by Jill Shalvis
Cole: Yes to anything. I’m a desperate man.
Brooke: I want to go back out there, I want to be a principal photographer again.
Cole: Okay, yes to anything but that. That’s a definite no. I’m not putting you out there where you could get hurt again.
Brooke: That’s not a decision you get to make for me.
Cole: So come home and fight it out with me.
Brooke: I will. Soon. I’m not quite done here.
Tommy: It’s about a guy, right? Why else would you be stalling? And don’t forget to freak out when he wants more than a good time.
Brooke: That’s ridiculous. I don’t freak.
Tommy: No? Why do you think you’re not wearing an engagement ring from Cole right now?
Brooke: Wait—Cole thinks about marrying me??????
Cole: USED TO. Note the past tense. Because falling for you is the equivalent of jumping without a parachute. No offense.
Tommy: He’s not the right one for you anyway, sweetness. Just don’t run from the one who is. Don’t shut it down because you get scared.
Cole: You’re reading Cosmo again, aren’t you.
Tommy: So I like to be in touch with my feminine side, bite me.
Brooke: This convo is over. Good night.
She turned off her phone, even knowing Tommy was right. She shut things down when they got too personal. It usually happened somewhere around date three, at the inevitable “I’d like a family someday” dinner talk. That’s when she made the decision for them both that it wouldn’t work out. She knew this was because deep, deep down, she knew she didn’t want to face talking about the option she’d lost in the helicopter accident, the option she hadn’t even known she’d wanted.
Exhausted, she closed her eyes.
The thump, thump, thump of the helicopter rotors spinning startled her, as did the sound of the pilot speaking with intense steadiness into his radio about making an emergency landing.
Then she was in free fall.
She jerked awake with a silent scream on her lips, cold and clammy and utterly terrified. She was on her feet and out the door, her body taking control. She grabbed her keys with the intention of getting the hell out of Dodge, but she didn’t go out front to her car.
It wasn’t until she ran into Garrett’s dark bedroom a minute later that she realized what she’d done.
Garrett sat straight up in bed. “What the—”
She dropped her keys and, without even counting her steps, launched herself at him. For a guy who’d clearly been dead to the world a second ago, he thankfully woke up fast, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her into his warm, hard body with a low, worried murmur, holding her tight. “Brooke, what is it?”
Unable to answer, she burrowed in closer.
GARRETT SHOOK OFF the last dregs of sleep and ran his hands over Brooke’s body. No injuries that he could tell, at least no new ones. But she was alarmingly chilled—icy, even—and trembling like a leaf. “Bad dream?”
She nodded.
“It’s okay now.” He pressed his jaw to the top of her head. “You’re okay, you’re safe.”
She didn’t loosen her death grip on him, so he leaned back with her in his arms, pulling the covers up over them both. Again he stroked his hands over her to soothe and warm, until she slowly began to stop quivering and her body began to unclench.
He thought maybe she’d actually fallen asleep on him when she finally took a slow, deep breath and lifted her head, her eyes luminous in the dark as they met his. “I knew better than to fall asleep without going through my nighttime routine. I knew something bad would happen.”
“What happened?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Nothing. I’m sorry.”
“For what? Bee, help me out here.”
She choked out a laugh. “Everything. I’m sorry for everything.”
“That covers a lot of ground.”
She shrugged and bit her lower lip, and he gently pushed the hair back from her face, worried about the way she was breathing and the look in her eyes, worried because the last time she’d looked like this, she’d bailed for seven long years. “Talk to me, Bee.”
She hesitated. “You’ve spent your life making good, smart choices. And I’ve spent mine doing the opposite of that.”
“I’d never judge you on the decisions you’ve made.”
“Except for the one where I walked away from Wildstone and my family. And you,” she said.
Well, she had him there, and he winced.
“I really do regret how much I hurt you—”
“Don’t,” he said, closing his eyes. “You apologized and I heard you, and we’ve moved on.”
“Not all the way,” she said.
Their gazes met.
“You’re still mad,” she whispered.
“No. No,” he said again, when she looked at him with doubt. “Not mad.”
“Mistrusting, then.”
There, she was right on. And he hated that it was true. Hated, too, that she could clearly read it in his expression, because she slid out of his bed. “I closed you out,” she said, “and now you’re returning the favor. And I understand. I do. I honestly had no idea how much it would suck, and I’m sorry for that, more than you’ll ever know. And something else I now understand? This”—she gestured between them and then at the bed—“you knew this would be a bad idea, and you were right, because I’m having trouble separating the sex and the emotions that come with it.” She gave him a small smile. “I should go. Night,” she whispered, and walked out.
He leapt out of the bed to go after her and realized he wasn’t wearing any clothes. The front door slammed while he was pulling on a pair of jeans. Forgoing anything else, he ran outside in time to see her running toward the Lemon property.
“Shit,” he said, and started after her, but a scraping sound from behind him made him turn back.
His dad waved from the porch chair, Snoop at his side. He wore a T-shirt and boxers and nothing else.
“Yeah,” his dad said with a sigh. “I came, I saw, and I forgot what I was doing. But mostly, it turns out that once you get in this chair, you’re kinda stuck until someone a few decades younger who still has abdominals can pull you out.”
Garrett strode over there and pulled him up. “Why didn’t you say something? And where are your pants?”
“That’s another funny story. Sort of.” He grimaced. “I forgot ’em. I also forgot why I was coming outside in the first place, so don’t bother asking me.”
“Sorry to intrude.”
They both turned at the sound of Brooke’s voice. She was back, standing at the bottom of the porch steps, barefoot, hair wild around her face, eyes solemn, face pale. In her tiny jean shorts and tank top, she looked like jailbait.
“Brooke.” With huge relief, Garrett took a step toward her, but she shook her head.
“Just forgot my keys.” She moved past him and into the house, coming out not a minute later, keys in hand. Carefully not looking at Garrett, she turned to his dad. “We didn’t get to formally meet. I’m Brooke Lemon.”
His dad smiled at her. “And I’m Gary Montgomery, Garrett’s dad, though not a particularly good one. As you can see, I forgot my pants. Sorry about that.”
Brooke returned his smile. “I’m not a big fan of pants myself. And it’s never too late to learn to be good at something, right?”
She was being effortlessly kind, handling his dad with more care and affection than Garrett had ever managed.
“Are you the one seeing my son?” his dad asked.
Garrett let out a breath. “Ignore him,” he said, and took her hand. “We’re not finished talking.”
She raised a brow at his tone, which, okay, had definitely made that come out sounding like a demand, but it was more desperation than anything else.
“He don’t seem to know much about women,” his dad said to Brooke with a shake of his head. “But that might be my fault. I wasn’t around to teac
h him anything.”
Garrett shook his head. “Brooke. Can we talk? Please?”
“I’ll just get out of your hair,” his dad said, but then he sort of wobbled and sat back hard into the porch chair.
“Are you dizzy?” Brooke asked immediately, crouching at his dad’s side, her hand on his wrist, checking his pulse. “Do you need medical attention?”
“No.” His dad tried to wave her off. “I’m fine. I’m just getting too old for this shit.”
Brooke nodded, but she didn’t budge from his side, her eyes carefully assessing. “Every day I understand that phrase on an even deeper level than I ever have before. Is it too cold out here for you?” She glanced over her shoulder at Garrett with an accusing look, like this was all his fault.
And hell. It actually probably was.
“How long have you been out here?” she asked his dad.
“An hour or so. Garrett went to bed early, and I didn’t want to bother him with the doorbell. Especially once I saw you rush inside.”
Brooke very carefully didn’t look at Garrett. “Sorry, I didn’t see you.”
“You were in a hurry.”
“The bell doesn’t work anyway,” Garrett said.
“Sure it does. I fixed it yesterday.”
Garrett didn’t bother to sigh. “I told you not to worry about working on the house. You don’t have to earn your keep here.”
His dad’s expression was dialed into stubborn, a look that Garrett was startled to realize he recognized all too well—from looking in the mirror.
“I think what your son means to say,” Brooke said, “is thank you for fixing the doorbell.”
“Manners don’t run real strong in the Montgomery family,” his dad said.
“Let’s go,” Garrett said to his dad. “I’ll get you inside, and then . . .” He looked at Brooke. “I’ll be right back.”
He got his dad into bed, complete with extra blankets. But then he wanted a cookie. And then, like the children’s book, a glass of warm milk to go with it. By the time Garrett got back outside, Brooke was long gone.
His phone vibrated with an incoming text. It was from his father from upstairs: She needed a time-out. You’re welcome.
Chapter 18
“I’m prepared to do this slow and easy, or hard and fast. Which is it going to be?”
Mindy lay in her great big huge bed with her cold feet, missing her husband even though he stole her pillow and hogged the blankets. She even missed his snoring.
He was late tonight.
He’d been really working at getting home earlier, taking over the kids’ bedtime regimen, and she’d loved watching him come into his daddy-hood. But she’d been holding back with him, a part of her just waiting for him to revert to his old habits, even as she’d started softening toward the man she still loved more than anything. What was holding her back? Fear. She was afraid that if she gave in, she’d end up right back where she started . . .
Alone and lonely.
Like she was right now . . .
Somehow she fell asleep in spite of herself and woke up to sunshine streaming into the bedroom. She looked at the clock and gasped. Ten thirty! She’d never slept so late in her life. She could hear the kids in the kitchen, and Linc’s low calm voice.
He’d made her promises and he was keeping them.
Extra impressive since it was Saturday, and usually he traveled to a rural clinic to volunteer on weekends. She doubted he remembered they’d been invited to a birthday party for one of the neighborhood kids, at a small family-run winery only a few blocks away. If he’d remembered, she knew he’d have gone as far as he could to volunteer his services.
She padded down to the kitchen and stopped in shock. The kids were dressed. The place didn’t look bombed. And Linc smiled at her in that way that had butterflies taking flight in her stomach. “We’re party-ready.”
She just stared at him.
“Do you want to stay home and enjoy the time to yourself?” he asked. “I’ve got this.”
“Wow,” she managed, and shook it off. “And no, I can’t miss the party. It’s at the Capriottis’ winery. They’ll have amazing food and mommy juice.”
He flashed a small smile. “You mean wine?”
She smiled back. “Yes. And my plan was to take notes for Mason’s birthday next month.”
“You don’t need to take notes. All we’ll need is a hose. Garrett and I will have the Slip ’N Slide set up and we’ll spray Mason and his buddies for as long as they want. Trust me, they’ll have a great time. You’ll get rave reviews.”
And then, as she stood there in her pj’s, crazy hair, and no makeup, he leaned in and brushed a kiss across her mouth. The pleasure curled her toes, but before she could so much as grab him and kiss him back, he pulled away and herded the kids toward the door.
“But . . . the party doesn’t start for two hours,” she said.
“We’re going to Ethan’s for a bit first,” he said. “Cousin playtime. Take a few hours to yourself, Min.”
That did sound good. She showered, dressed, and started baking for the shop, a chore that had never felt like a chore, but the house was too quiet. And . . . void of life.
What is wrong with me?
She quickly flipped through her binder to check her notes for the day and found herself staring at all the tabs, folders, and illustrations.
Huh. Clearly, Brooke and Millie weren’t the only OCD Lemons around here. She shook her head, having trouble connecting with the crazy lady who’d created this binder. She had an entire section on things Linc was and was not allowed to do during his time between getting home from work and going to bed, including locking himself in the bathroom for an hour at a time. Granted, she didn’t understand the appeal of sitting on the toilet and playing games on the phone, and also she could probably birth an entire baby in less time, but . . . who was she to judge his me-time?
She sighed. He’d been drowning every bit as much as she had, but he hadn’t crumbled. Not once. He’d been steady as a rock.
She could admit she was jealous as hell of that.
Brooke staggered in the back door and as always headed straight for Mindy’s expensive teas.
Mindy narrowed her eyes at her sister’s cute short denim skirt. “Wait—is that my skirt?”
Brooke looked down at herself and shrugged. “Guess you know how it feels now, huh?”
“That skirt’s my favorite.”
“Is that why it was in a bag of clothes by the back door that Linc said was going to Goodwill?” Brooke wrapped her hands around a big mug and blew on the hot tea.
“It was not in that bag.” Okay, that was a lie. The skirt was too tight on Mindy, but seeing it look adorable and also sexy on Brooke made her want her pre-baby bod back in a bad way. But more than that, she and Brooke had barely spoken all week. It was driving Mindy crazy. Her biggest fear was that Brooke would leave any day now, and they’d go back to barely ever seeing each other. “I wish you could talk to me,” she said quietly.
“Now, there’s a really bad idea.”
“Why?” Mindy asked, mystified. “You used to talk to me all the time.”
“Before you were judgy.”
“I’m not judgy!”
Brooke held up her fingers an inch apart, the universal sign for just a little.
Mindy rolled her eyes. “I’m not.”
“Remember that big summer bash Dad threw for you on your twenty-first birthday, the week after I graduated from high school?” Brooke asked.
“Yes.”
“I slept with Garrett that night.”
Mindy blinked. “You what?”
Brooke raised a brow.
Right. But her sister and her best friend . . . how had she not known? And why? In fact, there had been a time back then when she’d thought maybe Brooke and Garrett might end up together. She had to take a deep breath to try to slow her racing thoughts. “I’m not judging. But . . . please explain.”
“Y
ou won’t blow things out of proportion?”
Too late for that. “I’m just . . .” Jealous. Jealous as hell. “Um, curious on how Garrett, who was in my grade, who was in all of my classes, ended up in your bed.”
“Well, technically not my bed,” Brooke said. “We never did it here. The house was always too full. We did it at the bluffs, at the Playground, in his truck—”
“You slept with my best friend. He was mine, Brooke.”
“No, actually, he wasn’t. You had Linc. In fact, by the following year, you were preggers.”
“I just can’t believe you both kept it from me, that’s all,” Mindy said, and then stilled. “Wait. Are you two still . . .”
“At this moment? I can tell you with one hundred percent honesty that we are not,” Brooke said tightly, and opened the fridge. She grabbed a peach and bit into it.
“You’re supposed to wash fruit first,” Mindy started, breaking off when Brooke just eyed her over the peach as she took another bite.
“Right.” Mindy said with a sigh. “God forbid anyone try to tell you what to do. Or even to make a suggestion.” She rose to check the oven, hating how pissy she felt. “Soon as these are done, I’m going upstairs to get ready for a birthday party for a little girl Millie goes to school with. The kids and Linc are meeting me there. Feel free to steal anything else of mine while I’m gone.”
Thirty minutes later, she was dressed and still angry. It made no sense, but she felt left out, and embarrassed about that. And mad about all of it. She walked out of the house to her car and found Brooke leaning up against it. “What are you doing?”
“Going with,” Brooke said.
“Why?”
“Do you want to be suspicious of my motives or grateful for the company?”
Mindy crossed her arms. “I’m going to stick with suspicious.”
“Probably smart,” Brooke said. “I’m going with because the Capriottis make excellent wine, and I could use some right now. It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?”
And then suddenly there was a pang to go with the anger inside Mindy. She hated where she and Brooke were at, but had no idea how to break the barrier. She knew Brooke cared. Brooke had taken care of the kids, she’d had Mindy’s back when it mattered. But Mindy wished . . . she wished they understood each other more. But for now, if a need for wine was all they had in common, she’d take it.