lot of trouble to appease her family.

  Even sucking up to a socially awkward scientist like him.

  Chapter 4

  To his credit, Howard Shields didn’t outwardly react to Owen’s news almost a week later. He sat behind his desk and continued to look at Owen with a serene smile on his face.

  Which bothered Owen. He wished the man would stand up and reprimand him for being unreasonable and selfish and rude.

  All the things he’d been telling himself all morning.

  Clearing his throat, he went on, “So you see, it would be pointless to hire an assistant. I have the entire event outlined already, and I’ve looked at the roster of the students who will be accompanying me, and they’ve all worked with me before. They’re familiar with my teaching style, so there isn’t going to be an issue.” He paused. “Please thank your niece for me.”

  He couldn’t even bring himself to say her name.

  After neither of them had spoken after a minute, Owen stood. “Well, I, um… I should be going,” he said, not meeting Howard’s gaze. “Have a good weekend.” Owen was almost out the door when Howard called his name. He dreaded turning around.

  “I have those contracts for you,” Howard began. “I’ve been meaning to bring them, by but it kept slipping my mind.” He chuckled. “Just another symptom of getting old. Forgetfulness.”

  Relief swamped Owen. “I’m actually not sure if I’m going to need them.”

  Howard arched a graying brow at him. “Is that so?”

  Nodding, Owen stepped back toward the desk. “I’ve been giving this some thought, and…I’m a little worn out from all the traveling. I think I’m at a point where I’d like to find one specific university to work for and maybe do very limited speaking engagements. Although, to be honest, I could use a break from those as well.”