“What if I don’t want to be in finance anymore?” I said. I had no idea if that was true, but I was extremely curious to see what his response might be.
“Then we’ll walk around until you see something that interests you.”
My eyes going wide, I stared at him and tried to figure out if he was joking. I didn’t think he was. “Walk,” I repeated. “Around San Francisco. Are you crazy? What about your knee?”
He just rolled his eyes, slipping on his overly large jacket in anticipation. “Well we can’t drive, can we? Not when you’re the one keeping an eye out for ideas. And I don’t think you want me behind the wheel, for several reasons. My knee is fine. I’ve walked on worse, trust me.”
This was a terrible idea, but I couldn’t think of any good reason to say no. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was the best way to figure out my potential career path. And anything that kept Steve out of the house and actually doing something was a good thing.
Chapter Eleven
Brennon called around two, and though the last few hours had left me feeling even more lost than before, I perked up when I saw it was him. He might have worked a lot, but at least he didn’t forget about me when he was gone. “Hey, beautiful,” he said by way of greeting.
Heat filled my face, and I turned away from Steve just in case he could tell how red I was. “Hey yourself. I’m glad you called.”
“Why is that?” Brennon asked, sounding particularly excited.
“I was wondering if you wanted to come out and meet Steve and me for a late lunch.”
He was silent for long enough that I checked my screen to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. “Where are you?” he finally asked.
“Where are we?” I repeated to Steve, who leaned against a railing looking over the water. He just shrugged, and I shook my head at the stupidity of my question. “Fisherman’s Wharf, I think it’s called. Steve said they have some great crab somewhere around here.”
Silence again. “Fog Harbor was his favorite,” Brennon said eventually. “How did you manage to get him to leave the house?”
I glanced at Steve again and took a few steps away so more of the crowd was between us and he wouldn’t overhear. He’d been in a good mood since leaving the bakery, and I didn’t want to ruin it by calling attention to the fact that he was acting out of character. “It was his idea actually,” I told Brennon. “I think he might have realized a bit of sun and fresh air could be good for him.”
“Or something like that,” he replied. What was that supposed to mean? “I could come for a little bit, I guess. Fog Harbor is on the east end at Pier 39. I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.” He hung up before I could even show some excitement at being able to see him before tonight.
Weird.
Picking my way through the throngs of tourists wandering the wharf, I put my hand on Steve’s shoulder and felt him stiffen beneath me until he realized it was me. “Brennon’s coming to have lunch with us,” I told him. “It’d probably be good to get you off your knee for a bit.”
He grunted and turned in the direction we needed to go, but he kept one hand on the wooden railing, his knuckles a bit white from holding on so tight.
Navigating the crowd was bad enough when I could see them. I could only imagine how overwhelming it must have been for him, especially when I realized he’d closed his eyes. He said movement was easier to see, but there was probably so much movement happening that he could hardly take it all in. Somehow, I had to get him from here to the other end of the wharf, and I had to do it without reinforcing his belief that he was helpless so I didn’t run the risk of losing what little ground I’d gained with him. Simple.
I slipped my arm through his and pulled close to him, and before he could speak his confusion, I said, “You’d think I would get used to crowds like this, living in a big city, but I still get a little freaked out by this many people around me.”
Very slowly, he released the railing, turning his eyes to me with that wrinkle out in full force between his eyebrows. Either that was his default expression, or he couldn’t decide what to make of me. I confused men a lot, but it felt different with Steve, like he was actually trying to figure out what made me tick instead of dismissing me as one of the many unfathomable women out in the world. “You should see Shanghai,” he said softly. “This is nothing compared to that.”
And that was all it took. Together we started forward, and he let me steer him down the wharf without a word of complaint.
We found the right restaurant, got our seats, and five minutes later, Brennon showed up. Before I could get a word of greeting in, he bent down and pulled me into an almost desperate kiss. I was so caught off guard that I just fell into it, though I was sure everyone else in the crowded restaurant wasn’t exactly thrilled by his display.
I broke away from him long before I wanted to, reeling from the thrill of it, and smiled at him. “Not that I’m complaining…” I whispered.
“I missed you,” Brennon explained before scooting his chair close to mine and sitting down. He slid his hand over my leg just above my knee, and only then did he turn to Steve. “Hey, buddy. You’re looking sharp.”
Steve just grunted and lifted his menu up in front of his face. I doubted he could read it any better than the one this morning, but he didn’t seem eager to ask for help again.
“So,” Brennon continued, “what have you two been up to today?”
I waited to see if Steve would say anything. He didn’t. “Steve was helping me find a job,” I said. “I’m hoping to stay in the area for a little while, but I can’t do that without income.”
Brennon glanced between us. “On Fisherman’s Wharf?” he asked, directing that question more to his roommate.
Dropping his menu, Steve rolled his eyes and muttered, “She doesn’t know what she wants to do. We were just looking for ideas.”
“On Fisherman’s Wharf,” Brennon repeated as if it was the most outlandish idea he’d ever heard.
A bit red, Steve reached to hide behind his menu again, so I laughed and said, “I kind of like the idea of making chocolate. Or maybe being a fry cook in a place like this. I’m not shutting down anything until I find the right thing.”
Steve sat frozen, and though he kept his gaze on the table, I could almost feel his focus on me. And somehow, I knew that almost-smile was meant for me.
“You’re too smart for something like that, Lissa,” Brennon said, rubbing his thumb across my knee. I knew he meant it as a compliment, but his comment didn’t sit well in my stomach. It was a little too close to him telling me what I could and couldn’t do.
“It’s not about finding something difficult,” I replied. “I want what I do to mean something. To make people smile.”
“She’d make an excellent fry cook,” Steve offered quietly. “She’s trained by a chef, after all.”
Now it was my turn to go red.
“You cook?” Brennon asked, his eyebrows high. “I mean, I figured you could cook, but…”
If he would stop bringing home takeout, he would be able to judge for himself. “I’m really not that great,” I said.
Then Steve choked on his water. “Sorry,” he sputtered and gratefully took the napkin I handed to him.
Brennon took my hand and leaned close, as if he was about to share some deep secret. My heart pounded a little harder as his gaze dug deep into me. A girl could seriously get lost in those eyes, and he knew exactly how to draw me in and make me feel like nothing else existed but him. “You’ll have to show me tonight,” he said quietly, and heat spread through my face as his nose brushed mine. “Then I can prove you wrong.”
“I’ll have the Crab Louie,” Steve said loudly, and we slipped apart while our server pretended he hadn’t noticed us.
Brennon coughed and made a quick glance at the menu. “Pacific Sole,” he said. “Lissa?”
If I could get my face to stop burning, maybe I could focus on what was happening. I didn’t like public displays
of affection. The Davenports weren’t terrible, but they had pushed my limits at Catherine’s wedding and reminded me why I couldn’t see myself like them. In love. I wasn’t like Matthew, who was aware of Indie even when she was on the other side of the room, or like Lanna who couldn’t help but smile when Adam was nearby. Seth may have been my brother, but he felt no shame showing the world just how much he loved his wife. I didn’t do that. Even when I had dated in the past, I didn’t kiss my boyfriends in front of other people.
Yet somehow Brennon had nearly completely overwhelmed me in the middle of a restaurant, and a large part of me wanted him to do it again. What was wrong with me?
“Louie,” I stammered as Brennon returned his hand to my knee. “Crab. That sounds good. Yeah.” And then the second our server left the table, I turned to Brennon and growled, “You need to stop,” though I couldn’t keep myself from smiling, which sort of negated my point.
With a low chuckle, Brennon gave me a swift kiss then moved to an appropriate distance. Thank goodness. “Steve cooks too,” Brennon said as if we had never gotten sidetracked.
Steve immediately knocked his fork to the floor. “No, I don’t,” he argued as he bent to try to grab it.
“Well you used to.”
“You’re remembering things.”
Brennon shook his head and turned to me, though I could barely keep my focus off of Steve, who looked almost panicked as he sat there gripping his newly retrieved fork. “He even went to—”
“Bren,” Steve interrupted loudly, “could you show me where the restroom is? Kinda urgent.”
“Oh.” Brennon sat up straight, confused by the question. Maybe he’d never heard Steve ask for help before. “Yeah, okay.”
Both men stood, and to my surprise, Steve actually grabbed onto Brennon’s arm as they made their way through the tables. So he could let Brennon guide him, but he had a problem with me doing it? I didn’t like how much that hurt, but I was too distracted by the pair of them to really pay attention to that part. They walked stiffly, and it almost looked like they were having a whispered conversation as they went. Was Brennon trying to figure out why Steve was hiding something? Or was Steve trying to say something to Brennon about his PDA? I couldn’t tell, and I didn’t like not knowing. Men were a lot easier to deal with when I could read them.
And they thought I was confusing…
As I sat there waiting, trying to understand two people I really didn’t know at all, my phone started to buzz. Automatically, I pulled it from my pocket and answered the call as I kept my eyes in the direction of the bathroom. “Hello?”
“Lissa?”
My blood ran cold when I recognized my father’s voice, leaving me frozen in my chair. “Gordon,” I whispered and silently cursed myself for not bothering to look at the number before I answered. Or at the very least pretending it was a wrong number. Curse these men distracting me and adding unnecessary stress to my life. “What do you want?”
“You didn’t answer my text.”
On purpose, Dad. Deep breath. “Text?” I asked.
“I know you got it, Lissa. Why won’t you let me try?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Because you denied I existed for twenty-eight years? That might have something to do with it.” Why did he have to call? Why couldn’t he have just given up like any normal man-whore and just left me alone?
“Lissa, please. I know what I was, and—”
“Seth didn’t want me to know you,” I interrupted. “As soon as he realized who I was, he went off about his terrible childhood thanks to you.” Okay, so maybe he didn’t go off. But he had said more than once how glad he was his father had never claimed any other children. True, it would have been nice to get some share of the man’s ridiculous worth, but Seth was convinced the wealth and fame and constant drive to be perfect just weren’t worth it. My brother had endured a lifetime of being Gordon Hastings’s child, and he wanted to spare me and any others the feeling of not being good enough.
“I’m not that man anymore,” Hastings argued. “What will it take for you to believe me?”
“Leave me alone,” I replied and hung up.
Brennon and Steve returned a few minutes later, neither of them in a good mood, and we spent the rest of lunch in a tense silence.
* * *
I didn’t have the energy to give Brennon a kiss goodbye. Luckily, he didn’t seem to have the energy either, and he just pulled me in for an extended hug that only slightly lessened the tightness in my shoulders left by my father’s phone call. “I’ll see you tonight,” he whispered in my ear, leaving a chill at the base of my neck, and then he was gone. As was the sun, which disappeared behind a layer of clouds that had rolled in during lunch. Even the sky was as gloomy as me.
Steve and I made it halfway down the pier before he spoke, his hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt and his eyes fixed firmly on the ground where he stepped. “You wanna talk about it?” he asked.
I shrugged. Then I looked at him in confusion. “Talk about what?”
Veering right, he held out a hand and proceeded slowly until he found the railing protecting us from the edge. Then he turned, leaning his back against it and folding his arms tight across his chest. “You tell me,” he said. “I can practically feel your tension, like this wave of heat rolling off of you. It’s awful.”
Awful indeed. And though a small part of me still wanted to keep my family issues close and personal, I wasn’t sure I could hold onto something like this without talking about it. And right now, Steve was the only one here. “My dad texted me today,” I muttered, settling against the railing next to him.
“Right. Hastings. And you’re not too thrilled about that.”
Of course I wasn’t. “Up until a few days ago, he flat out refused to even say my name in case someone used that as proof that I was his flesh and blood.”
“Ouch.”
“Understatement of the century.”
“And you’re sure you’re one of his?”
Unfortunately. “Mom was smart enough—creepy enough—to save some of his hair she found after he left her. She did a DNA test when I was born, and voila. Irrefutable proof. I grew up knowing my own father was a scumbag who abandoned my mom and probably hated me, and it only got worse after I met Seth. Hastings learned about me from the tabloids when I was twenty and even held a press conference to state that I was not his daughter.”
Steve whistled low, shaking his head as he processed this. “That’s…that’s awful, Lissa,” he said. “No child should feel unwanted, let alone flat-out rejected. But—you’re welcome to smack me if I’m being indelicate—I have to ask: tabloids?”
I definitely smacked him, whacking him on the shoulder and bringing out a burst of laughter that seemed to bring the sun back out with it. “Is that really important?” I asked. “I’m baring my soul here.”
“Sorry,” he said, sounding sincere. “You just don’t seem like the sort to find herself featured in gossip.”
“I’m taking that as a compliment.”
“You should.” He unfolded his arms, and his shoulder rested against mine as he leaned a little closer. “I’ve never been able to take those women seriously,” he said, “and for most of my adult life they were all I seemed to know. It’s refreshing to know there are people out there like you. People who are worth knowing.”
How was I supposed to respond to that? Swallowing, I eased just a little bit away so we were no longer touching, since the connection was a bit too distracting, and then I explained before he could ask again: “After Seth and I discovered we were siblings, he took on the responsibility of protecting me and going everywhere with me. Someone who saw us—she recognized Seth, of course—was convinced I was some secret girlfriend and snapped a picture, and suddenly the whole world knew who I was.”
“I didn’t,” Steve said softly.
“That’s because as soon as someone figured out we were related, not dating, the whole world promptly forgot about
me.”
Steve coughed, though it almost sounded like a laugh. “And now Hastings is trying to be a doting father and worm his way into your life?”
“He called when you were in the bathroom,” I replied.
Did he just tense up? “What did he say?” he asked. Whatever I expected him to do, it wasn’t this. He sounded almost angry as he stared at the ground and kept his head tilted toward me, listening intently for my reply.
I sighed. “Just… Just the same as before. He wants me to believe he’s changed, that he wants to be part of my life.”
“And do you want him to be?”
Why did it matter? “Not particularly,” I said. “I trust him about as far as I can throw him.”
“You could block him from your number.”
I could have. “That seems a little…extreme,” I said. Just like Steve’s reaction. “Are you okay?”
Unclenching his fists—whoa, he really was angry—he rolled his shoulders out a bit and took a deep breath. “Sorry,” he muttered, running a hand through his long hair. “I think I… We should talk about something else. We could get back to your job hunting.”
That sounded even more exhausting than it did this morning. “I don’t know,” I said. “We should probably get you home so you can give your leg a rest.”
“My leg is—” He stopped himself and took another obviously painful deep breath before turning to face me, his dark eyes almost burning as he met my gaze. “I don’t want to go home,” he said, and his voice wavered. “Not yet. Please. I don’t know if I can spend another day stuck in that place. Please.”
I’d never seen him so vulnerable, and I had to fight back a tear that threatened to slip from my eye. There I was, mourning the fact that my own father was desperately trying to be there and support me as his child, and Steve had literally lost almost everything he knew. My own woes were nothing compared to his, and my crab churned in my stomach with the guilt of knowing I had no right to complain. Steve needed me right now as much as I needed something to do to keep my mind off my father.
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