“Get the fuck out.”
“He’s right there. Through the fence. I just had a full conversation with him in my backyard, and his cat sat on my chest. I’ve also been watching his videos through my curtains.” I’m giggling at myself.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. I need to come over. I need to see this. Have you been inside his house?”
“No. I barely managed to talk to him over the fence without my glasses fogging up.”
“Claire Darling, you are living in a romance novel, and you don’t even know it. This man is gorgeous, famous, clearly obsessed with you, based on that video, and he’s your neighbor. With a fence you can lean over and?—”
“He’s not obsessed with me. He made a recipe from my book. That’s professional courtesy.”
“Right, and it involves slapping dough while shirtless and calling someone delicious in front of all their followers.”
I press my free hand to my face. She’s not wrong. I hate that she’s not wrong.
“Okay,” Katie says, shifting into agent mode, which is the tone she uses when she’s already three steps ahead and expects me to keep up. “This is your chance. Get to know him, be friendly. Be your charming, funny, gorgeous self that you refuse to believe exists. Because if Brody keeps making your recipes on camera, your book sales will recover, the publisher will come back to the table, and that horrific interview clip gets buried under a mountain of content featuring your name next to the hottest food blogger on the internet.”
“You make it sound so strategic.”
“It’s also the universe handing you a gift wrapped in abs, and you’d better not send it back.”
“Fine, I’ll be friendly.”
“But I want daily updates. Hourly, if possible. I want?—”
“Don’t you have plans today?”
“Oh God. Yes.” Her voice drops into theatrical dread. “My mother and her new boyfriend are driving into town. Did I mention the boyfriend is twenty-eight?”
“You mentioned.”
“He has a son. Who’s coming along for the trip. He’ll be, what, seven? Eight? I’m going to spend the day pretending I’m thrilled about my mother dating someone who could be my brother.”
“Want to swap? You can stare at my gorgeous, half-naked neighbor through the blinds, and I’ll go charm your mother’s boyfriend’s preteen.”
“Don’t tempt me.” She laughs. “Okay. I have to go. But, Claire?”
“Yeah?”
“He called you delicious. That is not a man who made a recipe for professional courtesy.” She hangs up.
I sit on the kitchen floor for a full thirty seconds, grinning at my phone. Then I get up, go to the couch, and hit Play on the video one more time.
The rolling pin. The wink. The slap. The caramel drizzle. The groan.
Recipe from the incredibly talented (and delicious) Claire Darling.
I watch it three more times, and I’m swooning again. I close the app. Open it again. Close it. God, I’m in so much trouble.
4
BRODY
“She’s going to watch a movie. Should we invite ourselves over?”
Damien stares at me from the counter beside the coffee machine, one white paw lifted to his mouth, his expression so flat I’m convinced he’s judging me.
“Nope. You’re right. That would be a bit much.”