Rum and Notes

by Elise Faber

  Sucking in a breath, I hit the call button on my cell.

  One ring. Two. Three. Four.

  But just before I was going to hang up, Brent answered, voice slightly roughened with sleep. “Brookie girl, you okay darlin’?”

  And cue more tears.

  There was rustling and a sigh.

  “Not okay,” he muttered.

  “I’m fine,” I said quickly, suddenly feeling stupid for calling him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

  “Coffee. Place on the corner near the bar. Thirty minutes.”

  “I—”

  “Darlin’. Thirty minutes.”

  Nodding, even though he couldn’t see me, I sniffed again. “Okay.”

  He hung up.

  I picked up my laptop—because it was highly effective as a shield and because I could never resist the opportunity to get a few words on the page—decided to head down to the shop early. Maybe I could puzzle myself out so Brent and I could catch up without me looking like a drama queen who didn’t know her own head.

  Except, I didn’t know my own head.

  After grabbing a jacket and my trusty backpack, I headed for the door.

  Five minutes later I was at the coffee shop, five minutes after that an espresso had cleared my head.

  Kind of.

  And ten minutes after that, Brent walked in.

  He didn’t spot me then go to the counter to order a coffee. He saw me and came straight over, dragging a chair so he was sitting very close to me, close enough that his dark eyes delved into mine.

  After a moment, he sat back and sighed. “So, I don’t have to kill him then.”

  My brows drew down. I couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed. “What—?”

  He stood and went to the counter, ordering a black coffee in a place that specialized in every sort of fancy drink imaginable. I knew, because I imagined a lot and thus had tried most of the menu.

  But since a black coffee didn’t take long, he was back sitting at my table in just a few moments.

  Sitting and staring.

  I knew this trick—silently outwaiting a conversational partner—because Hayden had often used it with me. Often because it worked well.

  This time was no different.

  “I’m scared.”

  Nary a beat before, “This is about Steven.”

  “This isn’t about Steven.”

  “You’ve got a good man interested and you’re scared.”

  Scared of diving in, scared of what might happen if I didn’t. But that still didn’t mean it had anything to do with my ex.

  “Steven.”

  I sighed and sat back in my chair. “I don’t see how they’re even remotely the same, even if I was still hung up on Steven.”

  He took a sip of his manly black coffee. “They’re not the same. Not even close. And I didn’t say that you were still hung up on Steven, just that this was about your past with your ex.”

  “I—”

  “He was all charm and surface, darlin’. All fluff without substance. Hayden didn’t think he was going to stick, even before everything went down.”

  My breath caught. “Hayden didn’t like him?”

  Brent’s face softened. “Hayden wasn’t ever going to like the man who took his sister away, but he also knew that Steven wasn’t right for you.”

  “Oh.”

  His fingers rested on my knee. “He knew you deserved the fairy tale, darlin’. The happy ending you write about in your books. Steven, for all his smoothness, wasn’t going to be that man for you, and your brother knew that.” He smiled. “But he also knew that if you were happy, he wasn’t going to mess it up, no matter if he thought the guy wasn’t good enough.”

  I sniffed. “Really?”

  Brent nodded. “Really.”

  “Steven turned out to be an asshole,” I said. “So, Hay was right.”

  Brent laughed. “Believe me, he would have loved to agree with you about that.” Another sip from his cup before his eyes sobered. “But for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have backed off from taking my shot at seeing if you and I fit”—my breath caught because I thought if Kace wasn’t in the picture that Brent and I might have fit very well—“for anyone aside from Kace. He’s a good guy. Substance and smooth.” He grinned. “Kind of like me.”

  My lips twitched. “And modest, too.”

  But Brent’s words wove their way into my heart, soothing the frightened, trembling organ. I knew what he said was the truth, even if I didn’t want to admit it. Steven hadn’t been the greatest boyfriend, and he’d been an even shittier fiancée leaving me when he had. But the reason Kace scared me so much was because I knew deep down that he wasn’t like Steven.

  So I’d tried to push him away, even though I wanted him desperately.

  And when that hadn’t worked, I’d started trying to find reasons to run back into my safe bubble and hide.

  But I didn’t want to hide any longer.

  I wanted Kace.

  Now, I just had to be brave enough to go for it.

  I blinked, saw that Brent was just quietly sipping his coffee as I puzzled out my head, and I realized I’d gained two really important things in the last week—a potential future and a link to my past.

  I hadn’t realized how much I’d wanted both.

  I also decided I was going to keep them. Both.

  Brent smiled at me. “Sorted?”

  I bit my lip because my brother had always said that to me, and then I put down my cup and reached over to hug him. “Thank you,” I murmured.

  “Anytime, darlin’. Anytime.”

  And then with my future blossoming ahead of me, I spent the next hour remembering many of the good parts of my past that I’d forgotten.

  There was hysterical laughter over a story of Hayden and Brent’s military days, a little snorting at my brother’s lack of game with the ladies, some sniffing when we talked about how hard it was to lose him. But we mostly focused on the good times—the inside jokes, the care packages, the stinky socks, and Hay’s horrifying affinity for liking all things clown.

  Brent walked me home, telling me all about the places he’d been in the years since we’d seen one another, and we both smiled when thinking about how despite all that, we’d still ended up in the same town.

  He paused at my door. “I’d say, don’t be a stranger, but I don’t think Kace is going to let that happen anyway.”

  I smiled. “I don’t think I’m going to let that happen.”

  One finger traced my jaw, his lips curved. “I don’t think so, either. Oh, Brooke?” he said when I’d turned away and started to unlock my door. “Just remember that Kace might be able to charm every female who walks over to the bar, but you’re the only one I’ve ever seen that makes him mess up drink orders and lose his cool.”

  “I—”

  “It’s a good way to get more tips, but that’s all it is.”

  “I—”

  You’re different. You’re important.” He scowled. “And he saw that before I did.”

  “Brent—”

  He nudged me inside and closed the door. “See you soon, darlin’.”

  I sighed, locked up, and called my goodbyes.

  Fifteen

  Kace

  I knocked on the door later that same evening, unaccountably nervous, but also cautiously optimistic.

  Probably because I’d never told a woman, even in the vaguest of terms that I’d given to Brooke hours before, about my upbringing. Probably because no woman had ever been important enough for me to tell her jackshit about me. I kept the past locked down where it belonged, and I kept my relationships light.

  But Brooke meant more to me than my secrets.

  Scary as fuck, but the truth.

  I loved how when she pulled her ponytail up in the bar, it always ended up slightly askew, as though she couldn’t bear to tear her fingers away from her keyboard long enough to make it perfectly straight.

  I loved how s
he took a sip of every fresh Diet Coke I brought her then promptly forgot about it, as she got lost in her characters.

  I loved that she wore T-shirts and jeans and Chucks and not heels and slinky dresses.

  I loved . . . her.

  It made no sense. I’d never been the type of man to believe in happily ever afters or love at first sight.

  But Brooke made me think those were real.

  She might write about fictional characters finding their own happiness, but she’d been integral in helping me find the hope that I could actually get mine.

  For a guy with no family, that was huge.

  Now, I just had to convince her to take a chance on me.

  I knocked on the door, not certain that the key she’d given me to lock up hours before also meant I had enter-at-will access. I didn’t want to be presumptuous, but I also didn’t want to give her the opportunity to take the key back.

  Footsteps approached, and I prepared myself for the emotional assault that was Brooke.

  Then I didn’t have time to prepare because the door was open, she was there, the assault was complete, and my breath had been stolen. Thoroughly, absolutely stolen. How she thought she wasn’t beautiful was insanity, and I made a mental note then and there that I’d make it my life’s mission to make her understand how truly perfect she was.

  “Hi,” she murmured, hand on the doorjamb, shy smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes on her face. And those eyes were ringed with red.

  Fuck. She’d been crying.

  I should offer to leave, be a good man and just leave her alone.

  But I wasn’t a good man.

  I was selfish, and Brooke was the best thing I’d ever had in my life, and I wasn’t going to give her up.

  “Hi,” I said gently and handed her the bouquet because it turned out I could be the type of man to buy her flowers. “It smells good in here.”

  “Thank you. They’re beautiful.” She nodded. “My mom’s lasagna recipe.”

  We stood there, staring at each other until I brushed a finger along her jaw. “Can I come in?”

  There was that blush I liked so much, but she nodded and stepped back. “Of course,” she said, rushing through the words. “I’m sorry, it’s been a day.”

  I went inside and closed the door then just decided we needed to get this shit out there and over with. “Because of me?”

  Teeth on the corner of her mouth.

  “Babe.”

  Those teeth disappeared, and she sucked in a breath. “Yes. Because of you.”

  My gut sank.

  “But not why you think.”

  The sinking stopped.

  “Babe.”

  She took my hand, tugged me to the couch. “Stop hovering over me and come here,” she murmured. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Yeah.” It was a mutter. “I’ve got some things to say to you as well.”

  Her face clouded, worry evident. But that worry was enough to settle my own because there wouldn’t be worry if she didn’t care or was wanting me to keep my distance.

  “Babe.” Her eyes flashed up. “It’s not the way you think.”

  Warmth.

  Relief.

  Fuck, he loved this woman.

  Then she nodded, and still holding my hand, sat on the couch. “Okay,” she breathed. “You know about my family. You know that I’ve been alone for a long time. But”—I decided that I didn’t like that but, not at all—“when I lost Hayden, I wasn’t all alone.” A beat. “I was engaged.”

  I didn’t like that. Not at all. However, since a was was involved, I was okay, but because there was a was involved and it had left that expression on her face, then I decided I really didn’t like the fact that she’d worn another man’s ring.

  “He didn’t stick,” she said. “For my own reasons, but mostly because of him saying it was me.”

  Fucking asshole.

  “Yeah,” she said. “He was.”

  I didn’t realize I’d said that aloud, though that didn’t make it any less true. “Babe,” he said. “How soon after you lost your brother?”

  A sigh. “Three weeks.”

  I shot to my feet. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Her lips curved slightly. “Nope. It was a good thing, though.” She stopped when her eyes hit mine, probably because in that moment, I was thinking how much I wanted to kill the bastard. “No, really, it was.”

  “I think, based on the fact that I left you hours ago and your eyes are red because you’ve been crying all day, that it wasn’t a good thing.”

  Brooke’s free hand found my face. “Baby.”

  I mock-glared. “So, I can’t call you baby, but you can call me that?”

  She grinned. “I let babe slide, didn’t I?”

  Turning my head, I pressed a kiss to her palm. “Yes, you did,” I said. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, why is that?”

  Red-hot cheeks.

  “Babe.”

  Her eyes dropped to the couch. “I should check on the lasagna,” she said and tried to stand.

  Like I was going to let that slide.

  “Babe,” I said, snagging her waist and tugging her back into my lap.

  “It’s not important.”

  “By your reaction, I’d say it’s pretty damned important.”

  She was in my lap and actively squirming to get away, which meant that my body had what one might term as a typical reaction. Meaning her ass was rubbing against my dick and my dick got hard.

  Surprise. That was nature at work.

  But I knew the moment she felt it because she froze . . . and then she began rubbing in a completely different way. Which meant I had to clamp my arm around her waist, and that was both heaven and hell. Heaven because her ass was in my lap and she was still wiggling. Hell because she wasn’t naked while doing said wiggling.

  “Babe,” I growled and nipped her throat. It was there, and it smelled like the flowers I’d brought her . . . and it was part of Brooke, my mouth was close, and it was there.

  She shivered and I swear to God, the sound she made in the back of her throat was the sexiest thing I’d ever heard.

  “It . . . doesn’t”—I trailed my tongue up her throat—“ah. Baby— I—”

  “Why is babe okay, but nothing else?”

  “It doesn’t—”

  “It does.” I nipped again.

  “It—”

  My mouth latched on, sucking softly, using my teeth, soothing with my tongue. “Babe.”

  “Fine,” she panted. “Babe is okay because I’ve never heard you use it with another woman.”

  That froze me. “What?”

  “You call every woman who comes into the bar baby or sweetheart or honey,” she muttered, and I found I liked that she sounded grumpy.

  “I’m fairly certain that I’ve never called any other woman sugar pie.”

  Pink cheeks again. “Okay, fine, that was mostly out of spite.”

  “Mostly?” I teased. “So, should I add it back into my endearment repertoire?”

  “Not if you want to live.” A hesitation then, “Brent told me you weren’t the player I thought. I—uh . . . and I guess this is the point where I admit that Steven did factor into this, at least slightly. He used all of those endearments”—a flash of a smile—“sugar pie, aside. But he didn’t really mean them either, you know? It was just something superficial.” Her voice dropped. “I didn’t want to be superficial, even in the beginning.”

  “Babe–”

  “But Brent pointed that out, and I thought it over and I get that’s not you. I also get that you using those endearments is just part of your bar persona in a way, and that using them gets you guys more tips.” She shrugged, lips curving again. “I’m not going to get upset over something that gets you more tips.”

  This woman.

  My heart pounded and I wanted to let her know how much her words meant to me, but I also didn’t want to make the moment heavy again. Not when she was smiling. Sti
ll, Brent was right. Sometimes I didn’t even think about the fact that I was using them. I’d have to be more careful.

  Fewer tips meant nothing, if Brooke was happy.

  “Hmm. Sugar pie does have a nice ring to it,” I teased, tapping my finger to my lips. She elbowed me. Hard. “Kidding. But just saying, maybe babe is my key to even more tips. Oof.” Another elbow that had me wincing. “Okay, so babe is yours, but just know you have free rein to call me whatever you want.”

  “How about cocky bastard?” she asked, eyes flashing, but mouth curving.

  I laughed. “If it allows the word cock to cross your lips, then yes.”

  A roll of her eyes, but her lips were twitching. “I’ll take babe.”

  “How magnanimous. Now, back to the ex and the reason you were crying.”

  I’d been wrong earlier. Brooke stopping her fight to get free from me and slumped back against my chest, her head nuzzling close until it was tucked under my chin was the best feeling in the world. I’d had girls cuddle up to me before, obviously. But not like this, not like she was seeking my touch because it somehow comforted her or gave her the strength to lay it out there.

  Though, I was probably imagining a lot of that, still I fucking loved her tucked close, and I’d take that any day of the week.

  “Babe.”

  “Brooke,” she muttered.

  I smirked. “Babe.”

  Her sigh was warm against my throat. “You sure you want this drama out there? I was trying to keep our first date light.”

  “This isn’t our first date.”

  She frowned, leaned back. “I mean, I know I gave it up a bit last night, er, earlier today, but I think I’d remember going on a date with you, Kace.”

  “You wore a green hoodie with a book embroidered over your heart. You had your laptop, though there were a few less stickers on its case, and I refilled your glass three times with Diet Coke, even though you only took a total of four sips from them.”

  “I—”

  “Two from the first, none from the second, two from the third.” I touched her nose. “Then you closed your computer, smiled up at me with those lush lips and pink cheeks, and you asked for a Rum and Coke. That was the only drink you finished.”