Dateline Matrimony (Hot off the Press! 3)
Page 56
my daughter to find success with her brains and her ambition, not her face or her body.”
“Good for you.”
Setting a glass of root beer in front of him, Teresa took her seat again and reached for the soda she’d been drinking before he arrived. “It’s nice for you to be able to choose your assignments.”
“Why do you think I stay in this job? It’s not for the big bucks. And I don’t think I’ll be winning any Pulitzer prizes for local news coverage. I like the freedom. The chance to work out of my house.”
“And the extra time to work on your novel, I’m sure.”
He shrugged. “That, too.”
“What’s it about?”
He sipped his drink, then set the glass on the table. “It’s a fantasy novel. Good against evil in a world populated with wizards and spirits and mythical beasts.”
“Really?”
“You sound surprised. What did you think I was writing?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A mystery or a thriller, perhaps. A tough-talking, hard-living detective story, maybe.”
“Too normal. I like weird.”
She couldn’t help laughing. “Imagine that.”
“Surely you aren’t calling me weird.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Smiling, she watched as he took another drink of his root beer. “I would like to read your book.”
“I’ve never let anyone read it.”
“Why? Isn’t that why you write? So people can read and enjoy your stories?”
“When it’s ready.”
“When will it be ready?”
His smile was lopsided. “Good question.”
“Wouldn’t you like feedback?”
“Only good feedback. I don’t take criticism well.”
She didn’t find that statement surprising. “So let me read it. If I don’t like it, I’ll lie and tell you I do.”
Laughing softly, Riley shook his head. “Something tells me you would be the world’s worst liar. Your eyes would give you away.”
She batted her lashes. “You think I have honest eyes?”
“You have very expressive eyes. I can’t always tell what you’re thinking, but I can usually sense when you’re holding something back.”
Because that made her uncomfortable, she looked away from him—just in case he could read something in her eyes she didn’t want him to see. Standing, she moved toward the apple-shaped ceramic cookie jar on the counter. “I have some peanut butter cookies that Marjorie sent home for the kids. Would you like one?”
“No, thanks.”