Searching for Caryn by Susan Stoker

Author:Susan Stoker [Stoker, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stoker Aces Production LLC

Chapter Twelve

Drew couldn’t stop smiling as he remembered how adorable Caryn was the night before. She’d called when the ladies finished up at Bristol’s, and he was out his door before she’d finished talking. He’d been waiting to hear from her all night, anxious to know if the evening went well. But it was more than obvious when he saw how tight she and Bristol were that it had gone better than even he thought it would.

He’d wanted nothing more than to take her up on the invitation he’d seen in her eyes as they stood in her bedroom. But last night wasn’t the place or time. It was coming though. And he couldn’t wait.

It was a shock hearing that she beta read for Thomas Robertson. The man was a genius with words, and knowing Caryn had a role in his publishing process was astounding. The woman impressed him more and more every day.

He knocked on Art’s door at ten o’clock on the dot and nodded at the older man when he answered.

“Hi, Art. How’re you feeling today?”

“Good, good. I think the question is, though, how is Caryn feeling today?”

Drew chuckled. “A little rough around the edges?” he asked as Art gestured for him to come inside.

“You could say that. I told her not to bring Clyde’s moonshine, but she didn’t listen to me,” Art said with a snort. “Serves her right. That stuff is potent.”

“But good, I hear,” Drew said.

“Very good. The man’s a genius. Standoffish, grumpy, and wary of anyone who steps anywhere near his land, but very good at what he does.”

Drew nodded in agreement, but his attention was on Caryn. She was sitting at Art’s small kitchen table, a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee in front of her, as well as a plate with a single piece of dry toast. He grinned.

“Not a word, Drew,” she growled without lifting her eyes.

His grin widened, but he did as requested and didn’t say anything as he pulled out the chair next to her and sat. “Morning,” he said quietly.

“I’m never drinking again,” she said softly, finally looking up.

“So says everyone in the history of the world who’s been hungover after a night of drinking.”

“I’m just not good at it,” she complained.

“That’s not a bad thing,” Drew said, reaching for her hand. He ran his thumb over the back gently. “You sure were cute last night though.”

Caryn rolled her eyes. “Right. Cute. Just what every woman wants to hear.”

Glancing into the living room, Drew saw that Art wasn’t even trying to pretend he wasn’t listening. Any comment Drew might want to make about how hard it was to leave her in her bed, alone, would have to wait. “So…Thomas Robertson?” he asked instead.

“I vaguely remember telling you about him,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee.

Art walked slowly into the kitchen as he said, “Caryn’s his right-hand man. Or woman. He sends his manuscripts right after he finishes writing them—apparently he’s a terrible speller. Anyway, she reads it and tells him where it works and where it doesn’t.

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