Off the Record: A Sweet Office Romantic Comedy (The Nashville Romantics Book 1)
Off the Record: Chapter 6

Saturday morning, I wake late. Hudson and I had lingered over dinner, sharing every dish and talking easily about our families and growing up in Tennessee. I kept waiting for the suave flirt to show up, but the more I came to know Hudson, the more normal he became. He’d opted not to join us at Whiskey Sage, so I left him fairly late to meet up with Simone and Andrea and stayed out much too long with them. Now that the sun is streaming through my open drapes, highlighting dust mites and spearing my eyes with bright light, I wish I’d gone home when Hudson and I had separated last night, too.

I check my phone to see three messages waiting for me.

I check the timestamps and see that the messages rolled in an hour ago. I sit up quickly, throwing off my blankets, and run to turn on the shower.

I send him my address and jump in the shower.

“Why are you in such a hurry?” Carrie asks when I make it downstairs to replace breakfast.

“Heading out with my boss to research a piece.”

Her eyebrows lift. She’s good at the protective older sister thing. “Hudson Owens. The same guy who’s been texting you all week? What are your office rules on dating the boss, anyway?”

“We aren’t dating, so it doesn’t matter.” I grab a banana off the counter and a yogurt from the fridge. “This is research for a new column I’m trying out.”

She doesn’t look convinced, her freckles moving as her nose wrinkles. “Where are you going?”

“I…don’t…actually know.”

“Paisley,” she says, eyes widening. She pushes her long brown hair over her shoulder.

“Okay, hold on. You know Mom’s thing about how everyone has a story? That’s what my column is about. I’m replaceing regular local people and sharing their stories.”

Carrie nods slowly like she’s on board with it. “That’s actually a great concept.”

“Thanks. It’s what we’re doing today. Hudson has an idea for someone I can interview.”

“As long as this person doesn’t live down some back road and have a dungeon in their basement.”

I ignore that last bit. “We’re hopeful it’ll boost interest in the paper, so I’m trying to make sure the first few editions are solid.”

“I just don’t want this guy taking advantage of you.”

I try not to laugh, but the sound comes out anyway. “He can’t. I’m not blind to his reputation or his charm.” I might enjoy being around him, but I’m not naïve.

Again, Carrie looks like she could use some convincing, but I don’t bother trying. I eat breakfast, finish getting my hair tamed, and am ready to go as soon as Hudson pulls up in a grossly expensive midsize SUV. We’re edging into fall but it’s still on the warm end, so I have on jeans and a long-sleeved tee, with a backup sweater just in case. He’s wearing sunglasses that hide his eyes and a wide smile when he walks to the door. He sports a Henley with the sleeves pushed up and the top button flopping open. It hugs his chest and drapes down his waist, accentuating the time he spends in that gold-plated gym in his penthouse.

Okay, so the man looks just as good in regular, non-work clothes as he does in a custom suit. Noted. I’m beginning to think he’d look great in a pickle costume or smeared in mud. The man wears things well.

I slip out, trying to close the door behind me, but Carrie pushes it open. She leans against the door jamb, crossing her arms over her chest and perusing Hudson frankly. “Hi, Hudson Owens. I’m Carrie.”

He takes off his glasses and gives her a grin, reaching past me to shake her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you,” he says.

Her eyebrows tick up. “Oh?”

Great. I knew I’d shared too much about my siblings at dinner last night.

I start walking toward the car, hoping he’ll follow. “Better go now!”

Hudson remains on the low cement steps. “I hear you had a thing for playing the victim. Made your mom stock up on discounted Halloween blood and guts and everything.”

She looks confused for half a second before her expression clears. “Paisley told you about our homemade newsreels? I was so good at being half-dead.”

Hudson’s smile grows, hitting me in the gut. It doesn’t look special or anything, but let’s just say it takes a second for me to stop staring at his mouth. He’s not even looking directly at me. “I wouldn’t mind seeing them sometime,” he says, oblivious to my ogling.

Carrie isn’t, though. She catches my expression and turns a smug smile on Hudson. “You’d have to come home with us for that,” she says. “My parents have them all in the attic. Although, I’m not sure they have a VCR player anymore, so it might be moot.”

We need to leave before she invites him to Thanksgiving dinner. “Time to go!” I call from the walkway, sounding extra frazzled. I pat the back of my head. Is my hair poofing now? It seems to react to my levels of stress.

“Consider it added to my bucket list,” he says. “I can probably get my hands on a VCR player if you can replace the tapes.”

“Okay. I’ll keep you posted.”

Hudson gives her a wave and turns to meet me at the car.

“Are you finished scheming now?” I ask. “We have work to do.”

His smile is knowing, like he can sense both my attraction and how my sister cottoned on to it. He pins me with a look while sliding his sunglasses back on. “No scheming. Just some friendly planning.”

“To-may-toe, to-mah-toe.” I climb into the car and buckle my seat belt. It smells like leather, coffee, and man—a faint sage-y whiff of cologne and fresh air. He reaches for one of two to-go cups and hands it to me.

I bring it close to my nose and inhale. Caramel macchiato. Holy caramel coffee, did I just fall in love? “How did you know my drink order?” I ask, taking a heavenly sip.

“You had one the other day in my office. I’m not a creep for glancing at the label.”

Not a creep at all. “That was incredibly thoughtful.” I take another sip. Yep, definitely in love with this guy. “Where are we heading?”

He pulls onto the road and glances at me. “You’ll see.”

“Am I at least dressed for it?” I take his casual clothes to mean I don’t need to be in professional attire, but still.

Hudson’s eyes remain on the road. “You look perfect.”

I scoff playfully. “You didn’t even look at me.”

“I looked.”

My stomach turns into molten lava right there. Such a shame, really, that I’m going to burn a hole in his elite SUV, but I’m melting. I make a weird, noncommittal noise in my throat.

Hudson’s eyes flick to me, holding mine for a brief moment before sliding back to the road. “Don’t worry. You look great, and you’re going to love him.”

Not sure I’ll survive the day, but for now, I put that concern aside and enjoy the yellow, orange, and red trees lining the roads and sprinkling leaves all over the ground.

A sigh slips from my lips. “I love these fall colors.”

He shoots me a glance. “Tennessee does autumn well.”

The air through the open window hovers just between warm and crisp, the color palette is cozy and vibrant, and the drink in my hands warms me up physically and emotionally.

I guess I lied to my sister, because I’m very much in danger of falling for his charm.

Hudson pulls the car onto Main Street in Franklin. The historic downtown is lined with tall shops stacked together, the street ending in a Civil War memorial. Dried leaves litter the sidewalk and skate across the road when the wind picks up, and people mill about the shops and restaurants. It’s one of my favorite local places to grab a bite and shop for gifts, and there’s a fissure of something warm inside me since Hudson seems to like it here, too.

We walk down the sidewalk at a decent pace. I finish my drink and toss the cup into a garbage can, then follow Hudson into a boutique shop. The bell jangles over the door as we step inside. Women’s sweaters and high-end T-shirts line one wall, while home decor and kitchen signs line the other. Stands dotting the room have everything from gimmicky coffee table books to rooster-shaped measuring spoons. It’s the exact sort of shop I can replace anything or nothing, depending on what catches my fancy.

“Hudson!” The man behind the counter beams, coming out to pull Hudson into a hug. He’s tall and lanky, his sweater hanging from his shoulders. Gray wiry eyebrows that could do with a trimming frame his expressive eyes, and his head is bald and shiny. The best part is the bowtie peeking out from the collar of his brown sweater. “This must be your friend Paisley.”

“Hello,” I say, holding my hand out to shake. I’m utterly charmed.

He looks like the type of man whose resting expression is a smile. “I’m Linus. Welcome to our shop.”

Our shop? I look behind him, but there’s only a teenage girl stocking gimmicky mints at the counter.

“My wife isn’t with us anymore,” he says kindly, his tone dropping with reverence. “Liver disease took her from me just over four years ago.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He smiles. “She was a very bright light. We met in Sweden, and it was love at first sight for me. She took a little more convincing.” He winks.

“Wow, Sweden.” He knows I’m here for a story, but I have a feeling he’ll keep sharing bits of himself with me whether or not I encourage him. There’s something romantic about a man who gets starry-eyed talking about his wife.

“I was there as an exchange student. She lived next door to my host family.” His smile becomes dreamy. “I decided I was never leaving Sweden again.”

Yet here he is. I can feel the beginning of his story taking root and growing, sensing the blooms ahead are going to be gorgeous.

Linus leaves the shop in the hands of the teenager, and we walk a few doors down to a little cafe. We order sandwiches and lemonade and sit at a table against the window, eating an early lunch while Linus talks about Elisa—how they met, how they decided to bring their children to Tennessee when he inherited his father’s house, how they developed the shop. They had curated their stock together, and now he believes she is still at his side when he shops for new items to sell.

“Do you have enough information?” Linus asks when we gather on the sidewalk outside his shop.

“I should,” I tell him. Hudson stands beside me, so close his arm almost brushes mine. “Can I call you if I think of follow-up questions?”

“Of course.”

“It’s been such a pleasure to chat with you.” I hold out my hand to shake his again, but he pulls me in for a hug. His arms press into my shoulder blades, the type of embrace you get from an affectionate uncle.

He then hugs Hudson before heading back inside. Speaking to Linus felt like a breath of crisp autumn air—fresh, the old and the new swirling together.

I wait for the door to close before sending an accusatory glance at Hudson. “You could have warned me I’d need tissues.”

“I didn’t know you were a cryer.”

“I’m human. You knew his story already. Isn’t that enough?”

Hudson grins. “You want to walk around a little?”

I definitely don’t want to leave yet. “I have nowhere else to be,” I say with a shrug.

He looks right through me. “There’s an ice cream place on the corner back there.”

“That smell is waffle cones? I could go for an ice cream.”

Hudson tips his head towards the ice cream shop and I fall in line beside him. “So, what made you want to be a writer?” he asks. “Was it the newsreels you made with your sister?”

“Sisters, actually. Plural. And my brothers when I could convince them to join, but they’re both older and usually had more important things to do with their time.”

“Where do you fall in the family?”

“Middle. There are three above me and two below.”

We cross the street, and Hudson tells me about his brother while we order our ice cream cones and take them outside. We discuss shopping, but neither of us enter any shops. We just walk down the street, circle the roundabout, pass his car, and keep walking back to the other side.

“I was obsessed with the news as a kid,” I tell him. “Not just the stories, but the news anchors. I wanted to wear lipstick and sit in front of a camera and share the news.”

“Do you have lipstick on in your fake newsreels?”

“You’d better believe it.” I take a bite from what’s left of my cone. “I’m okay with how things turned out. I acted in a play in middle school and discovered I have stage fright, anyway.”

“You could overcome that.”

“Maybe,” I agreed. “But writing is my calling.”

Hudson nods like he understands. His cone is gone, so he wads up his napkin and tosses it in a garbage can.

“What made you want to get into editing?” I ask. “Your family?”

“My uncle was a big part of it. Expectations and the family company and legacy and all that. My brother wanted nothing to do with the media industry, and one of us needed to care about the family business, so that influenced me a little. In college, I worked for the school paper and found I enjoyed curating the paper.”

“Like Linus and the stock for his store.”

“Yeah, kind of.” He shoots me a look, then dips his head and rubs the back of his neck. “I have an eye for editing, and I like taking pieces of things and putting them together in one congruous product. Finding what will fit, analyzing reader interest and trying to meet it. It’s like an enormous puzzle every week, and I get to be the puzzle master.”

“But you don’t do that anymore, do you?”

He keeps walking. “Not really. I do some of it on a much larger scale, since I’m over marketing for four publications instead of just one.”

“Must keep you busy.”

“It does.” He looks at me sidelong. “I’ve really enjoyed stepping back into the editor role.”

“I know. I’ve been getting all sorts of special treatment.”

He laughs. We’ve reached his car again and he slows on the sidewalk, hovering next to it. “I might’ve been a little over the top, but I need my uncle to see me succeed here. It’s important.”

“Why?”

He looks like he wants to tell me something, then glances away and shrugs. “Don’t you want to make the adults in your family happy? My mom left the business long ago, my brother has never been interested, and my uncle never had kids. It’s just…my grandfather built this company, and now there’s only two of us involved. I want him to be proud of me.”

“I get that.” My parents still cut out my articles sometimes and put them on the fridge or share the online links on their Facebook feeds. It’s not the same, but the parental pride is.

“I’d better get you home.”

I ball up my napkin and throw it in the nearby garbage can. “Yeah, I have an article to edit.”

Hudson leans over and opens my door, holding it for me. I look at him for a long while, trying to read his eyes through his sunglasses without much luck. He’s standing close, and I can feel the fissure of energy running between us, but I don’t know if he’s feeling it too.

“Or, if you don’t have to be home right away, I know a great trail on our way back into Nashville. It’s not too long. It circles a small lake and the trees are all changing colors.” He’d remembered what I’d said earlier about the fall leaves.

“That. Let’s do that,” I say, without thinking too deeply about my answer, and slide past him to get in the car. He closes the door, but he’s smiling, and I can’t help but wonder if this is how his secretaries have all fallen in love with him, too.

Because, honestly, the more time I spend with him, the harder I have to suppress my growing crush. I’m not in danger of really falling for Hudson Owens. He’s not the kind of guy who sticks with one woman for long, and I know I’m worth more than that.