by Ellis, Aven
“I did. I wanted to see your work. And not only are you an amazing writer, but also I saw how people responded to your words and what you chose to write about. Payton,” Brooks continues, his voice going more firm, “you make people happy. Don’t you see that? Your readers come to you for escape. To see what it’s like to be a duchess. To be able to find those special shoes or outfit that will bring them some joy. Or they want to see what you recommend as far as making their home office a brighter spot for work. Friendships across the world have been made because of you. So what if you aren’t working for some company with a traditional job? Bringing happiness into people’s lives is equally important. And you’re actually making a career out of it. Don’t let anyone diminish that.”
Tears prick my eyes as I take in his words. Brooks is speaking about me in a way I’ve never heard before.
He understands. My heart is pounding. Brooks understands me.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “Your words mean a lot.”
“I think you need to hear them,” he says. Then he flashes me a sexy grin. “And since I’m a brilliant noble doctor, I’m allowed to say them.”
“Oh, shut up,” I say, laughing.
Brooks stretches back in his chair, and once again I’m drawn to how broad his chest appears in his blue dress shirt.
“I think you’re ready to meet Dr. Watson,” he declares, and I quickly avert my eyes from his chest before he notices I’m practically drooling.
“Because of my noble blogger calling?”
Brooks laughs loudly, the deep sound filling his tiny kitchen, and warmth fills me.
“Yes. Of course. Not everyone gets to meet Dr. Watson. Now sadly, you can’t meet Sherlock tonight. He’s very skittish, and we’d have to go in a small space together so you could interact with him.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Are you afraid to be in a small space with me?”
“Um, no,” he says, his hand once again moving cutely to the back of his neck. “But it would have to be on the bathroom floor, and I’d really prefer to mop it first. You see, I didn’t know I’d be making the not full English tonight for company so it’s not guest ready, I’m afraid.”
Ohhhhhhhhh, he’s so sweet.
“Okay. I want to meet Dr. Watson.”
Brooks stands up, and I follow. “If you’ll go in the living room, I’ll bring Dr. Watson over to you. I’m not going to have you go near his hutch because rabbits don’t like strangers near their home.”
I nod and head into the living room. Angus immediately follows suit.
“You can have a seat on the floor,” Brooks calls out as he heads upstairs.
I sit down and Angus flops next to me, ready for his next belly rub.
I comply, rubbing his red hair with my hand, and he grunts happily in response.
“You’re so adorable,” I say to him.
Just like your daddy.
I hear Brooks coming back down the stairs. He enters the kitchen, and the refrigerator door opens and closes. Then Brooks returns to the living room, and he has a beautiful ginger-haired rabbit in one hand and a rolled up mat and plastic Ziploc in the other.
“Oh!” I cry. “Look at his hair!”
Because his hair is like a lion’s mane all around his head. I’ve never seen a rabbit like this. Ever.
“Payton, you stay where you are,” Brooks says, stopping about five feet away from me. “Angus, roll mat.”
Roll mat? I furrow my brow. What does that mean?
Angus suddenly gets up and approaches Brooks. He places the rolled up mat on the ground and Angus moves behind it.
Then, to my complete amazement, Angus pushes his nose on the mat and unrolls it for Brooks.
“Oh, wow,” I say in awe. “He unrolled the mat for you!”
“Brilliant, isn’t it?” Brooks declares, his eyes sparkling.
And as I stare up at him, this gorgeous man with a tiny bunny cradled protectively to his massive chest, my heart flutters in response.
“Good boy, Angus,” Brooks says encouragingly.
Angus sits next to me, at the end of the mat, and grunts.
“Yes, treat coming,” Brooks says. He moves forward and bends down next to me. “I’m going to put Dr. Watson right here. Let him come to you when he’s ready.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding.
I can’t help but smile at Dr. Watson, who is all ginger fur and fluffy.
Dr. Watson slowly moves toward me, and I can’t wait to pet him. He can’t be more than three pounds! He’s a tiny ball of ginger fluff and beyond cute.
“All right, Angus, cucumber for you,” Brooks says cheerfully.
Angus snorts happily and strolls over to Brooks, who feeds him and affectionately rubs his head. “Very good boy.”
“Dr. Watson is the cutest thing ever,” I declare.
“Don’t say that in front of Angus, it’s rude,” Brooks teases.
I laugh. “He’s the cutest bunny ever, and I’m sure Sherlock can’t hear me.”
Brooks grins and takes a seat next to me on the floor. Dr. Watson eagerly moves right over to him and snuggles next to him.
“Hey, Dr. Watson,” Brooks says softly, working his fingers through his mane of hair. “Did you have a good day? Was Sherlock nice to you?”
“He looks like a little lion,” I say.
“He’s a Lionhead,” Brooks explains as he pets him. “Isn’t he cool?”
“So what do you love about rabbits?”
“Oh, don’t get me started,” Brooks says, his eyes lighting up. “First, they’re hilarious. They make me laugh with their antics. Once you see a binky you’ll know what I’m talking about.”
“A binky,” I repeat.
“It’s when they get excited and they run and then all of the sudden, out of nowhere, they pop up in the air. I laugh every time I see it. Then they have characteristics like a dog—rabbits will follow you, snuggle with you when you watch TV, and . . .”
I feel like I’m glowing as I listen to Brooks go on about rabbits. He’s so passionate about animals, about his love for them, and to me that reveals what a tremendous heart this man has.
I continue to listen, content to hear everything he has to say. But then Brooks becomes aware I’m not saying anything, and abruptly stops speaking.
“I’m sorry,” he says, an embarrassed expression sweeping over his handsome face. “I’m sure my rambling on about rabbits is quite boring.”
“No, I love it,” I say honestly. “You’re so passionate about animals, and I enjoy hearing everything you have to say.”
“I’m afraid I’m better with animals than I am with people,” Brooks says softly.
“I wouldn’t say that.”
A surprised expression flashes in his eyes. “You wouldn’t?”
“Not at all,” I say firmly.
Dr. Watson begins heading toward me, and within seconds he is right next to my leg, cuddling against me. I lift my hand to stroke his lion-like mane, but my eyes stay locked on Brooks.
“You don’t know me that well,” Brooks says simply.
I stop combing my fingers through Dr. Watson’s silky hair. “I can’t imagine anything you would tell me that would indicate you aren’t good with people.”
“I’m not good with people,” he repeats softly, “but I think I can be good with you.”
My pulse leaps with excitement from the words Brooks just said. I know in this moment he sees me as someone special.
Just as I do him.
Brooks clears his throat. “Would you care for a drink? Glass of wine?”
I smile at him. “I think I would fancy one, thank you,” I say, doing a fake accent on the word “fancy.”
Brooks laughs. “Oh, you’re quite the Anglophile, aren’t you?” he says, standing back up.
I pick up Dr. Watson and cradle him to my chest as I rise. “I’d be a horrible Kate blogger if I weren't one,” I say.
“Good point,” Brooks says. “Come on. We can sit
out back. I’ll put Dr. Watson back up in his hutch, and Angus can go root around in the yard.”
“Okay,” I say.
Brooks steps toward me, and now we’re inches apart. I feel my heart beating out of my chest from his nearness. I gently hand Dr. Watson to him, and our hands brush against each other again. And oh, how the sparks fly from that simple feel of his skin.
“Thank you,” Brooks says softly. “I’ll take Dr. Watson upstairs. Would you mind grabbing that blanket off the sofa? I don’t want you to be chilled when we’re out back.”
I nod. I retrieve the plaid wool blanket and drape it over my arm as Brooks heads back up the stairs. Angus chooses to follow me, and I enter into the kitchen.
Within minutes I hear Brooks coming back down the stairs. He smiles at me as he heads into the kitchen. “If you’ll follow me I’ll show you the wine cellar.”
“This house has a wine cellar?”
“Of course. Why do you think I rented it? Right this way.”
Curious, I follow Brooks. He stops at a door and opens it, and I find myself staring into a pantry with a small iron wine rack with six bottles on the bottom shelf.
“My wine cellar,” Brooks declares.
I laugh. “Oh, now this is impressive. Do you actually store six whole bottles?”
“Yes. What do you like? I only have red, I’m afraid. Never been much of a white wine drinker.”
“Six bottles of red. So many choices! It’s overwhelming.”
“I know, Payton. Stay strong and determined while you consider your options.”
I crouch down to study the wine and select a pinot noir from Washington.
“You can never go wrong with a Washington State wine,” I declare, handing it to him.
“I agree,” Brooks says. He takes the wine and sets it on the countertop. Brooks slides open a drawer, pulls out a corkscrew, and begins to uncork the wine.
“Where are your wine glasses? I’ll get them.”
“Second cupboard on the left, thank you.”
I move and open the red cabinet door and select two glasses, setting them down in front of Brooks. He fills each of them and then we head outside.
Angus eagerly springs ahead, and he goes straight down a ramp and into the yard, ready to root around in the garden.
“Here we are,” Brooks says, inclining his head toward two chairs on the redwood deck. “We can sit here.”
“Sounds good,” I say, taking a seat.
I gently drape the wool blanket around my shoulders, grateful for the warmth, and take a sip of the wine. Mmm, it’s smooth with a hint of spice at the end.
“That’s good,” I say.
“But is it perfect?” Brooks teases.
I study him. “Okay, so I know I might sorta have a thing about being perfec—”
“You might sorta be a perfectionist,” Brooks declares, interrupting me.
I grin. “Fine. Yes. I am. But I would say this wine is perfect for this moment.”
Brooks studies me carefully. “What do you think about a man who isn’t perfect?” he asks quietly.
My heart pounds against my ribs.
“Are you talking about yourself?”
My question hangs in the air as crickets fill the silence between us.
“Payton, I’m not perfect,” he says, his deep voice a murmur in the darkness.
I feel my breath catch in my throat. “I don’t need you to be.”
Brooks is silent. He swirls his wine in his glass, studying the pinot in front of him.
“I’m rubbish with people,” he admits, his eyes still focused on swirling the wine in circles. “There’s a reason why I’m good with animals. Why I get them. Animals accept humans, despite their flaws. It’s easy to make them happy.”
I sit still as I watch him. I’ve never had a conversation like this with a man. Ever. This is new. It’s honest. And I see Brooks is on the verge of sharing something he holds close to his heart with me.
“Have you not made someone happy?” I ask.
“The important question,” he says, still staring down at his glass. Brooks slowly lifts his eyes to meet mine. “But I feel you need to know what you’re getting into. If you choose to get into anything with me, that is.”
Emotions swell within me. Brooks is such a good man. His concern for me is obvious.
And I know in my heart there is nothing he could say to change what I’m starting to feel for him.
“I’ve been in love exactly one time,” he continues. “Her name was Isla. I met her while I was in my first year of university in London. Ridiculously bad timing. I was swamped with school, I was up all hours, crashing when I wasn’t, but I knew every spare minute I could find, I wanted to spend it with her.”
I remain silent. I know this isn’t easy for him to share something so deeply personal.
“We talked about a future,” he admits. “But things fell apart. Isla needed more from me. More of my time, more of my attention. I told her things would change once I got through university. But she was miserable. I was a rubbish boyfriend, Payton. Absolute rubbish. I fell asleep when we had time together. I would get caught up on shifts and would have to cancel dates. Isla never understood how an animal could come before her. I couldn’t make her see that this was a temporary situation. That while my career would have demands on my time, the all-consuming mode of learning to be a vet would change.”
“But she didn’t see it that way,” I say quietly.
“No,” Brooks says. “She broke up with me during the last year of university. She told me I didn’t understand what a relationship was about. That I didn’t know how to make her happy. That I was flawed especially when it came to women.”
“Brooks, that’s wrong,” I say emphatically. “And not true.”
“Isla was entitled to say what she was feeling,” Brooks says, shifting his gaze out to the yard. “But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t gutted by it.”
My heart hurts for him. I can’t imagine falling in love for the first time and having the person you saw forever with say such hurtful things to you.
“I figured Isla was right,” Brooks says, interrupting my thoughts. “I wasn’t cut out for a relationship. But I was cut out to be a veterinarian. So that’s what I did.” He pauses, and shifts his gaze back toward me. “Until I met you.”
Brooks suddenly rises and stands at the edge of my chair. He extends his hand toward mine, and I put my hand in his. Brooks clasps it firmly and pulls me up, drawing me closer to him. He places my hand on his chest, holding it against his heart.
I can’t breathe as I feel his heart beat against my palm. I can’t. My heart is racing and my throat is dry and I’ve never experienced a feeling like this before.
“I know this is our first date, and I’ve probably done this all wrong, but I wanted you to know. I’m not perfect. I’m flawed. And if you see me, that’s what you are going to get. I’m not saying I know where this will go, but for the first time in years I’m willing to take the chance. If you are willing to take a chance on me, that is.”
I stare up into his eyes, which are anxiously waiting for my answer.
“If you’ve changed your mind I understand,” Brooks says softly.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say. “Your flaws, whatever they might be, don’t scare me.”
Brooks’ eyes flicker in response. “You don’t scare easily, do you?”
“No. But you should know that.”
“I should?”
“I ate beans in orange sauce for you. With eggs. Obviously, I’m in this, Dr. Martin. Because that was terrifying. I wouldn’t do that for anyone else.”
Then I see it. His face goes from serious to radiant with my words, and a sexy grin lights up his gorgeous face.
“You can’t turn me into Prince William, you know,” Brooks says sexily, sliding one hand around my waist and bringing me more tightly into his arms. “There’s no self-help book for that.”
“Mmm, that would be bad
if I wanted Prince William. But I don’t.”
Brooks cocks an eyebrow at me. “Harry?”
“I only like ginger hair on Kune Kune pigs and Lionhead rabbits.”
“Hmmm, so it appears the odds are increasing in my favor,” he murmurs.
The feels.
“Yes,” I say, my heart pounding.
He gently takes my hand and lifts it to his full lips, and oh, so slowly presses a sweet kiss against my knuckles. My body instantly burns from the sensation of his warm lips brushing against my skin. I feel dizzy with excitement from that sweet, romantic gesture.
“Do you know what I’d like to do now?” he asks, his eyes burning into mine.
“What’s that?”
“I want to properly kiss you,” he whispers.
Then he lowers his mouth to mine.
CHAPTER 11
*Mental Note* Today’s plan to improve myself item (cont.): I will make sure I’m not swept up in the romance of the evening. I’m dating as a woman now. Not a girl. Part of self-improvement is being honest about my experiences. If he turns out to be boring, one-dimensional, or a sexist idiot, it doesn’t matter how good he kisses. Attraction is both physical and mental. Conversely, if he’s witty, a great conversationalist, listens well and kisses like a dead salmon at the Public Market, that matters, too. Part of raising my dating game is to be honest and objective about all elements of the date.
Result: Oh, my God.
Brooks is sexy, charming, intelligent, sensitive, loving toward animals, funny, considerate, simply all around swoon-worthy.
And his kissing game is ON POINT.
Or should that be ON FIRE?
***
I close my eyes as Brooks’ lips meet mine. The second they do, and with the mere brush of his warm mouth on mine, sparks fly. He releases my hand and places his palm against the side of my face as he slowly parts my lips with his.
Heat fills me the second he gently eases my mouth open. Brooks’ kiss is slow and deliberate, exploring me, tasting me in a sensual way. I feel his thumb move along my cheekbone, his other hand gliding up my back, and my senses soak everything in. I taste the wine on his tongue, I inhale the glorious scent of his skin, the citrus cologne which is deliciously enveloping me. I feel the roughness of his hand, the light stubble brushing against my face as his mouth moves against mine. Excitement races through me, as my body loves the way Brooks is kissing and touching me right now.
