“True.”
Holly’s knowledge about Josh’s company derived from two sources: Ben and her own thorough study. Over the years, she’d read every article on Josh and his business—both in print and online—that she could get her hands on. He’d been on the cover of Forbes once. Numerous times, he’d been given awards or asked to deliver speeches.
Josh’s mind had always fascinated her. Most of the kids in high school had been far more impressed by athletes who’d excelled at football or basketball. They’d viewed Josh—their very own version of Matt Damon’s character in Good Will Hunting—as somewhat of a mystery. Josh had been so off-the-charts brilliant that even his AP math teachers hadn’t been able to teach him anything he didn’t know. He’d crushed the SAT and ACT, and his GPA had been far enough above a 4.0 that no one, not even very-brainy Jim Wong, had come close to challenging Josh’s status as valedictorian.
Holly had been a relatively smart high school girl in her own right, just open-minded and quirky and mature enough to appreciate intelligence over how a guy’s bottom looked in football pants. Her strengths, however, had centered around subjects like English and history. Like most writers, she was anti-math. Nor was she terribly technological. She couldn’t comprehend the things that went on in Josh’s brain and yet his brain awed her just the same. “Since you can headquarter anywhere, why did you pick Paris?”
He scratched the side of his upper lip with his thumb.
“Because of the crepes?” she asked.
His dark gaze flicked to hers, glinting with humor. “The crepes aren’t bad.”
“No. I imagine the croissants and soufflés and macaroons aren’t terrible either.”
“Have you been to Paris?”
“Never. But I might have to go one day. For the crepes.”
He drove quietly.
“You decided to live in Paris because?” she prompted. He still hadn’t explained why he’d chosen it.
“It interests me. It’s historic and busy and full of art and beauty.”
“You love it there.”
“I like it there but I’m not tied to it. I may move somewhere else in a year or two. Berlin or London or Zurich.”
“But not back to the United States?”
They’d come to a light. He assessed her, his eyes saying a lot of things, all of which were shielded so carefully that she couldn’t decipher a single one. “Not anytime soon.”
For some reason, his answer saddened her. She issued more directions on how to get to the farm.
The outskirts of town ebbed away, replaced by the famous scenery of the Texas Hill Country. Rugged land, populated with cedar and live oaks, punctuated with outcroppings of granite and limestone rolled against a cerulean sky.
“Where are you staying while you’re in town?” Holly asked.
“My assistant rented a house for me in the Hollow.”
The nicest neighborhood in Martinsburg had been nicknamed the Hollow so long ago that no one remembered why. The home Holly had been raised in, which her parents still lived in part of every year, was located there. “What about this car? Also arranged by your assistant?”
“Yes.”
“It must be nice to have an assistant. Do you think I could find one who’d work for me for five dollars a day?”
“No.”
“Which explains my lack of one.”
“If you were willing to pay an assistant more you wouldn’t have to get your own coffee.”
He was referencing the coffee tray she’d been carrying the other morning. She refrained from mentioning that if she didn’t go out for coffee, she’d lose her mid-morning reason to change out of pajamas. “I’m willing to pay more; it’s my puny bank account that isn’t.”
They pulled into the olive farm. Bushy, thin-leaved trees that looked like something straight out of Galilee spread away from the barn and outbuildings in neat rows.
Josh and Holly climbed from the car and made their way toward the barn. Across the property, a middle-aged farmer lifted his head from a piece of machinery he’d been working on. “Hello there! I’ll be right with you.”
“No hurry,” Holly called back.
She and Josh waited by the two huge metal door panels that slid on tracks to open the front-facing side of the barn. A large flagstone patio extended from where they stood, overlooking a view that sloped gently down to Lake Cypress Bend.
Holly peeked up at Josh. He wasn’t admiring the view. Instead, he was watching her.
Warm, discomfiting attraction tugged within her. “What do you think?” She extended an arm to encompass the scenery. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
He gave it an obligatory scan. “It is.”
“If the weather’s nice, you could serve drinks or appetizers or dessert out here.” The nearby trees formed canopies over the open ground between rows, like charming tunnels of nature.