I will not think of sex.
Well, at least not until after the interview.
I will not. I will not. I will not.
I repeat that adage as I bound up the steps in The Dating Pool’s building.
I’m a civilized man. I’m more than capable of contemplating many of life’s other great topics for a full hour—is there an afterlife, is revenge truly sweet, and, well, women.
And that lasted less than one minute.
Okay, maybe I’m not that civilized.
But I need to be.
So, when Bellamy opens the door to her podcast studio, I’ve got two things to say to my brain.
Dirty goals, stand down.
Business goals, you’re up.
And that means it’s time to get to know her a little better. It’s always good to understand who you’re dealing with.
Even when the brunette flashes her trademark smile my way—a smile that I swear holds a touch of naughty—I force my mind to stick to business, peering around the space. “So, this is where you work that Most Devoted Guide to Romance magic?”
“Abracadabra.” With a wave of an imaginary magic wand, she gestures to the mics and the mixer, then pats a chair.
I sink down in a comfortable blue one in front of a sea of gadgets and gizmos that don’t make me think of sex. That’s progress. Gold star for me. “Question for you before we start,” I say.
“So that’s how we’re doing this?” She takes a seat, crosses her legs. “You’re asking the questions?”
“Seems I am. You good with that?”
“Fire away,” she says.
I point to the studio setup. “Was this the end game for you?”
“The podcast?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t dream of being a podcaster as a little girl, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“What did you dream of?” I ask, more interested in the woman herself than the podcaster.
“Ponies.”
The image of a young Bellamy brushing a horse is impossibly endearing. “You’re one of those girls who was into horses,” I say, a little wonder in my tone, since I didn’t quite expect that from her.
She raises her right hand in an oath. “Guilty as charged. I grew up in Colorado. My mom taught riding lessons. We were horse people, and I was obsessed with my Appaloosa.”
“I need to know his name or her name, and I need to know now,” I say. The name of someone’s pet always tells you something about the person.
She laughs, then answers, “Mrs. Whatsit.”
“Fan of A Wrinkle in Time?”
“My favorite story growing up.”
“It’s a great tale of self-discovery, and Mrs. Whatsit is a terrific guide for Meg.”
“I’m impressed you placed the name,” she says, flashing a different smile of pure delight.
I give an easy shrug. “I’ve read a few books.”
“I’ve noticed. And you know them well.” She draws a deep breath, seems to gird herself to say something hard. “Mrs. Whatsit helped me a lot through my grief.”
I blink. Wasn’t expecting that sort of patent honesty. “The book or the horse?” I ask, easing into the topic.
“Both.”
“What happened?”
“My mom died when I was thirteen. It was . . . devastating.” Her voice is strong, but it’s as if she’s had to practice hard to tell this story without breaking. “Made me even closer to the horses. Maybe that’s a weird thing to say. But she was close to them, and spending time riding made me feel connected to her after she was gone.”
The tale makes me want to comfort her, reach for her hand, maybe. But I don’t; she doesn’t seem the kind of woman to need a hug or a squeeze. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m glad you found a way through, though,” I say, relying on words rather than touch. That feels more appropriate for Bellamy and me.
“Thank you. I’m glad I found a way too. For a while, I didn’t think I would.” She brushes a loose strand of hair from her cheek. “I don’t normally offer that up . . . but you asked, and you seemed to want to know, so I tried to be direct and honest.”
“I did ask. And I’m glad I now know,” I tell her. Since she was so forthright, I’m compelled to share too. This is the first time she’s truly let down her guard with me, and it feels wrong to simply move on. “I haven’t lost a family member, but I understand what it’s like to lose someone you love. It’s not easy, and you have to find what helps you navigate a new world.”
“So true. And I’m sorry for what you’ve been through too,” she says with sympathy, and a heaviness as well.
We hold each other’s gazes for a weighty beat—a sort of truce. We’ve each admitted something harder to say than I want you. Hell, attraction is easy to confess. Hurt is not.
“And then I wanted to be a musician,” she says, fiddling with her mic stand, adjusting it just so. “But I didn’t have enough talent for the cello to go beyond college orchestra . . . Though, I do have a talent for talking about love, so maybe I was always meant for this job. I love love. I believe my mom passed that on to me. My dad too. And that is why I started my podcast. I feel very lucky that it was a success. When The Dating Pool bought into it, I lost some of the freedom, but I still get to share love. And love is a fantastic thing.” She takes a steadying breath, smiles again. “So that’s a good lead-in for this interview. Ready?”