“And hugs even when you’re not ready to talk.” She released him with a quick squeeze and a loud swat to his behind. “I love you, hon.”
“Thanks, Mom. Mind if I hang out here for a bit and think things through? I’ll lock up on my way out if you guys want to go to bed.”
“Of course. You know you’re always welcome in your own home. And you’re never too old to come get hugs from your mom.” She winked at him and turned out the porch light, leaving him swathed in moonlight.
Kicking back in the chair, knees wide and slouched low, he stuffed the ring in his pocket and stared out at the stars bright enough to peek through the faint haze of the city. His breath curled out into the cold, late November night air. Bending forward, he hung his head in his hands and prayed in silence for a moment, asking for peace to still the racing thoughts so he could get a handle on things rationally. It wasn’t long before he felt more like himself again.
He was angry. Not at Brynn. No, he was angry with himself. He’d been so intentional going into their relationship, and he thought he’d found someone with the same goals and objectives in life. An intelligent, driven woman. Capable, practical, with high morals and who was like-minded in other areas he valued.
Brynn was everything he could have wanted, or so he thought, and beautiful as well. And yet, when she’d finally been brutally honest with him and they’d spent those hours tonight talking openly—for probably the first time ever—he realized that she was completely correct.
He was a safe choice for her, and she for him. Brynn had laughed about how Gina called him “vanilla.” She’d explained that together, they were like ordering a double scoop of vanilla ice cream. Sure, it’s good, but wouldn’t it be better if vanilla was paired with say, chocolate or strawberry?
Or was there something else entirely out there that would complement his vanilla?
He shook his head again. Vanilla, really? It was time to give himself a good, hard look in the mirror and figure a few things out. He’d known going in that proposing to Brynn was a desperate attempt to hold on to a relationship he wasn’t sure either of them were completely happy in.
And why? Because he was so driven that he couldn’t allow himself to fail, even in a bland relationship?
How foolish to try to win just for the sake of not losing. Thank God he hadn’t actually lost in the long run. He knew they’d still be friends. They’d both laughed about moving forward and moving on and finding partners who would bring out the best in them. He’d even cracked a joke about hanging on to the ring to use later to “trade up” when he found the right girl.
And then he’d gotten mad at himself all over again because even in jest, there was practical truth in that.
Just once in his life, he’d love to be able to throw caution to the wind and become a little less of all those things he valued so highly. Like be able to take a blow-off class, or take a summer off work, classes, and internships and just be a regular guy with spare time on his hands.
He stood, brushed his hands down his jeans, and flipped his jacket collar up for warmth before sneaking back into his parents’ dark house and then out the front door. Adjusting the heater in his practical, economical sedan, he drove home realizing it was easier to accept who he was.
What was so wrong with vanilla, anyway?
Chapter 1
April
This was no walk of shame.
There’d have to be shame for that to be an accurate term, and she certainly wasn’t ashamed of the fun she’d just had. Why did they even call it that, anyway?
A quiet escape into the early morning air after a fun night spent flirting, and then more, with a smoking hot guy? No shame in that, right?
She silently tugged the door shut behind her, shoes in hand so as not to wake…what was his name again? Down three quick steps, she hopped on one foot to tug her favorite peep toe sling backs into place.
Her tongue ran along her teeth. The mossy feeling was just gross.
Ugh, she needed to brush her teeth, throw on her pjs and crash for about ten hours straight. A lofty goal for someone who had—a glance at her phone—about three hours before she had to be at the senior center.
Whose bright idea was it to schedule classes at eight in the morning, anyway? Especially art classes. No artist in their right mind could possibly feel creative at that time of day.
The itch to feel a paintbrush between her fingers warred with the desire to sleep. Staying awake after a languid night tangled in a lover’s sheets was much more conducive to the muse than sleeping and trying to awaken it again.
She walked half a block from the cute guy’s place through a neighborhood near the uptown shopping district. Just a few more blocks and she would answer the twin-tailed green siren’s call before requesting a ride with the app on her phone.
Twenty minutes later, she blew across the top of her white cup and sipped the grande americano with a shot of vanilla and just a splash of half and half. Perfect.
And there was her ride. The driver greeted her with a friendly smile and took in her rumpled look from the day before. He was probably about her age, kind of cute, except for the knowing smirk he tossed her way as she slid into the back seat. Whatever. She’d had fun, and other than needing to paint or sleep, or both, she felt fantastic. She didn’t need some snarky dork who thought he knew everything shooting her looks.
When they reached her little University area rental a few minutes later, the caffeine was doing its job. She could afford a quick shower and still have almost two hours to paint.
Whatever Comes Our Way (Everyday Love Book 2) Page 27