Chapter 3

It was quite possible that Owen would pass out before he made it back to his office.

Doing his best to recite the names of all the planets and constellations as he walked, he almost sagged with relief when his doorway came into view. He quickly made his way inside, pulled his phone out of his satchel, and immediately called Riley’s number.

It went to voice mail.

Cursing, he put the phone down without leaving a message and tried to figure out what he was supposed to do. He didn’t have any notes to make or papers to grade or any scheduled calls. No. He had said that to Brooke to buy himself a little bit of time. Most things that came out of Owen’s mouth were carefully considered, and in one conversation with her he had managed to blurt out that he was more than likely going to hire her and then lied about his plans.

Who the heck was he?

He sat down in his chair and tried to consider his options. By his own calculations, Brooke would be knocking on his door in around fifty-three minutes. He could probably come up with a reasonable excuse why he had to leave before she returned and just text her his apology.

But he didn’t have her number, and he didn’t like the idea of lying.

Again.

And just because Riley wasn’t available didn’t mean he couldn’t call one of his other brothers. Owen knew if he picked up the phone and called any one of them, they’d help him out. Okay, there was his solution.

He called Aidan first. But he was in the middle of an inspection on one of the new homes he was building, and after a quick apology and a promise to call later, he was gone.

No big deal—he was going to remain hopeful.

Next he called Hugh. Unfortunately—according to his wife, Aubrey, who had answered his phone—his brother was getting ready to cut the ribbon on the new property they were breaking ground on. And with another quick apology and a promise to call, she was gone.

Great.

That left Quinn. And as much as he knew Quinn would make the time to talk, if he could, Owen felt the most intimidated by him. Quinn was always the most confident and cocky brother, and somehow that wasn’t what Owen needed at the moment. He needed a little…sympathy. That wasn’t Quinn’s strong suit.

But desperate times called for desperate measures, so he dialed.

“What’s up, Bro?” Quinn asked by way of greeting.

“Oh…um…I was wondering if you had a few minutes to talk. I need advice.”

Silence.

“Um…Quinn?”

“Yeah, yeah…give me a minute. I’m trying to process that. You, the brainiac of the family, want advice from me, the guy who almost flunked out of school. Wow.”

Owen couldn’t help but huff with irritation. Why couldn’t anyone look at him like he was just a man? Why did everything come back to IQ and intelligence? It was beyond frustrating!

“Okay, I’m ready,” Quinn said, interrupting Owen’s thoughts. “Lay it on me.”

Taking a steadying breath, Owen quickly went over the situation with Brooke and how she was coming to his office for coffee. “So what do I do?”

“You mean other than drink the coffee and talk to her?”

“Quinn,” he said, “there’s more to it. At least there is for me, and you know it! She’s different. She’s not a colleague, and she’s not shy like me, and I have a feeling that by having her come here to the office where there are no distractions, it’s going to be like there’s a spotlight on me or something and all of my…awkwardness is going to be on full display.”

“And what if it is?” Quinn countered. “Dude, we’ve all been saying it for years—there is nothing wrong with you. Hell, there’s nothing wrong with being smart or quiet or shy or…just different! And if anyone makes you feel that way, then it’s their problem, not yours. If this woman says anything to make you feel that way, then she can leave. Don’t hire her. Don’t talk to her, and tell her uncle you don’t appreciate his interference.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Owen replied. “Brooke hasn’t said or done anything to make me feel uncomfortable. This is about me. This is how I feel. All the time.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…oh. So what do I do? How do I stop feeling this way? She’s going to be here in…” He stopped and looked at his watch. “Thirty-seven minutes. How do I act, what do I say to guarantee I’m not going to have a panic attack?”

“Owen,” Quinn began seriously, “there is no way you can change how you feel or how you respond in that amount of time.”

“I wish Riley had answered the phone,” Owen grumbled.

“Hey! I take offense to that!”

“Sorry.”

“Look, I get it. You and Riley—the twin thing—I get it. But there isn’t anything he could do or say to make you transform into a different person who is full of witty conversation skills and confidence in the next thirty minutes.”

“Thirty-six.”

“Whatever!” Quinn snapped. “There’s no quick fix here, Owen. You need to believe in yourself. You think you’re the only one who gets nervous around a beautiful woman? Well…you’re not.”

“I bet you never were.”

“Are you kidding me?” he laughed. “Holy crap…I was always nervous, but I knew how to hide it. Call it false bravado or whatever, but I was insecure. And even though Anna and I knew each other for practically our entire lives? She scared the hell out of me when we first started dating. My feelings for her kind of terrified me. And on top of that, I suddenly felt insecure and clueless.”

“I remember,” Owen said, recalling a conversation the two of them had had when Quinn and Anna began dating.

“So you’re not alone, Owen. It’s not just you. And you know what? It’s not a bad thing to be a little bit nervous around a woman.” He paused. “I think the difference is…when it’s the right woman, those nerves make you want to be a better person, a better man. And being that you’ve never freaked out over a woman before like this, I’m thinking Brooke has to mean something to you.”

“How is that possible? I just met her. I barely know her.” But even as Owen was saying the words, he knew. He’d dated women—not as much as his brothers, but he’d dated enough to realize Brooke was different.

“It’s not about how long you know someone. Look at me and Anna.”

“You were friends since you were five. This is hardly the same thing.”

“And yet it took me over twenty years to realize she was the one!” Quinn chuckled. “Then look at Hugh. He fell for Aubrey. Fast.”

“Well—”

“Or Aidan. It took him a while to admit it, but you know he fell for Zoe at first sight. But he was too uptight to do anything about it.”

“I guess—”

“And then there’s Riley and Savannah. He fell hard and fast, and they pretty much ran to the altar!”

“I’m not looking to run—”

“I’m only trying to point out how there is no set-in-stone timeline for how long it takes to fall for someone. And besides that, it’s totally okay to like this woman and she doesn’t end up being the one. Not every girl you date is going to be. You know what I mean?”

Actually, he did. Go figure. “I do.”

“Okay. Whew,” Quinn said with relief. “So I helped, right? I totally stepped up and was the one to talk you down from the ledge.”

“I wasn’t planning on climbing out on one.”

Quinn laughed. “Not an actual… You know what? Never mind. Listen, I have to go. I’m under this Mustang, and now I need both hands to get this pipe down.”

“You’ve been under a car this whole time?”

“Well…yeah. Why?”

“Why didn’t you simply tell me you were busy?”

“Because you said you needed advice. You never call me for advice. There was no way I was going to blow you off. This is just a pipe. It will be here until I’m ready to remove it. You’re my brother, and you’re more important.”

Well, damn, Owen thought. And then he felt bad he hadn’t wanted to call Quinn.

“I know I tease you a lot,” Quinn said, “and I’m pretty sure I was your last resort.”

“I didn’t call Darcy.”

“Well, at least there’s that,” Quinn laughed. “But, Owen? I’m glad you called. And I want you to promise me you’re going to call me back tonight and let me know how it went.”

“You mean…call and tell you about my conversation with Brooke?”

“No…I mean to tell me about your date with Brooke.”

“But…it’s not a date,” he quickly stammered. “It’s…coffee. We’re merely going to talk. It’s not a big deal.”

“Owen?”

“Yeah?”

“Consider it an informal date, and be happy about it. A beautiful woman asked to have a coffee date with you. That’s a good thing.”

“But—”

“I have to go. You’re going to be fine. Just remember…a good thing.” And then he hung up.

Owen wasn’t so sure he believed his brother because now that he was looking at Brooke’s coming to his office as a date, he felt even more nervous than he had before he’d picked up the phone! But, on the flip side, he’d bonded with the one brother he normally had nothing in common with. And that made him feel better.

About everything.

If his overly confident and cocky brother believed in him, why couldn’t he believe in himself? Brooke wanted to have coffee with him. She seemed to enjoy talking to him, and, if he thought about it, he felt like the ice had been broken between them. If he looked at this as an informal job interview rather than a date, he’d be fine.

Because at the bottom of all of this, that was what Brooke was doing. She wanted to come and work with him in Nevada for her own personal reasons. He was the means to an end. And Owen was okay with it. It wasn’t as if she were interested in him as a man. If anything, this knowledge would make social interaction with her easier. This was strictly a business relationship, and as long as he remembered that, he would be fine.

He kept up that line of mental reasoning as he went about straightening his desk and going over his schedule for the following week. For a minute, he even managed to let himself imagine how his schedule would change if he had Brooke working with him. He tried to figure out how much of his time would be spent on training her on the things she’d need to know about the meteor shower and the rules in place for the students. Then he tried to imagine them switching places while Brooke taught him how to be more at ease leading such a small group.

He had a feeling her job would be tougher.

And before he could second-guess that thought, there was a soft knock on the door. He took a steadying breath, turned around, and faced her.

And forgot to be nervous.

* * *

Beside her, Brooke’s cell phone rang, and she almost couldn’t hear it over the sound of laughter.

Hers and Owen’s.

He had been telling her about one of his first attempts at teaching, and it had been a comedy of errors—something he could laugh about now but at the time had been pretty traumatic.

“Excuse me,” she said, trying to contain her lingering giggles. Looking at the screen she saw it was her uncle. “Hey, Uncle Howard!”

“Hey there!” he replied. “I was wondering if I’m supposed to be holding dinner for you.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s after six, and you and I normally are sitting down to eat at this time. When you didn’t call or text, I figured maybe you were sidetracked at the art department again,” he teased.

“What? Oh…no,” she said, chuckling. “Owen and I are having coffee and talking, and I guess I lost track of time. I’m so sorry. Please go ahead and eat without me. I’ll probably just grab something on the way home.”

“Are you sure? I was only going to do some soup and sandwiches tonight, but…like I said, I wanted to make sure you were all right and that you didn’t want me to wait for you.”

“I’m so sorry I didn’t call. It was very rude of me.”

“Nonsense. I’m glad you’re spending time getting to know Owen. Remind him that I have those applications for next year if he’s interested.”

“Applications for what?”

“For him, if he wants to come back next year to teach again.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, enjoy yourself, and I’ll see you when you get home.”

“Okay, Uncle Howard. Thanks!”

“Oh…and, Brooke?”

“Yes?”

“I noticed the studio door was shut. Does this mean you started painting?”

She blushed and looked over at Owen, who was watching her with curiosity. “Um…yes. I started it yesterday and finished it today. I didn’t realize I had shut the door.” Actually, she had. She still was coming to grips with the fact that she had painted Owen. She wasn’t ready to explain that choice to her uncle yet.

“Wonderful! Well, I can’t wait to see it.”

“Um—”

“No, no, no…I understand. You’ll show me when you’re ready. I’m just glad you’re putting the room to good use.”

“I am, I am,” she replied and smiled. “Thank you for setting it up for me. It was nice to be able to just go in there and paint when the mood struck and to have such wonderful equipment ready for me. It was very thoughtful of you.”

“Nonsense. You’re my favorite niece.”

“I’m your only niece,” she reminded him playfully—it was a game they’d been playing with one another since she was a little girl. “Go have your soup, and I’ll see you when I get home.”

Brooke hung up, placed her phone back down on the desk, and smiled at Owen.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Everything’s fine. He was just concerned because I wasn’t home yet and he was making dinner.” And then she started to giggle again.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“I guess I can’t believe we lost track of time. I mean…I can believe I did. You’ve witnessed me doing that already. But I guess I thought you’d be watching the clock to see how fast you could get rid of me.” Then she smiled at him. “I’m kind of glad you didn’t. I’ve enjoyed talking with you, Owen.”

He dipped his head as if trying to hide the slight flush of his cheeks, but it was too late. She thought it was very sweet.

With a happy sigh, Brooke stood, cleaned up the wrappers from the brownie and marble pound cake they’d eaten, and then threw away their empty coffee cups. Owen stood as well and straightened the chairs.

“I enjoyed talking with you too,” he said softly, and Brooke heard the uncertainty in his voice and had to fight the urge—again—to just wrap her arms around him and hug him. She was that kind of person, a hugger, and she couldn’t help it. But she also knew Owen probably wouldn’t be comfortable with her doing that.

“I’m glad,” she replied and gripped her hands together to keep from touching him.

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry you missed dinner with Howard.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “Don’t be. It was only soup-and-sandwich night, and I got to have a brownie.”

Confusion was written all over his face. “That’s not your dinner, is it?”

Brooke shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe. Probably not. It seems like enough right now, but I have a feeling once I get home and relax, I’ll regret not eating more. There are some great takeout places I pass on the way home. Maybe I’ll grab a salad or something.”

What she really wanted was pizza but figured that wouldn’t sound very flattering—even though she just admitted to being satisfied with a brownie for dinner.

Owen nodded. “I’m probably going to grab some pizza. I still haven’t gotten used to the whole Chicago deep-dish thing, but it’s growing on me.”

She could only stare at him.

“Um…what? Did I say something wrong?” he asked after a moment.

Shaking her head to clear it, she nodded. “I…” She stopped and laughed at herself. “I was actually sitting here thinking I probably wasn’t going to get a salad because I wanted pizza. But I was afraid to admit it.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“I thought it would make me look bad,” she murmured and looked away, feeling a little ridiculous.

“Being honest will make you look bad? I don’t…I don’t understand that.”

Brooke rolled her eyes and looked at him. “No woman wants to admit that a brownie is her dream dinner with pizza for dessert, Owen. We’re trained to say things like we would love a salad for dinner when really what we want is a bacon double cheeseburger with fries and a milkshake.”

“I thought you wanted pizza?”

And then she couldn’t help it—and she didn’t even want to.

She hugged him.

Hugged him hard as she laughed.

When she pulled back, she saw he still looked confused. “In a perfect world, we’d be able to eat them all at one sitting and never gain weight and never be judged. I’m just saying society has taught us that women aren’t supposed to love food—even though we do. So,” she stated as she stood up straight, “I’m going to stand here and tell you that I love food. All kinds of food. Junk food. Healthy food. Foreign food. All of it.”

“But you do like pizza,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

She nodded.

“Good,” he said with a quick nod of his head. “Would you like to go and grab some deep-dish pizza with me?”

Brooke readily agreed.

Maybe hugging him hadn’t been such a bad decision after all.

* * *

It was after ten when Brooke tiptoed down the hall toward her bedroom. She knew her uncle well enough to know he had gone to his bedroom at nine and was probably reading, and as much as she wanted to talk to him about her night, Brooke figured it could wait until the morning. For now she’d just—

“Brooke? Is that you, sweetheart?”

Busted.

Walking over to his door, she gently knocked and waited for him to invite her in. She stepped into the room and smiled. “I hope you weren’t waiting up.”

“I may be getting old, but I believe I can handle staying up past ten o’clock at night,” he said with a chuckle and then held up the latest James Patterson novel. “I think this one is going to keep me up much later than usual. I’m having a hard time putting it down.”

“That’s the sign of a good book.”

“It is, it is.” He sat up straighter. “So…how was your night?”

She wasn’t even going to try to pretend she didn’t know what he was asking. Instead, Brooke walked over and sat on the corner of his bed, her smile broadening. “I had a lovely evening.”

Howard’s eyes widened slightly as his own smile grew. “A lovely evening? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that phrase before.”

“That’s because I’ve never had a lovely evening before,” she said reasonably. “After you and I talked on the phone, Owen and I grabbed some pizza.”

He nodded approvingly.

“The place was loud and crowded, and it didn’t take long for me to realize Owen wasn’t enjoying himself. And, to be honest, I wasn’t either.”

“So what did you do?”

“The restaurant was close to campus, so once we were done eating, we walked back and just sort of wandered around.”

“So you walked the entire time?”

She laughed. “No, silly. We eventually found a quiet spot near the library and then just…talked.”

“That does sound lovely,” he said. “Did you find it hard to listen to him talk about astronomy?”

“Actually, we didn’t talk about astronomy.”

Howard’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

She nodded. “I don’t know if it was a conscious decision on his part, but we spent a lot of time talking about painting. He was very curious about what kind of paints I use and why and what kind of brushes and canvases…” She looked at her uncle and gave a happy little shrug. “And when we exhausted that topic, we talked about artists we both like and admire, we covered some current events, and it was just—”

“Lovely?” he teased.

Brooke nodded and then her expression turned serious. “Uncle Howard…I know we’ve talked about this before, not judging a book by its cover, but never has that hit home more than tonight.”

“Really?” he said and then relaxed a bit against his pillows. “Do tell.”

“I think it’s fair to say that at first glance, Owen comes across as being quiet and shy. He’s not comfortable in his own skin, it seems.”

“Sounds accurate.”

“But it’s so wrong,” she said. “I think he spends so much of his time surrounded by his peers that he tends to be in work mode more than anything else, and he’s comfortable with it, but once he relaxes and you get him out of that environment?” Pausing, Brooke tried to think of the perfect phrasing to describe Owen. “He’s…he’s charming. And funny—even though I don’t think he’s trying to be most of the time, but he is. He knows so much about so many things, and I could have stayed and talked to him all night!”

“So why didn’t you?” Howard asked with a hint of humor.

Brooke made a face at him. “You did not just ask me that.”

“I believe I did.”

Sighing, she reached down and took her shoes off. “For starters, it wouldn’t have been appropriate.”

“Brooke, I’m not a prude. I know your generation isn’t quite as concerned with propriety anymore. No one’s old-fashioned like they were in my time, and I didn’t say you were going to be doing anything you would be ashamed of. I was merely pointing out if you were truly enjoying your time talking with Owen, then you should have stayed out later. You don’t have a curfew here.”

“I know, and I probably would have stayed out later, but he said he needed to leave.” And now she wondered if he’d had to or if he was done talking to her. Well, that took a little of the wind out of her sails.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Howard said, chuckling. “Don’t overthink this. If Owen said he needed to leave, then he needed to leave. Personally, I’m surprised you got him to spend so much time with you today. Between the class and coffee and then dinner—”

“Well, to be fair, I don’t think he counted the class as spending time with me.”

Howard gave her a look that said he didn’t agree, but he said nothing.

Pasting a smile she didn’t quite feel on her face, she stood up and gave her uncle a kiss on the cheek. “Anyway, I enjoyed myself. And even if Owen decides he doesn’t need or want an assistant on this project, I’m very happy to have met him. I can see why you think so highly of him.” She straightened and yawned. “I’ll let you get back to your book. Good night.”

She closed the door behind her and made her way to the guest room at the end of the hall. Flipping on the light, she walked in, placed her shoes by the closet, and went to close the blinds.

It had been a lovely night. And spending hours talking to Owen Shaughnessy had left an impression on her. From the things her uncle had said to her and the very few comments Owen had made about himself, she had the impression he didn’t often engage in casual conversations—not because he didn’t want to, but because most of the people he surrounded himself with didn’t.

She knew the feeling. The frustration.

She’d been a local pageant queen and cheerleader for so many years that people naturally assumed she wasn’t smart. And because of that, so many conversations bored her to tears because she felt as if they were being dumbed down.

And far be it from her to correct anyone.

Maybe she should have, but when? Was there ever a good time to look someone in the eye and say, “Hello? I have an IQ of 136! I’m not completely clueless!” As much as she hated to admit it, Brooke knew she probably could have tried harder to make people take her seriously. But Neal had been the smart one, and she was the pretty one, and that was the way things always seemed to be. For whatever reason, it made her family…work.

Until it didn’t.

Sighing, she wandered around the room, collecting pajamas and a hair clip, and then walked into the en suite bathroom and closed the door. This was her routine—change into pajamas, pull her hair back, wash her face, brush her teeth, floss, apply moisturizer, and stare at her reflection. Brooke knew who, and what, she saw looking back at her, but tonight she couldn’t help but wonder what other people saw.

Okay, that was a lie. She knew what most people saw—the pretty girl with a nice smile, a pointless hobby, and no real direction for her future.

But what did Owen see when he looked at her? Did he make that same blanket assumption, or was he able to see more? He was the first person—other than her uncle—who seemed to take a real interest in her painting. And not just about her love of it—he wanted to know about the actual mechanics of it and why she chose the materials she did. He seemed to want to delve deeper and get beneath the surface.

And he listened when she spoke.

“Ugh,” she groaned as she walked back into the bedroom. Within minutes she was propped up against a pile of pillows and had her Kindle on. As much as she loved reading, tonight she just wasn’t in the mood. Tonight she felt… Well, she didn’t feel the need to escape. Not really. Normally a good book was the perfect way to end the day, to put all of her worries behind her and clear her mind.

But tonight she didn’t want her mind cleared. She wanted to remember everything that had happened today. Tapping the Scrabble app on the screen, she booted up a game against the computer.

And smiled as she spelled out her first word.

Lovely.

* * *

“Dude, it’s like eleven o’clock. What the hell? Are you all right?”

Owen immediately regretted calling Quinn. By the sound of his brother’s voice, he was half-asleep and had forgotten he was the one who had asked for the phone call. “Um…you told me to call.”

“I… Wait, what?” Quinn paused. “Oh. Oh yeah.” He yawned. “Sorry. So? How did it go?”

For ten minutes, Owen spoke—almost without stopping for breath—about his night with Brooke. Even as he relayed all of the things they’d talked about, Owen could still hear her voice in his mind as she said them and wished he was still sitting, talking with her rather than sitting alone on the phone with Quinn.

“Okay!” Quinn said excitedly. “So it sounds like you had a good night. Are you just getting home?”

“No. I got home about an hour ago.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? What does that mean?”

“It’s just kind of early. Did she need to get home?”

“Well…no.”

“So whose idea was it to end the night?”

“Uh…mine.”

“Owen!” Quinn snapped. “Why? Why would you do that?”

“I…I, um…I thought maybe it was time to call it a night. Maybe she goes to bed early. I know I enjoy going to bed early. Not that this is early, but when I’m not on the telescope, I’m in bed by ten thirty. You need a solid seven to eight hours of sleep a night to replenish your body and give it the rest it deserves. Studies have shown—”

“Studies have shown that this is why you used to get wedgies,” Quinn said with a huff. “When you are out with a beautiful woman to whom you are attracted, the last thing you should be thinking of is whether you’re going to get seven to eight hours of sleep!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Quinn said with an irritated sigh. “So when are you seeing her again? Did you make plans for the weekend?”

“Uh…”

“Please tell me you asked to see her again,” Quinn said slowly, and Owen could tell he was fighting hard not to clench his teeth.

“Uh…”

“You’ve dated women before, right? I mean, I know you’ve dated other women! How on earth did you get anyone to go out with you a second time?”

Part of Owen wanted to just hang up the phone in total embarrassment, but suddenly another part was clamoring to be heard—the offended part. The angry part. “Hey!” he snapped. “You know what? I get it that you’re disappointed in me, as usual, but I don’t need to sit here and be insulted. Yes, looking back, I should have asked her out again. But I didn’t. And you know what? That’s okay.”

“Owen—”

“And do you want to know why?” he asked, completely ignoring the fact that Quinn was trying to speak. “Because I am going to see her again. I have her number, and I’ll call her. Not everyone has to do things like you, Quinn. Not everyone has been fortunate enough to never have to work at getting a woman’s attention.”

“Owen, look—”

“And you know what? For a guy who seems to have all the answers, need I remind you how you were completely clueless for years about how Anna was in love with you and you were the one who looked like a…a…jerk!”

Wow, did that feel good!

There was silence on the other end of the phone, and Owen wasn’t sure if he had gone too far. He was just about to speak when Quinn cleared his throat.

“Are you done?”

Owen let out a breath and said, “I believe I am.”

“Good.”

More silence. Was he supposed to say something next?

“I’m not disappointed in you, Owen,” Quinn began, his voice softer and calmer than it had been a minute ago. “Not really. I just…I was excited for you. And it was cool how you called and asked for my advice.”

“Probably won’t be doing that again,” Owen muttered.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah… And I don’t blame you. My first instinct is to get mad when something doesn’t go the way I think it should, and then I realize what an ass I sound like. Anna reminds me of it all the time.”

“She’s right.”

“Okay, so somebody’s coming into their own,” Quinn chuckled. “It’s about damn time.”

“Wait…what? What are you talking about?”

“You! Do you realize you just stood up to me? You never do that! Ever!” A hearty laugh interrupted his praising. “Normally you’re quick to apologize, or you just sort of…I don’t know…disappear. And yet today you took a stand. And you know what? I am proud of you.”

“You are?” Owen asked hesitantly and immediately hated that he needed—and wanted—the validation.

“Dude, I think you are at a crossroads here.”

“How?”

“How did it feel to tell me off?”

“Honestly? It felt…good,” Owen said with a laugh.

“I know it had to,” Quinn agreed. “And how did it feel to go out with Brooke and not talk about your work?”

Owen thought for a minute. “That felt kind of good too.”

“You’ve been on this path, dude, for so long. Everything has been about your education and your job and how smart you are and all that. So let me ask you—are you happy with your job?”

“Yes. No. Maybe”

“Right. That was clear,” Quinn murmured. “Let me rephrase that. Are you…aspiring for something more?”

“Not particularly.”

“So? Maybe it’s time for you to put some focus on another part of life. Like your personal life.”

Could that be it? Could his brother be that insightful? Again? Twice in one day? Maybe…

“Listen…I am glad you called, and I’m glad we had the chance to talk. But Anna hasn’t been feeling well, and neither of us have been getting much sleep, so…can we talk over the weekend?”

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner? Is she okay? Has she gone to the doctor?”

Quinn chuckled. “Yeah. And you know what the doctor told us?”

“No. What?”

“That Anna’s eight months pregnant.”

“And?”

“And that’s it. That’s what’s wrong. The baby is growing, and so she can’t get comfortable, and it means she doesn’t sleep well, and then being on her feet all day at the pub…”

“Maybe she should start her maternity leave early.”

“Dude, don’t even think of telling her that. She will bite your head off.”

“I don’t understand.”

Quinn sighed. “She loves that place, and she loves her independence and thinks she’s superwoman. Honestly, I cannot wait for the baby to be here so she’ll be forced to take it easy.” And then he yawned loudly. “So…can I call you this weekend?”

“I’d like that.” Owen hung up after saying good-bye and roamed around his hotel room. It was more like a suite—it had a small kitchenette and a sitting area along with the bedroom and bathroom, and it suited him for these short-term guest lectures. Could he even call them that? Technically he was teaching, but no matter how he looked at his situation, it wasn’t permanent. That was something else he needed to focus on—finding something permanent. Traveling so much and staying in hotels was starting to get old. Hell, if he had his way, he’d back out of the Red Rock project and go home to his father’s house for a while to try to figure out where he wanted to concentrate his job search.

Then you wouldn’t need to spend time with Brooke.

And that’s when Owen knew he was in trouble. Clearly, he was infatuated with her. Other than when he was back in middle school and thought he could overcome his shyness, Owen hadn’t allowed himself to feel this way about a woman. He had learned to be practical, and while, yes, he had been involved seriously with several women over the years, none had made him feel quite like this.

Happy.

Carefree.

Hopeful.

He snorted with disgust. It had been only eight days since he’d first met her. How was it even possible he was feeling such a strong pull toward her? It wasn’t logical. It certainly wasn’t practical. And no matter what Quinn had said earlier in the day about how he and his brothers had all fallen in love at different rates—from first sight to over twenty years—it did little to comfort Owen.

Why? Because Owen didn’t do…first sight. Didn’t believe in it.

Even as it was trying to stare him in the face.

It’s not that Owen didn’t believe in falling in love. He did. He knew it was possible but…more so for other people. Like his brothers. They were normal. No one ever looked at any of them and called them strange or weird or…awkward. Yeah. Those were all reserved for him. How was it possible in such a large family that they could all be so different from one another and yet he was the only one who managed to be different in such an off way?

He sighed.

How many times had his mother held him close and told him there was nothing wrong with being different? That he should embrace it because it made him special? Too many times to count.

And that was saying something for him—a man who had a knack for counting everything.

But when Lillian Shaughnessy died, there was no one there to remind him that it was okay to be different. Or that he was going to make a difference in the world. Not that his father hadn’t tried. But with six kids, he had been more than a little overwhelmed and didn’t seem to know how to do and say all the things his wife had.

Emotion clogged his throat, and Owen tried to will it away. It had been a long time since the memory of his mother had brought him to tears. And as he sat on the upholstered chair in the corner of the room, he felt overwhelmed. And confused.

With his head thrown back, Owen tried to focus on the logical—he knew his father and his siblings would all offer him any encouragement he needed. That had been proven over and over again. And even though it wasn’t the same as hearing it from him mother, he was still extremely grateful for his family. But he also knew that this—how he was feeling about Brooke—was something he would have to deal with alone. It was too difficult to explain his insecurities to his brothers. After all, none of them ever struggled the way he had with insecurity. And, really, he was glad that they hadn’t.

He wouldn’t have wished this on his worst enemy.

So where did that leave him?

Right where he knew he was—back at square one. Women like Brooke didn’t go for men like him. She was sweet and friendly…and nice to him because she wanted the position as his assistant. He needed to remember that. He’d seen it before—people sucking up to him in order to get a job or a recommendation. It was just that this time he had allowed himself to develop feelings for the person doing it.

Was he going to see her again like he’d just told his brother he would?

No.

Was he going to offer her the job?

No.

As much as Owen appreciated Howard’s attempt at helping him, he wasn’t going to take him up on the offer. Owen was who he was, and no matter how much the faculty and the administration hounded him about learning to be less “stiff” with his students, he wasn’t going to change. He couldn’t.

Or wouldn’t.

He knew he was a damn fine astrophysicist, and at the end of the day, that’s all that mattered. He could tour every college campus with a telescope and teach and share his wisdom. It wasn’t a particularly fun subject—the creation of the cosmos was serious business. And if Owen chose to take it seriously and treat it with the respect it deserved, then why was everyone having an issue with that? There was no need for an assistant or someone to help him be less…awkward.

Damn it, he was beginning to hate that word.

Standing up, he stalked over to his closet, kicked off his shoes, and started to get ready for bed. His mind made up, he quickly decided he would seek out Howard in the morning and explain that he wouldn’t be hiring his niece. It was the coward’s way out—Owen was aware of that—but it was the best way to handle it.

Was he disappointed?

Yes.

But better to be disappointed now than to get even more attached to or involved with Brooke and then have all of his suspicions confirmed—that she had only been nice to him so she could get the job and do her painting. Which still seemed a little weird to him. She was a grown woman. Why did she need her family’s permission to paint in the desert? If she felt that strongly about her painting, there must be other ways for her to go about getting there. He understood the need for safety, but it seemed like she was going through an awful lot of trouble to appease her family.

Even sucking up to a socially awkward scientist like him.