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Authors: Tanya Michaels
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aren’t in the Middle East,” he clarified as they rose to leave. “I went to Abbeville, Louisiana, for the cooking of a five-thousand-egg omelet.” Five thousand eggs? The mind boggled.
“I’ve gambled aboard Mississippi riverboat casinos, been climbing and rappelling in Denver. My latest trip was to New Mexico. I have some vacation time saved up for this summer and want to get to Hawaii. And in the fall, I’d like to take a quick trip up to New England. Even if it’s only for a day, I want to see the leaves.”
“Not much autumn color in Houston, is there?” she commiserated.
“I also like meeting new people,” he said, holding open the restaurant door for her. “And I don’t know that many women who can knowledgeably discuss Scandinavian rock bands and eat calzones bigger than their heads. You’re full of surprises, Brooke.”
“That’s ironic,” she said with a rueful smile over her shoulder. “Because I’m not a big fan of surprises.”
“That’s okay.” He winked at her. “I like them enough for both of us.”
Chapter Seven
Brooke had just stepped out of the shower Saturday morning when she heard her phone ring. “Hello?”
“Did you get my message last night?” Giff asked, his tone sheepish.
“I did.” When Jake had dropped her off after their late dinner, she’d found a lengthy apology on her answering machine. Giff had admitted that it had been calculated on his part, waiting until late in the day to ask her to go with Jake because he was afraid that if she had more notice, she might demur and invite someone like Kresley instead. But then he’d been swept up into meetings and hadn’t realized until later that night that he’d never given her a heads-up.
“So, did the two of you end up going to the concert together?”
“Yeah. And, I admit, we had fun.” She started to say that his friend was a heck of a dancer, but second-guessed herself at the last instant.
Giff sighed, clearly relieved. “Does that mean you’ll forgive me my isolated, never-to-be-repeated Machiavellian moment? I’m on the way back to Houston now and fully prepared to grovel in person.”
She laughed. “No groveling necessary. How about you just promise not to ambush me again?”
“Absolutely. I wouldn’t normally have done that, you know. I just— He’s a good guy. I wanted to give you a chance to see that side of him.”
“Well, mission accomplished. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have thirty minutes to get presentable for your mom. Which is going to be a stretch since I’m currently dripping wet and wearing a towel.”
“All right, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Brooke was looking forward to supper at Grace’s, which she predicted would be blissfully normal, entirely unlike the evening Giff had first met her parents a month ago. The Nichols had invited Meg and her then-boyfriend over for dinner and once Didi realized that her other daughter was also seeing someone, she’d insisted Brooke and Giff join them. Everett had tried to impress everyone with an experimental dish, but let his perfectionist temperament get in the way—declaring the meal too flawed to serve. So they’d had to wait an additional forty minutes for pizza to be delivered, during which time Meg’s boyfriend had insisted on performing for them. He’d juggled several of Didi’s household knickknacks, inadvertently breaking a trophy she’d prized from a long-ago dance competition. To be fair to the juggler, he’d had three drinks on an empty stomach while waiting for the promised food. Probably he was better at his job when sober.
I should have proposed to Giff myself after that night, Brooke thought as she stepped out of her apartment and locked the front door. Anyone who’d been as patiently amused and good-natured about his three hours with the Nichols family was a keeper. But then, that was Giff. Mr. Supportive. She was secure in the knowledge that whatever decisions she made, Giff would back them. The closest
“I’ve gambled aboard Mississippi riverboat casinos, been climbing and rappelling in Denver. My latest trip was to New Mexico. I have some vacation time saved up for this summer and want to get to Hawaii. And in the fall, I’d like to take a quick trip up to New England. Even if it’s only for a day, I want to see the leaves.”
“Not much autumn color in Houston, is there?” she commiserated.
“I also like meeting new people,” he said, holding open the restaurant door for her. “And I don’t know that many women who can knowledgeably discuss Scandinavian rock bands and eat calzones bigger than their heads. You’re full of surprises, Brooke.”
“That’s ironic,” she said with a rueful smile over her shoulder. “Because I’m not a big fan of surprises.”
“That’s okay.” He winked at her. “I like them enough for both of us.”
Chapter Seven
Brooke had just stepped out of the shower Saturday morning when she heard her phone ring. “Hello?”
“Did you get my message last night?” Giff asked, his tone sheepish.
“I did.” When Jake had dropped her off after their late dinner, she’d found a lengthy apology on her answering machine. Giff had admitted that it had been calculated on his part, waiting until late in the day to ask her to go with Jake because he was afraid that if she had more notice, she might demur and invite someone like Kresley instead. But then he’d been swept up into meetings and hadn’t realized until later that night that he’d never given her a heads-up.
“So, did the two of you end up going to the concert together?”
“Yeah. And, I admit, we had fun.” She started to say that his friend was a heck of a dancer, but second-guessed herself at the last instant.
Giff sighed, clearly relieved. “Does that mean you’ll forgive me my isolated, never-to-be-repeated Machiavellian moment? I’m on the way back to Houston now and fully prepared to grovel in person.”
She laughed. “No groveling necessary. How about you just promise not to ambush me again?”
“Absolutely. I wouldn’t normally have done that, you know. I just— He’s a good guy. I wanted to give you a chance to see that side of him.”
“Well, mission accomplished. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have thirty minutes to get presentable for your mom. Which is going to be a stretch since I’m currently dripping wet and wearing a towel.”
“All right, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Brooke was looking forward to supper at Grace’s, which she predicted would be blissfully normal, entirely unlike the evening Giff had first met her parents a month ago. The Nichols had invited Meg and her then-boyfriend over for dinner and once Didi realized that her other daughter was also seeing someone, she’d insisted Brooke and Giff join them. Everett had tried to impress everyone with an experimental dish, but let his perfectionist temperament get in the way—declaring the meal too flawed to serve. So they’d had to wait an additional forty minutes for pizza to be delivered, during which time Meg’s boyfriend had insisted on performing for them. He’d juggled several of Didi’s household knickknacks, inadvertently breaking a trophy she’d prized from a long-ago dance competition. To be fair to the juggler, he’d had three drinks on an empty stomach while waiting for the promised food. Probably he was better at his job when sober.
I should have proposed to Giff myself after that night, Brooke thought as she stepped out of her apartment and locked the front door. Anyone who’d been as patiently amused and good-natured about his three hours with the Nichols family was a keeper. But then, that was Giff. Mr. Supportive. She was secure in the knowledge that whatever decisions she made, Giff would back them. The closest
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