“Positive.”
With a little sigh, she wraps her arms around me, and lays her head on my chest. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone what you shared with me,” she whispers.
God have mercy on the asshole who ever tries to take Brooklyn from me, because I won’t.
I wrap my arms around her small body and kiss the top of her head. “I know.”
Chapter Nineteen
Brooklyn
The next morning I wake up alone, without Parker in my bed. Running my hand over the part of the bed where he slept, I feel nothing but cold sheets. He’s been gone a while.
A pang hits my heart and my stomach flips, but I force myself to breathe. This is how people who date deal with the morning after. Only, I have no idea what to call what Parker and I are doing. I know how I feel about him, how it felt to be with him yesterday, and how it felt to be held all night.
Staring up at the ceiling, I exhale.
This is the first time I’ve ever woken up alone after sex, and it’s not the best feeling. But it’s not the worst. One of the benefits of being a widow is that I learned how to put emotions into perspective. And nothing has ever hurt as bad as Braden’s death.
So, if Parker had decided to use me, then I’ll suck it up and learn from it. Tears prick at my eyes. My throat gets tight. “I won’t cry over something so stupid.” Tears slip out of the corners of my eyes. So much for my superior widow training.
But I can’t see him just up and running after what he revealed to me last night. Or maybe he can’t face me this morning because of what he revealed. Apparently, my assurances not to say anything weren’t enough. Then again, who am I to judge what is or isn’t enough? I’ve never been through what he has, and so what if he took off this morning because he couldn’t face me.
Dashing my tears away, I try to gather my composure.
“It’s not about you, Brooklyn.”
A splash of pink catches my eye, and I turn to find a small bouquet of flowers on the pillow beside me. Under it is a small note. I pick up both, bringing the flowers to my nose to enjoy their floral scent.
All the hurt, confusion, and pain starts to disappear, and it’s with a dreamy smile I begin to read:
Brooklyn,
Had to run. You were sleeping so deeply that I didn’t want to wake you. Be back at 7:45 to drive you to work. Hope you like the flowers. They were growing at the edge of the woods on the back of Miss Violet’s property.
Parker
I turn it over, frowning as I realize that’s all he’s written. My heart sinks a little, but I force it back into place. So what if he didn’t give me more emotional words, or any emotional words. He took the time, not only to write a note, but to also pick me flowers.
Glancing at the clock, I almost have a heart attack. It’s already twenty past seven, which means I have less than thirty minutes to get ready for work, eat breakfast, and pack my lunch.
Springing into action, I dress in record time, shove cereal down my throat, and throw together a decent lunch. Precisely at the time he’d written down, Parker pulls his truck into my driveway.
Butterflies appear in my stomach, zooming around as I nervously shut and lock the front door. Then I walk to the truck, a smile firmly in place as my knees get all wobbly.
The driver’s side door opens and Parker climbs out, his golden-brown hair slightly messy and his sexy face freshly shaved. He smiles when he catches me staring at him and strides to me, capturing my mouth with a long, hot kiss.
“Morning,” he says, breaking out kiss.
“Good morning.” I feel slightly confused by his kiss, but I’m not sure what to say. This is alien territory for me; I haven’t dated anyone in five years.
“Ready for work?” He escorts me to the passenger side of the truck, opens the door, and helps me in. “Nice outfit. Again, so damn glad Rowan’s your boss.”
I give him a little smile as I buckle my seatbelt. “She says I dress all prissy, but that the shop could use some classing up.”
His perfect mouth thins. “Yeah, I’d almost forgotten about the riffraff that works there.”
“They’re very nice riffraff,” I point out, slightly defensive. “A little rough around the edges, but everyone there treats me with respect.”
Parker’s jaw works. “Unlike me, right?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say slowly, because I don’t want to fight.
He shuts my door and jogs around the front of the truck, then climbs in beside me. “I know I wasn’t there when you woke up this morning,” he says, shutting his door. “But I did leave you a note and flowers.”
“Thank you.”
Backing out of the driveway, he throws his arm cross the back of the seat, nearly touching my shoulder as he does. “I had some stuff to work through this morning. So I went for a run, just like I wrote.”
I gaze at him in disbelief. “Had to run literally meant you had to go running?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh,” I say in a small voice. “I thought—”
“That I got out of there as fast as possible, but tried to be slightly decent by leaving you flowers and an explanation?”
“I guess.”
“And that I’d be back to take you to work?”
“Well, when you put it that way—”
His arm slips from the back of the seat, his hand coming to rest on my knee. “I should have stayed longer. You deserved to wake up with confidence, not worry or questions. My only excuse, which is the damn truth, is that I’m still working out stuff in my head, and being with you yesterday—”
“Made it worse,” I finish, and he nods.
“But it’s not your fault.” He pulls off to the side of the nearly deserted back road, and puts the truck in park before unbuckling both of us and pulling me into his arms. “Swear to God, it’s not your fault, baby.”
Once more I’m surrounded by his strength. I snuggle into him. “I know.” I trace a pattern on his shirt. “I missed you.”
“You did?”
Bashful all of a sudden, I nod instead of answering.
“I missed you, too. You have no idea how hard it was when I got out of bed this morning.”
“How hard you were, or how hard it was?”
“All the above,” he says with a laugh. “Do me a favor and buckle that little hot body of yours back in.”
“But I like hugging you,” I complain as he runs a hand down my back. He makes me want to purr like a kitten when he does that.
“Trust me, I like hugging you too. My entire body loves touching yours, but you need to get to work on time,” he points out.
With a little pout, I get on my side of the cab and buckle my seatbelt for the second time. “I’m always on time. A few minutes wouldn’t get me fired,” I grumble.
Parker laughs. “A few minutes? If I could have my way, we’d back in your bed, my cock buried deep inside of you, and you wouldn’t be allowed to leave until I’d given you at least a dozen screaming orgasms.”
My vision sparks and I start to throb between my legs. “Just a dozen?”
“To start. Then I’d have you ride my face, let me bring you off that way—”
I wave a hand in front of my face, my nipples tightening to hard points as I listen to him list all the ways he would make me come. Some I’m not sure are possible, while others make me want to skip work altogether.
“Stop,” I finally half-shout as we wait in the turn lane to cross two lanes of traffic. “I won’t be able to walk into work without everyone knowing what we were talking about.”
He glances at me, then back at the road, but not before I see the smug grin on his face. “Tonight, I’m cooking for you.”
“Really? Why?”
Shooting across two lanes of traffic, he pulls into Callahan’s parking lot and drives around to the back to park beside my SUV. “Because it’s my turn.”
“And afterwards?” I ask, my face heating as I unbuckle my seatbelt an
d gather my things. I can’t look at him right now.
“Afterwards is up to you, but I know what I want.”
I risk taking a peek at him. He’s gazing at me, his expression unreadable. “I want you to stay longer than dinner, and not because I have a list of things for you to do.”
“That sucks,” he says and I jerk my head up. “Because I was hoping that you’d have a really long list of all the things you wanted me to do to you tonight.”
*
Parker
Embarrassed confusion gives way to a pleased, slightly more confident Brooklyn. “Oh.” She swallows, then bites one side of her lip, worrying it with her teeth. “You’d like that?”
“It might makes things easier on you.” And me, because I know those would be her ideas, not mine from years of experience.
“I like making lists.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I’ve been in your house. There are lists for everything, including a master list.”
She shrugs. “It helps me stay focused.”
I lean over to open her door and kiss her. “It’s hot. Make a list, I can’t wait to read it, but there’s only one rule I have that I’d like for you to follow.”
Her brows crease. “What’s that?”
“There are none.”
*
Teasing Brooklyn before she went into work was the best part of my morning, but now comes the hardest part—I have to figure out what I’m doing. Either I stay here in Forrestville, or I leave, without Brooklyn. Not to mention my brother and sister would be left behind here, and I’ve never lived any place without them nearby.
My scholarship to Colorado U is tempting me to go there, to make a new life, and forget about my old one, but Brooklyn’s presence has thrown a wrench into my plans.
Would she consider moving? Am I moving too fast for her, or for both of us?
Rubbing the heels of my hands across my face, I try to clear my head so I can think. My phone buzzes and I grab it, checking the screen.
A: Would you be interested in one last job?
My body goes cold. I recognize the initial. It’s my old boss, Annabelle Butler. Nausea roils, but I force myself to stay calm.
Me: Told you to never contact me again.
A: But it’s so hard to let my favorite employee go, and you’re so conveniently located.
Me: I’m not interested.
A: Perhaps another time.
“Never again,” I mutter, tossing my phone into the sofa cushion beside me. I lean back, letting my head fall to the back of the sofa. Annabelle’s text is a reminder of why I can’t stay here. She won’t forget me, or let me forget what I used to be.
But maybe, just maybe I can convince Brooklyn to come with me when I leave.
Chapter Twenty
Brooklyn
Pen in hand, I stare at the blank list. It’s almost quitting time, and I haven’t written anything down.
“Don’t be a baby. Write something,” I order my hand, but it won’t cooperate without the help of my brain. My very smart brain.
Now that I’ve had all day to think about what happened between Parker and me, I think that what we did was a mistake. Because if it wasn’t, then wouldn’t I be able to write down a few things I wanted to have him to do to me?
Dropping the pen, I let my head fall into my hands and groan. “Way to think things out.”
My phone buzzes, and I hurry to fish it out of my purse. I read the screen and almost drop it. Braden’s mother is calling me.
“Hello?”
“Brooklyn. How are you?” Donna says. Her voice is strong, nothing like the frail woman who’d been recently discharged from the hospital, cancer free.
“Fine, but forget about me. Let’s talk about you—you sound wonderful.”
She laughs, a sound I haven’t heard since before Braden died. “I feel like crap, but it’s better than shitty.”
Biting my lip, I giggle. “Maybe tomorrow you’ll upgrade to meh.”
“Ah, Brooklyn, this is the reason why you’re my favorite daughter-in-law,” she says.
“I’m your only daughter-in-law,” I point out. Suddenly, guilt begins to creep inside of me. Only moments ago, I was thinking of another man—one who isn’t her son.
“Details. Who needs ’em?”
“Not me,” I chirp as I try to refocus. Braden’s mom and I have always gotten along for some reason, but I think it was because he had moved so far away from home that we didn’t have to compete for his affection or time.
“Frank and I would like to come see you in a couple of days—we’re thinking Thursday. Would that be okay?”
“Of course. Do you have my new address?”
“Is it the same one on the card you sent last week?” she asks.
“That’s it.”
“We can’t wait to see you. Is there any way you could have your parents meet us?”
“I wish, but they’re still RV-ing across the country and stopping at every local fair and festival. The last postcard I got was from Kentucky and there was an image of a Renaissance Fair on the front,” I say with a laugh.
Last year my parents had sold their house and bought an RV. It has always been their dream to travel across the US, and now they were living it. Sometimes, whenever I would get a phone call or a post card, I would get a little jealous, because while I was avoiding life, they were fully participating.
“Do you wish you would have gone with them?” Donna asks softly.
“Sometimes,” I answer truthfully, but then I wouldn’t have met Parker. Or made new friends in Rowan and Piper. “They ask me to reconsider my decision at least once a month.”
Rowan steps into my office while knocking lightly on my door. “I need to speak to you when you’re done.”
I nod. “I’m going to have to let you go, Donna. I’m at work.”
“Oh, oh! I didn’t think about that. You know how retired people are,” she says and I can hear the smile in her voice.
“See you Thursday.” I end our call and slip my phone into my purse. Turning my attention to Rowan, I begin to apologize, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be on the phone for so long, but that was my mother-in-law.”
Rowan waves my explanation away and plops down in the chair on the other side of my desk. “No biggie. Besides, I only stopped in to see how your date with Parker went.”
Forget fifty shades of anything. My face is turning about a thousand shades of red. “Fine,” I manage to say, because there’s no way I can lie and say it wasn’t a date. “Good. We ate amazing food.”
Her brow lifts as her lips twist. “Uh-huh.”
“Really. It was, and the hostess slipped him her number. Can you believe it?”
“Yeah, I can believe it.”
“How are things with you?” I ask.
“Same as yesterday,” she answers.
“Is there something else you wanted to talk about?” Please, let there be something else she wants to know that has absolutely nothing to do with my date with Parker.
She sighs. “Nope.” Then she stands up. “Guess I’ll get rid of the flowers out front, then.”
“He sent me flowers?” I ask, my voice squeaky. “But he left me flowers this morning on my pillow.”
Rowan gives me a gotcha-look. “On your pillow, huh?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, then open one while biting my lip. “Maybe?”
“Honey, I don’t want to know the details of sexy times with Parker.”
Opening my other eye, I cross my arms over my chest, and she has the grace to hold up her hands and say, “Okay, so maybe I’d love details of sexy times with Parker, but I’m more interested in how you’re feeling.”
The honest and open compassion in her voice makes me feel all vulnerable and exposed. Worse, I can’t imagine how I just spoke to the mother of my dead husband like I didn’t have a care in the world when I allowed another man to sleep in mine and Braden’s bed last night.
A man who let me wake up a
lone, no matter the pretty words and flowers he left for me, because he had issues to work on. Everyone has issues and Braden would have never let me—
Don’t compare the two.
“Brooklyn, are you okay? I was only teasing about throwing away the flowers. All twenty-two of them.”
The number catches me off guard. “Twenty-two? That’s odd.”
“Come with me,” she says, grabbing my arm.
I practically have to jog to keep up with her. “Boyd,” she yells. “Where’s the note?”
Boyd steps forward, leaving the crowd of guys that are gathered around the front desk, shielding it from my view. His eyes look suspiciously wet as he hands me an envelope. There are smudges on it that resemble fingerprints.
“Mrs. Reeves, that’s the most beautiful card I’ve ever read,” he says, and a few of the guys nod along with him.
“You read my card?”
“A couple of the guys wanted to check it for anthrax,” Boyd says, and I take a step back.
“Seriously?” Rowan exhales, pressing the tips of her fingers to her temples. “Listen up—new rule. No one is allowed to open anything that doesn’t have their name on it. Got it?”
A few of them grumble, but a scattering of Got It’s echo.
Opening the envelope, I pull out the card.
Brooklyn,
Twenty-two flowers might seem like an odd number to you, but each one represents each day I’ve thought of you since we’ve met. You see, I can’t get you out of my head. You’re in my every waking thought, and star in my every dream.
And if this should be but a dream, I don’t want to ever wake up.
Yours,
Parker
“How romantic,” Rowan sighs, and I realize she’s reading the note over my shoulder. “How oooey-gooey, cheesetastically romantic of him.” She turns to me with a fake scowl on her face. “I seriously hate you.”
Laughter bubbles up inside of me, and I hug her. “You poor thing. Do you want me to send you flowers?”
“Some chocolate would nice. Bottle of wine,” she mumbles. “Maybe a blow up guy.”
Another burst of laughter leaves me and I let go of her. Boyd walks toward me with a vase full of wildflowers. Twenty-two in total, just like Parker had said. I bury my face in the bouquet, overwhelmed at his very public gesture of affection.
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