Free The Aubrey Rules by Aven Ellis Page A

that neat might be an issue.”
    “Excuse me?” I ask. “What’s the matter with my purse contents?”
    “I’ve never seen so many mascaras, lipsticks, and crumpled receipts fly out of a bag in my entire life,” Beckett says, his eyes dancing at me. “You have two eyes. How many mascaras do you need?”
    “Okay. Okay. I’ll give you that. But I can’t resist mascara. So if I’m in the drugstore and they have one on sale, I have to try it. I’m still questing for my Holy Grail mascara.”
    Beckett furrows his brow. “Holy Grail mascara?”
    “The perfect mascara,” I say. “Once I find it, I’ll stop searching.”
    “So when you find it, you’ll know it,” Beckett says, his face taking on a serious expression. “And then that’s it. You’re done.”
    I know he’s talking about mascara, but my romantic heart—which I thought had gone into deep freeze since my mutual break-up with my last boyfriend, Tate—wonders if Beckett could be my Holy Grail for relationships.
    “Yeah,” I admit softly. “Just like that.”
    A silence falls between us. His eyes are still on my face, and I once again notice how gorgeous he is. How he speaks so softly and has such a gentle, shy way about him but is so strong and athletic and masculine at the same time.
    It’s an intoxicating blend.
    One I’m finding hard to resist.
    Finally Beckett clears his throat. “So despite the appearance of your purse, you can keep the condo neat?”
    I laugh. “Yes, I can, thank you. My job is to keep the place feeling like a home you’d want to move right into. I simmer rosemary, lemon, and vanilla on the stove to make it smell nice, set the lighting, fluff the pillows, stuff like that.”
    “But in reality, you’d have dishes in the sink, is that what you’re saying?”
    “No, that’s what you’re saying,” I tease.
    Beckett grins at me. “I stand corrected.”
    “And you have to be ready to go out whenever they have a showing, so I live at Starbucks.”
    “Because you can’t be there when it’s being shown.”
    I nod. “I can’t tell you how many days I’ve run out the door due to a surprise showing. In my yoga pants, no makeup, and I find myself at Starbucks surfing the Internet until they are gone.”
    “That part would suck.”
    “Yes, that part is crappy but the rest of it is a good way to live in Chicago until I can afford my own place.”
    Which obviously wouldn’t be here.
    I turn and look over his shoulder out the window. It’s snowing again, a puffy, heavy snow that is going to bury the city again tonight.
    “The amount of snow here is crazy,” I say, changing the subject.
    “You haven’t been to Canada, have you?” Beckett asks.
    “Nope.” Then I grin at him. “What do you miss about Canada?”
    “My family,” Beckett says. “My old friends. I’ll get to catch up with everyone when I go back in the summer, though, so that’s good. But there’s one thing I really miss. That I took for granted until I moved away.”
    I pause for a moment. Is he talking about his old girlfriend? The one I saw him in all the pictures with on social media?
    “Yeah?” I ask, although if he misses her, I don’t want to know.
    “Timmy’s.”
    I wrinkle my brow. “What?”
    “Tim Horton’s,” Beckett says, his face lighting up. “They have the best coffee. And donuts. I’d kill for a cup right now. We play in Buffalo in a few days, and I’ll be able to get one there, but damn, I miss that coffee.”
    I burst out laughing.
    “What?” he asks, looking confused.
    “You sound like a junkie in need of a fix.”
    “I am, no doubt about it.”
    “Ahhhhh, the accent comes out on doubt too!” I cry in delight.
    “Shut up,” Beckett says, but as he says it, he flashes me a grin.
    “I will not shut up.”
    “True,” Beckett says. “It’s probably humanly impossible for you to stop talking.”
    “Beckett,” I protest, “that’s not true. At all.”
    “Okay,” Beckett says, putting his wineglass