All She Wanted (Letting Go)

by Deese, Nicole

  “I’ll wait,” he said simply, walking into the kitchen.

  **********

  Though my sleep had been short, my hot shower had revived me.

  It felt a little odd knowing that Briggs was downstairs waiting—but strangely comforting at the same time.

  Last night had been…what had it been?

  For a moment I had been nearly certain that he was going to kiss me, but instead he practically ran from me.

  Had I wanted him to kiss me? I flushed.

  No, I didn’t want to kiss Briggs.

  What I wanted was for my life to feel normal again. I wanted the pain to stop haunting me. I wanted to erase Alex Monroe from my life—forever.

  Yet, oddly enough, I didn’t notice the pain when I was with Briggs. He, himself, was a pain, but that was entirely different. I rolled my eyes as I thought again about his Jingle Bells debut.

  As I got dressed, I smelled a whiff of something… scrumptious. My mouth watered instantly as my stomach growled in anticipation. Was Briggs…cooking? I put on some lip-gloss and zipped up my black boots over my leggings before heading downstairs.

  As I hit the last step, I saw the source of that delightful aroma.

  There, on the breakfast bar, were two plates. Each held a steaming omelet—one had a greek yogurt sitting next to it.

  He made me breakfast?

  His back was to me as he poured a glass of orange juice. A buzz of anticipation filled my whole being—and it had nothing to do with my growling, hungry stomach.

  Briggs

  I felt her.

  I could feel her warmth in the room before I even turned around, and as it turns out, it was a good thing I had waited to face her. The orange juice in my hand would not have made it to the counter if I had seen her a second earlier.

  Oh, heck no.

  No. No. No.

  She can’t be serious.

  I took a deep breath. I knew if I commented on her outfit before breakfast, these omelets would have ended up cold and uneaten. That much I had learned about Charlie. My normal aggressive approach to life didn’t work so well on her.

  “Good morning, Shortcake.”

  “Well, who knew! You’ve been holding out on me—a chef, huh?” she asked, tilting her head as she smiled.

  My stomach dropped. I looked away, clearing my throat.

  “Well, not exactly. I just do breakfast.” I pulled out her chair, seeing the surprise in her eyes, as if the gesture was foreign to her.

  Geesh…who was this punk she had dated?

  No, I didn’t want to know the answer to that.

  She thanked me quietly.

  I watched her take the first bite. It was a far cry from watching the guys eat my omelets, that was for sure. Theirs were gone in roughly five large hand-to-mouth motions, but that wasn’t the case with Charlie. She ate like the food had feelings, like it was labeled fragile.

  Something ached inside my chest as I pulled my eyes away again, hoping to clear my head.

  “So, got plans this weekend?” I asked her, smiling.

  She looked at me, “Is that a trick question?”

  I laughed—hard. She was figuring me out.

  I looked at her then, calculating my next words. I needed to address her attire. I had to. It was now or never, and there was no way I was letting her go to a fire station full of men, dressed like that. As she put her fork down, even though a good twenty percent of her meal lay uneaten on her plate, I knew it was time.

  “So, those are sure some nice boots ya got there.”

  She looked down. “Uh, thanks,” she said, standing up to take our plates to the sink.

  “Don’t you think though…that maybe they would look better with pants?”

  She spun around.

  Here it comes-

  “What do you mean? These are pants,” she shot back, defensively.

  “Okay…I suppose your definition of pants might be a tad different than mine,” I held out my hands, as if taming a hungry lion, “Let me explain. I think pants should be thicker than a tissue, they should also serve to protect the skin from the elements, as well as from the eyes of peeping men,” I said.

  Her mouth hung open.

  I was right to make her eat first.

  “Oh, so what…you think I dress like a-”

  “I’m not saying that Charlie, but I do think there are plenty of…more appropriate outfits you could wear to a fire station—other than a nylon.”

  Okay…probably could have left that last part out.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Sorry, but I’m pretty sure your job description didn’t include wardrobe Nazi, Briggs.”

  I swallowed hard.

  She was right. I had no authority to tell her to change, however, I knew the Chief would have been none-too-happy to see his daughter parading through the station in a piece of black saran-wrap and hooker boots. Okay—maybe it wasn’t quite that bad, but still.

  My mind raced ahead, searching for a compromise. The one I landed on may have been a bit of stretch, but I knew she would take the bait.

  “I’ll tell you what, if you would be so kind as to put on a pair of pants—my definition of course, then I’ll take you to a party tomorrow evening,” I said carefully.

  She eyed me suspiciously, placing a hand on her hip.

  “What kind of party?”

  “It’s an annual celebration of sorts. It’s a bit of a drive, but I’ve been going for years. You’ll have fun, I promise. Plus, it will get you out of this house.” I raised my eyebrows at her, waiting.

  She was considering it—considering me.

  “Will there be dancing at this party?”

  Does the hokey-pokey count?

  Yeah, it does.

  “Yep.” I nodded, “There will be dancing.”

  “Fine, but don’t think this means you have any control in what I wear in the future,” she said, stomping back up the stairs.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, Shortcake,” I laughed.

  Or at least, I would try not to.

  Chapter Eight

  Charlie

  I stared at the first few measures of Tori’s processional, trying to will my mind to focus. I suppose it was focused, just on something other than music. Every time I shut my eyes to envision the melody, I saw Briggs, standing in my kitchen the way he had been only yesterday morning. The omelets, the pants debate, the compromise…it all ran through my mind like a movie.

  Why had he cared so much about what I wore? And what had he cared about exactly—my virtue?

  That concept was about as unfamiliar to me as the inner workings of a microchip. Of course my father had been protective, but I had been out of his house for nearly three years. A lot had happened in three years.

  Alex had never asked me to change—at least, not out of something sexy. He’d only ever encouraged me to wear clothing that showed my body off, clothing that showed him off when we were out together. I never did live up to his expectations in regard to my attire, but his approval, when I had, made me feel good. I wasn’t exactly daring in the way I dressed, but I was no longer shy about the attention I received either.

  There was no mystery left to uncover.

  Alex had seen to that.

  Just as I rested my hands on the keys in an effort to ignore the wanderings in my head, my phone buzzed. I jumped, the vibration on the piano reverberating through the room.

  I laughed as the text surfaced—the name Briggs gave himself the night he stole my phone, displaying proudly.

  The hottie who lives above your garage: Can you be ready by 3? Something came up and I need to leave earlier. WEAR NORMAL CLOTHES!

  Me: What kind of party starts before 9? NORMAL? I’m confused J.

  The hottie who lives above your garage: The kind that I take you to. Do I seriously need to come in and pick something out for you? Don’t put it past me, Shortcake.

  I smiled.

  Me: You are such a pain!

  The hotti
e who lives above your garage: And yet…you love me for it.

  My stomach flipped; my breathing faltered.

  I replied, ignoring it all.

  Charlie: 3 is fine.

  And that was the end of that.

  Briggs

  Oh to have seen her face when I had sent that last text. I’m sure it was priceless.

  Shock value still had its place in this world—I made sure of it.

  Angie had texted me earlier to ask if I could take a look at her car, it was acting up again. I figured it was probably due for a tune-up, her next oil change wasn’t too far off either. I could do both before the party started. Luckily, I already had my tools here at the house. I had started to put them in the back of my truck when I noticed the weather.

  It was nice out—convertible nice.

  Charlie would probably be a tad less furious with me for taking her to Cody’s seventh birthday party if we rode in her convertible. She came outside a minute later as I laid my tools down near her car.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  To my very sweet surprise, she was in jeans—high heels—but in jeans nonetheless.

  I decided not to mention the shoes.

  “Thought we could take your car today since it’s so nice out,” I said.

  She looked at me like an assassin who had found her mark, then crossed her arms in front of her before staring down at my tools.

  “I am not going anywhere until you tell me what this whole charade is about. What do you need those tools for? Unless they are required to attend the awesome party you told me about,” she mocked.

  I smiled, shoving my hands in my pockets.

  She’s a smart little cookie—this one, although I had tipped her off.

  “Tonight is Cody’s birthday party,” I said, preparing for a volcanic eruption.

  She stared at me.

  I waited.

  She kept staring.

  I kept waiting.

  Finally, she said, “Maybe this will come as a shock to you, but I actually like birthday parties. You don’t have to trick me into going to one.”

  She turned sharply and stalked back toward the house.

  I watched her, speechless.

  What is she saying?

  That she would have wanted to come with me?

  “Wait—where are you going?” I yelled after her.

  “I’m getting my keys!”

  I smiled. Unbelievable.

  **********

  “I don’t think so, Shortcake.” I shook my head.

  “But it’s my car,” she whined.

  I was starting to break down. I could feel it with each pout and whine of her voice.

  Call me whatever name that fit the bill, but I always drove. The only exception to that rule—meaning, the only people who drove me—were the ones who had committed to risk their lives for me.

  “Rock-paper-scissors?” I asked.

  I knew she would choose rock. She was a crusher of men—it was her tell.

  She smiled. So did I.

  I was right.

  “You cheated!” she yelled.

  “How can you cheat at rock-paper-scissors, Charlie?”

  “I…I dunno! But you did!”

  I laughed as she threw her keys at me before walking to the passenger side door.

  “Tell ya what, there’s a nice long stretch of country road where we’re headed. You can drive then, okay?”

  That seemed to satisfy her—temporarily anyway.

  Charlie:

  “So, when does the party start?”

  “Think his friends are coming around six, but I need to work on my sister’s car for a bit before that,” he said.

  “Well, I’ll need to run into a store before we get there.”

  “What for?” he asked, puzzled.

  “For a birthday present,” I said, laying my head back against the seat and closing my eyes. The sun felt so nice beating down on my face, even if the breeze was still a bit chilly. I had thrown a sweatshirt and a blanket in the back just in case it got too cold for comfort.

  “Nah, you don’t need to do that, Shortcake.”

  My head snapped up in attention. “I am getting him a present, Briggs. I refuse to go without one,” I said firmly.

  Calm down…he’s only trying to be nice.

  “Whoa…easy there, if you really want to get him something I’ll take you to a store. Please just put the gun down and back away,” he said, but there was little teasing to be found in his tone.

  I felt the tension in my body relax after he complied, and again, I closed my eyes.

  Okay, so maybe that was a bit of an over-reaction, but I wasn’t going to be the one without something to give—especially to a child in a single-parent home. That just hit a little too close to home for me.

  I could reason that Angie was certainly not like my mama had been, but still…raising a son on her own had to be hard.

  “Will you tell me about your move to Dallas?” I asked quietly.

  I heard him take a deep breath—even over the noise of the road.

  Briggs

  A driving distraction?

  Yeah, that didn’t even begin to sum it up.

  Driving Charlie in her convertible was a new sort of torture. We had been talking for the last thirty minutes, nothing too deep, but the conversation certainly hadn’t lacked for content. She asked a lot of questions regarding Angie and Cody, a subject I tended to tread lightly through. As I opened my mouth with a question of my own, I stopped short as I saw her.

  I tried to pull my eyes away from her face, away from the stray hairs blowing around it, but the sun was a temptress, illuminating her beauty in its concentrated rays.

  And I was a sucker for Charlie’s beauty.

  Her reaction to my gift comment had felt off—defensive even, but she had melted into the sunlight before I’d had a chance to press her on it.

  There would be plenty of moments to debate with Charlie, but how many moments would be equal to this?

  Charlie

  After stopping at the store and standing in the toy aisle for nearly ten minutes, I made my final selections. Being an only child—and a girl—I hardly felt qualified to be choosing a birthday present for a seven year-old boy, but I did it. I had assured Briggs that he should just wait in the car, and I was very glad that he had.

  “I’ll only be a minute,” I had told him.

  I didn’t need him rushing me.

  As I headed back to the car, I couldn’t help but notice the disapproval on his face when he saw me.

  “Please tell me that’s not all for Cody,” he said.

  “Uh…it’s not all for Cody,” I repeated, smiling.

  He furrowed his brows at me.

  “What? There’s a pack of gum for me somewhere in here,” I said, pointing to the bags in my hand.

  “You are unbelievable,” he laughed.

  “So I’ve been told.”

  He handed me the keys as it was apparently my turn to drive. After putting on my seatbelt and sunglasses, I re-tuned the radio. I could feel his eyes on me—just as I had felt them on me earlier, but I didn’t turn my head.

  The country road that Briggs had mentioned earlier was a twelve-mile stretch of nothingness. It was just a two-lane highway with open fields on either side. It was a perfect road for driving—especially perfect for driving a convertible. I could feel my hair slipping from the clip that secured it, but I didn’t care. I loved the freedom that came with the wind—even if it meant tangled hair.

  I turned the music up louder, mouthing the words to my favorite song as I drove. Briggs laughed and shook his head. As it ended, I looked over at him and turned it down again.

  “What, you don’t like my taste in music or something?” I asked.

  “It’s not that, but no, I don’t,” he laughed.

  “What’s so funny, then?”

  “You don’t do anything halfway, do you? You’re-all-or-nothing.”

 
I scrunched my face up as I pondered his remark. I had never thought of myself like that, but it seemed pretty accurate.

  “Ten points to you, Manny.”

  “Ooh observation points, huh? Well, I’ve got more where that came from.”

  “Oh, do you? Well I’ve got a few about you, too,” I said, without thinking.

  “Well, by all means, lay ‘em out, Shortcake.”

  My stomach twisted with nerves.

  What am I doing?

  “Uh…” I began, going nowhere fast.

  “You got nothing.”

  As if hearing a challenge in those three simple words, I blurted out my unfiltered thoughts.

  “You’re a poser,” I said.

  “A…poser? How so?” he asked, a hint of mock defensiveness in his tone.

  I swallowed hard.

  “You let the guys at the station think that you’re some kind of playboy—some kind of carefree joker, but that’s not who you are. You care about people: Kai, Tori, Angie, Cody. You’re better than you let people believe you are.”

  I did not look at him as I said it. I was exposing too much to risk getting trapped inside those deep brown eyes of his.

  He was quiet for longer than felt comfortable, and then I felt a touch on my arm.

  “Pull over,” he said softly.

  I did, no questions asked.

  Briggs

  As she pulled over, I could feel the truth of her words driving into my heart like a knife. I did care about people, but that didn’t mean that I was a good man.

  Kai was a good man.

  She opened her door and looked nervous as she stepped out, like she was thinking about apologizing for her statement. I narrowed the gap between us, giving her my best attempt at a smile.

  “You’re right, Charlie. I am a poser, but you’ve got it reversed. I’m not a guy who’s posing to appear bad…I’m just a guy who’s trying for the first time in his life to do better—to be better.”

  That was just the simple truth; my past was not nearly that simple.

  Charlie pressed the keys into my hand lightly and looked up at my face. “But it’s not the bad guys who care enough to try.”