The Practically Romantic Groom (Cobble Creek Romance Book 2)

by Maria Hoagland

  Chapter Four

  How pathetic was he that seeing Brooke twice in just over a week changed everything?

  Two weeks ago, Isaac was fine. Life was good. Somewhat boring, perhaps, but predictable was okay, right? He was back in his childhood hometown of Cobble Creek, as had always been his plan, now settled into a growing law practice doing what he’d always wanted to do. Goals number one and two: check. In addition to that, for the first time in his life, the five years’ difference between him and his sister felt much less. They were finally siblings of the best variety—more like friends who sought out each other’s company because they liked hanging out together. Check. And his niece was still talking to him—something most uncles could take for granted from a seven-year-old, but in Gemma’s case, this was huge.

  And two weeks ago, that had been enough.

  But Brooke coming back into his life was like hearing John Williams’ score for Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban for the first time. Listening to “Mischief Managed!” made his life brighter. Maybe it wasn’t one of the classics, but the music made his soul soar in a way nothing else did, lifting his spirits when he was down, helping him find the good, the right in the world. Being around Brooke did the same for him. Her bright smile brought out a happiness inside him he didn’t even know was there. She was a song he would never tire of hearing.

  Being with Brooke, the familiarity of her laugh and especially the way she teased him, brought the happy memories of middle and high school to the foreground, leaving everything else in its wake. Isaac had been a good student and didn’t mind applying himself to studying even the mundane—a talent that prepared him for law school and reading volumes of legalese—but the highlights of school for him had been his experiences on the Mock Trial team and the various band ensembles he’d participated in. Those years, however, were gone, and until two weeks ago, he’d been fine with that—just as he’d been fine with everything else in his life. But after spending probably less than an hour total with Brooke, he wanted more than fine.

  Isaac shuffled through a few of the financial papers for the Perkins case. Oftentimes, he could tell what the issue in a couple’s marriage was by the way they reacted to the requested paperwork necessary for finding an appropriate settlement. If they were reluctant to submit financial information, money issues were the root of their problem—as was the case with the Perkins—but that also meant he was most uncomfortable digging into that aspect of their divorce. Probably because no matter what he offered to the court, neither would be satisfied. In cases like these, he had to decide if he was going to fight solely for his client or if he wanted to be fair. Unfortunately, he was hired as an attorney, not the judge.

  A judge. The idea occurred to him, flimsy as a ghost floating by and just as impossible to grasp. What if my character was a judge instead of a lawyer? The idea never quite took shape.

  That was the way it was with writing. Starting his freshman year at college, Isaac had decided to work on a novel, and he’d been wrestling with it ever since. At this point, the “book” was nothing more than nebulous concepts with very little prose. But that was okay. With his busy career, writing was more of a passing inclination. It passed in and out of his mind on a regular basis but wasn’t a burning passion that growled to be fulfilled. Now if the whisper of a thought became an actual, concrete plot point, he’d sit up and take notice. Maybe someday he’d finish it. Maybe not. Maybe it would be a lifelong, closet hobby like duct tape art or elongated coin collecting.

  Unwilling, or unable, to focus on the paperwork, Isaac rolled his leather chair to the window, drawn by the purr of the lawn mower outside. He unlocked the window and lifted it, allowing the cool breeze to convey the scent of freshly cut grass into his office. The smell immediately whisked Isaac back to the ends of school years, when the days seemed to stretch longer as warming temperatures and the mowing of busy groundskeepers dangled freedom just outside the thick glass of the school’s wired windows.

  All the things that intrigued Isaac about Brooke in middle school—the easiness of talking to her, her sweet friendship with everyone, her enchanting eyes—were still there. All the things that drove him crazy with desire in high school—her inability to see how painfully gorgeous she was, her sharp intellect, and her musical talent—were still there as well … assuming the music hadn’t been completely forgotten. But now she was so much more than that. He was amazed by the way she cared for a child with an obvious difficulty without even questioning him about her. He couldn’t think of anyone he’d met who didn’t notice Gemma’s inability to speak and grill him about it first chance they got. Brooke had had plenty of time to do just that while they sat on the playground bench, yet she hadn’t even hinted at it, instead concentrating on Gemma as a person rather than a problem. Isaac also admired Brooke’s success in her career, her confidence in herself, her happiness. It was the entire package that just might make him crazy if he let it.

  But he couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—let it. For one thing, she’d broken his heart back in eighth grade. Sure, it was long enough ago that he should have let it go by now, and he had, but that didn’t mean he was going to allow her to do it again. Forgiving was different from forgetting. Cautious and pragmatic were words that described him.

  Perhaps she hadn’t exactly broken his heart, but the sting of the breakup had been particularly caustic at the time in its unexpectedness. Everything had been great with them. They’d never once had a spat or disagreement. As far as he knew, neither was interested in someone else. They’d even shared a kiss—the first for both of them—backstage behind the middle school band hall in the folds of the black stage curtains.

  Remembering, Isaac couldn’t help but smile. If someone had challenged him to ride a rodeo bull, he couldn’t have been more nervous. The typical logistics of it all—how not to bump noses, what to do if she turned away, where to place his hands—had Isaac twisted up inside. The kiss was over before he realized it had happened, but he never forgot the softness of her lips, the sweet warmth of her breath, and the tingling where they’d touched. The jitters in his knees and the quaking in his resolve meant the kiss was no more than a peck on the lips for two embarrassed fourteen-year-olds. For years, he’d wished he could rewind the clock and try that all over again.

  Less than a week later, Brooke had pressed a note into his hand during the passing period after band. Torn from her spiral notebook, the note was folded in that crazy way girls tucked the corner in to hold it tight from prying eyes. Basically, it was a thanks for being a great guy, but I think we should just be friends kind of note, and the words were forever seared into his brain. Even now as Isaac closed his eyes, he could see the loopy letters written in pink ink, the tittles over every j and i a tiny x rather than a dot.

  Later, Brooke had confided to his best friend that she’d dumped Isaac because she’d heard he was going to break up with her, and she wanted to do it first. The idea hadn’t even crossed his mind. In fact, if he remembered correctly, he’d been imagining where they would live and what kind of car they would drive when they got married.

  Scarred for life. That’s what he was.

  Yes, he knew it was more than a decade later, but there was no point giving history a chance to repeat itself on his fragile heart. He wasn’t up for it. Especially when love never lasted.

  But friends. That was something he could do. He’d proved that in high school. And he could do it again.

  Except that he couldn’t get Brooke out of his mind.

  He pulled out his phone and toggled to his texting function and her name. I think we need to keep an eye on the situation with Cody and Danielle so we know which of us is winning, he texted.

  He rolled his chair back to his desk, determined to get back to work in case she was busy with a client, or, if he was lucky, a delivery that would bring her back to his doorstep. Involuntarily, Isaac looked out the window to where the Flower Girl’s van had been parked two weeks ago. A text alert told him he’
d received an incoming message.

  He read Brooke’s response, I concur, counselor, and smiled.

  Do you know what they’re doing for their date Friday night? he tapped back. She wouldn’t think he was being nosey, would she?

  Yes, I do—country dancing. Should we double with them?

  The idea of double-dating—for the purposes of keeping an eye on Cody and Danielle, of course—would have been intriguing had it been pretty much anything else.

  In his hesitation, a laughing emoji popped onto her side of the conversation. She knew and was teasing him.

  This calls for a stakeout, he replied. They’ll never know we’re there. Now that sounded fun, if he did say so himself.

  You’re on. Details later?

  While disappointed at the signal that their conversation was tabled for the time being, Isaac couldn’t help being pleased at finagling a way to spend time with Brooke.

  Friendship, he reminded himself. That’s all we’re going for here. Everyone can always use more friends.

  Chapter Five

  “When you say stakeout, what exactly are we talking here?” Brooke sat on her hands in the front seat of Isaac’s luxury car, loving the feel of the perforated, buttery leather seats. In the dark and after a long work week, she could fall asleep in the plush comfort. “Because I see no snacks, no drinks. How am I going to stay awake without caffeine?”

  Isaac shook his head. “I knew better. Don’t you fret, little darlin’.” His fake Southern accent was passable to someone who had nothing to compare it to. He tipped his head to the left. “I figured we’d get Coke floats—” Brooke bristled, and Isaac stumbled over his words. “Excuse me, I meant to say Dr. Pepper floats at Graham’s Pharmacy.”

  Even though it had been more than seven years since they’d done anything together, Isaac still remembered Brooke’s favorite soda flavor. Impressive. She didn’t know anything of the sort about him. Apparently, she needed to up her game.

  “Keep an eye out for DC from across the street.” It took Brooke a second to realize he was referring to Danielle and Cody and not comics. “We’ll give them time to settle in, but when they’ve had enough time to feel comfortable, we’ll sneak over and peek in on them.”

  “So stalking.” Brooke pulled a black hood over her blonde hair. “I’m in.”

  This time, Isaac breathed a laugh. “You’re nuts.”

  To her surprise, Isaac hadn’t said a thing when she exited her house dressed all in black, wearing the bulkiest hoodie known to man—or at least owned by Cody. Which, of course, negated the intent of hiding from him if he knew she’d borrowed it. Except that she’d done it more for Isaac’s sake.

  Brooke narrowed her eyes at Isaac, giving him her best mean face. “You’re not embarrassed to be with me, are you?”

  Isaac psshed. “I was aiming more for the blending-in option than common-burglar getup, but black looks good on you.” Leave it to Isaac to turn a joke into a compliment. “Now if you’d texted me about attire ahead of time, we could have matched.” His smile, the one that was barely there yet always under the surface, slipped out contentedly across his face. Totally worth the effort.

  He would look amazing in black. Wait, hadn’t they done that once? The memory of playing cops and robbers during band camp junior year sent her into giggles. “Remember when Mrs. Fogerty called the sheriff on us? Just because it was midnight and—how many of us were there, like seven?—and we were all wearing black sneaking through her back yard? She didn’t have a fence or anything.” As if they didn’t know they were trespassing.

  Isaac laughed. “I thought we were busted when Sheriff Lakes came by, lights flashing red and blue. And then Kris started to cry, and Lance took off as soon as the sheriff’s pickup turned the corner toward us.” If he didn’t quit laughing so hard, he was going to cause a wreck.

  “Mrs. Fogerty was probably pleased as punch when he stopped to talk to us,” Brooke agreed. “Do you know if she found out Sheriff Lakes let us keep playing?”

  “‘Choose your targets a little more carefully next time.’” Isaac did a decent impersonation as far as Brooke could remember. “I couldn’t believe he gave us his blessing.”

  “Well, sort of.”

  “That was the best,” Isaac continued. “And then we switched to jumping on all the trampolines in the neighborhood instead. We just kept getting caught because you—” He elbowed Brooke. “—couldn’t quit laughing.” He shook his head as if disappointed in her. “I was sure Sheriff Lakes was going to hunt us down and send us home.”

  Isaac looked at Brooke square on, suddenly serious, and her stomach lurched. What had she done?

  “Promise me,” he spoke slowly, emphasizing each word, “that we won’t get caught tonight.” He pulled into a parking spot and turned the car off.

  The night had barely started and already Brooke’s stomach ached from laughing, her face tired from smiling so much, yet she didn’t want either to stop. “I can’t make any guarantees. I’m a florist, you know, bright and cheery. It’s akin to being a professional clown on the giddiness spectrum.”

  He scrunched his forehead and squeezed his eyes tight for a second, reacting to her joke. “A risk I must take, then, I guess.”

  He raised a palm, indicating that he wanted her to hold tight. He exited his side of the car quickly to open her door. By the time he walked around to the passenger side, Brooke had ditched Cody’s hoodie and felt way more comfortable in the silk burgundy blouse and black cami combination that had been hidden underneath. Now her black jeans and black ankle boots made more sense. And she felt more . . . herself.

  Planning the outfit for their first non-date ever was worse than if they’d been actually going on a real one. Eighth grade flashbacks hit her like a strobe light. So many innocent firsts with Isaac—first boyfriend, first hand-holding, first kiss—and yet they never made it to that first date out.

  “So what does your sister think of Cody and Danielle?” Isaac asked.

  Isaac was right to ask. The Holt siblings were tight, and Lucy, as the oldest, was certainly inclined to insert an opinion on relationships, but she hadn’t yet. “She and her family are off on a family vacation,” Brooke said with some enjoyment. “But I know Lucy, and she will be thrilled with a capital T. I thought about texting her the good news, but I didn’t want to jinx anything.”

  “Probably wise.”

  Brooke could tell Isaac was pleased with the idea that Lucy would approve. “So, recap of the Cody and Danielle’s date recon so far. How many points do you think you get?” Brooke asked.

  Moonlight reflected on the soggy street, lighting the ground as Brooke and Isaac walked side by side toward Graham’s. Isaac had parked down a side road, kitty-corner from the community center that, tonight, had been transformed into a dance hall.

  “Okay, I got a point because he asked out again, but not in any fancy, romantic way.” Isaac slipped an arm around Brooke’s waist and guided her over a raised crack in the sidewalk that she hadn’t noticed. “He didn’t bring flowers or anything else, either, for that matter. Not that I blame the guy, I mean, a date isn’t about the fluff any more than it’s about the setting. It’s spending time together that counts.”

  Brooke tried not to bristle. “You’re calling flowers fluff? Romance is just part of the setting? Be careful, I might infer you think my career is superfluous, maybe even ridiculous.”

  “Hey, now, don’t read anything into my words. I didn’t say that.”

  She noticed he also didn’t say otherwise. She silenced the inner demon ready to complain about this treatment of her, but realized that for a self-proclaimed pragmatist, these opinions were to be expected. And for a pragmatist, it also didn’t mean he thought her job was worthless; after all, it paid the bills.

  “Ah, but Cody has opened every door for her. Do I get a point each time?” Brooke knew better than to be hopeful she would. It wasn’t exactly fair.

  Isaac shook his head in exaggerated swaths, cross
ing his arms over his chest in defiance, but it was the definition in his biceps that grabbed Brooke’s attention. Isaac had come a long way from the lanky band nerd in middle school. “Nice try. I’ll give you one point for the car and one for the activity—dancing is something she enjoys, and most people consider romantic.” He looked pained at admitting it. “Although . . .” He eyed the community center as if it reeked of rotten pickles. “I should deduct a point for the venue.”

  “Oh, no, not happening. You never stipulated that I could lose points for Cody’s lame-ablility.” They looked both ways and then crossed the street to Graham’s. “There’s nowhere else for them to go dancing unless they wanted to drive into Duckdale.”

  “Exactly. And if he had, you might have gotten another point.” He shook his head. Was this getting as confusing to him as it was to her? “I get another point for you using a word like lame-ablility.” Isaac chuckled at her made-up word, but then conceded quickly. “Fine. No detracting points. That still gives you two points to my one so far.”

  “I bet you would be singing a different tune if he quit opening the door for her, though, wouldn’t you?” A change in song across the street filled the air with a thumping bass.

  “You know it.” Isaac yanked open the glass door to Graham’s Pharmacy, the sweet smell of vanilla ice cream sweeping out the door.

  “Where exactly are we with points?” Brooke joked, not really caring. Her shoulder brushed Isaac’s chest as they stepped through the door, and she caught a whiff of subtle cologne. Wow, he smelled good. “I’m so confused.” About more than points.

  While the retail and pharmacy counter of Graham’s was closed, evening was the busiest time for the old-fashioned soda fountain. This corner of the shop boasted a long Formica countertop, white with a 1950s boomerang pattern and accented with a strip of ribbed chrome around the side. Thirteen swivel stools graced its front, alternating in hot pink and teal vinyl padded seats atop the shining metal. A couple of small tables nestled under the shop windows, many of them filled with couples and families on the busy Friday night.