Brandon had gifted her with just before she came home from the hospital, Anastasia took small baby steps toward her granddaughter. Draping one arm a bit more heavily than she would have liked to over the girlâs slender, sturdy shoulders she asked, âReady to run through those lines with me?â
Victoria had a smile that lit up a room. Anastasia liked to say the girl got it from her. âAbsolutely, Gemma.â
âWell, Iâm set for the afternoon,â Anastasia pronounced. She looked at her son and Isabelle. âNow, go, both of you.â As they began to leave, Anastasia raised her voice and called out after Brandon, âMaybe she can help you with your writerâs block.â
Stunned, Isabelle looked at him. This was something new. Brandon Slade was regarded as exceedingly prolific and never at a loss for either ideas or words. âYou have writerâs block?â
âI do not have writerâs block.â The strongly voiced denial was aimed at his mother, not Isabelle. His tone softened as he walked out of the gym and addressed her. âIt just hasnât come all together for me yet,â he allowed evasively. âDoesnât mean that it wonât,â he added quickly.
Isabelle nodded. There was no reason to believe that it wouldnât. âAnd youâre hoping if you see the right locale, the story will start falling into place for you.â
âExactly.â There was gratitude in Brandonâs eyes when he looked at her just as they reached the front door. âYou understand.â
âI do a lot of that in my line of work. Understanding,â she clarified when he continued regarding her, looking just the slightest bit baffled. âI understand what theyâre going through. I understand the frustration when their progress isnât going as fast as they would like it to. And I understand why they resort to procrastination when they should be pushing forward.â He opened the front door, waiting for her to walk out first. But she remained standing where she was. âListen, you donât need me to tag along. I understand that you agreed just to humor your motherââ
âThen maybe youâre not as âunderstandingâ as you think,â he contradicted. âI really would like the company,â he assured her, adding, âand you could give me another take on the location.â
She doubted he needed anyone elseâs input. At least, not hers. âIsnât writing really the ultimate intimate experience? You dig into yourself to get the story, the emotions, the specific characteristics of your peopleââ
âAll true,â he agreed. But she was overlooking something. âThe bottom line is that I do it to entertain my readers and to bring in a few thousand more. In other words, the general public.â Very gently, he ushered her out the door and closed it behind him. âYou could be my publicâunless you have something else to do,â he interjected. It occurred to him that he just might have taken too much for granted by assuming Isabelle would be willing to drop everything to hop into the car with him and take off.
Isabelle didnât answer immediately. Instead, she appeared to seriously consider the matter. Putting herhands out as if she were actually weighing two things, she lifted first her right hand, then her left, murmuring under her breath in what was a stage whisper, âHmm, doing my laundry, scouting out a location for a new Brandon Slade thriller. Hard call, but I think the scouting thing has a slight edge.â Dropping her hands, her eyes crinkled as she laughed. âLetâs go.â
For the first time, he noticed that Isabelle had a dimple in the corner of her mouth. It was only on the right, and it was damn near delectable, Brandon caught himself thinking.
Trying not to dwell on that, or the thoughts about her mouth it brought with it, he led