“Who’s a prick?”
Steph’s face blanches when she hears Dad’s voice behind her. I just let her talk on because she needed to get it out and flash a smile up at my dad.
“Keith, Daddy. He’s a prick,” I offer sweetly.
“Yeah, he is. What he put you through, he’s lucky I haven’t gotten my hands on him. He’s laid low all these months,” Dad says, curling his fist and shaking it in the air, sending me and Steph into a fit of giggles. “I’m just waiting for my chance to have words with him.”
I take a deep breath to regain my composure, wiping a tear from my eye.
“Really, Dad, that’s not necessary. If he hadn’t screwed me over like he did,” I say cautiously as Brian walks into the dining room. “Well, if that hadn’t happened, do you think fate would have handed him back to me?” I ask pointing at the blonde-haired blue-eyed baker in question.
Mulling it over, I see his eyes soften.
“You’ve always been smarter than your old man, Stell, but you don’t have to show off.” Winking, he turns, clasps Brian’s shoulder in his protective grasp and stage whispers, “I’m really glad he broke her heart so you could come fix her properly again,” before moving back into the kitchen to visit.
Confusion clouds Brian’s eyes. There’s concern there, too.
“What was that all about?” he says pointing over his shoulder in the direction Dad went.
“Revenge. Mostly, Dad hoping he’ll get a go at Keith someday.” Steph says it nonchalantly, but I see the fire in her eyes that tells me she’d still like to have a piece of him herself.
“Eh, he’s not worth it. He already lost. I got the girl,” Brian says, leaning down to place a kiss on my lips.
“Okay, lover boy, get out. We were trying to talk about wedding things and we keep getting interrupted,” she says.
Brian pulls out a dining room chair, turns it backward and straddles the seat. “Well, if it’s a wedding I’m going to be heavily involved with, can’t I be part of the conversation, too?”
“No,” Steph and I say at the same time.
“But ... I bake for you. For both of you. Let me at least help pick out flowers.”
“Flowers? I’m going to take your man card away, Bri. You know you know nothing about flowers. Now, me, on the other hand, well, ladies, I know the difference between a daffodil and a daisy,” Tommy says settling himself into a chair next to Stephanie and handing her a bottle of beer while sipping from his own.
“Thanks, Tommy, how domestic of you to bring me a beverage,” she quips, twisting the top from her beer and chucking it at him.
“I try to get girls to think I’m housebroke every now and again,” he retorts.
I lock gazes with Brian, silently asking him what’s up with our siblings, but all he does is shrug so I turn my attention back to the original conversation. “So, weddings. Steph and I were discussing how my first one was too showy and it’s not me. I want something small, simple, with a very small guest list. Thoughts?”
Brian’s demeanor transforms from lighthearted to serious, brooding almost, and I’m expecting him to give me a reason why our wedding should be a huge event.
“Can we do dessert trays instead of cake?”
“That’s it? That’s your biggest concern?” I ask, astounded that he thought about food instead of people from college or friends in Tennessee he’d absolutely want to invite.
“Yeah. As long as you and I are there, and someone to actually perform the ceremony, the next most important thing is the cake,” he says reaching across the table to grab Tommy’s beer from his hand and takes a swig. “Oh, and we need to make sure the beer stays cold.”
“I swear to God you were made just for me,” I say staring at his profile as he hands the beer back. “Where do you want to have the ceremony?”
“If we move my tools and projects around in the wood shop we could have it in there. Put up more of those white Christmas lights to set the mood. We could have dinner upstairs — I’m sure between my house and yours and your mom’s we have at least ten slow cookers — and then have a little dancing downstairs.” He finishes talking. The only sounds are the low rumblings of our parents visiting in the kitchen around a bottle of wine and Britt and Whiskey playing up in his bedroom. “What?”
I swing my head around slowly and see Steph and Tommy staring, open-mouthed, at Brian until Tom reaches over and closes Steph’s jaw for her.
“Did you read her diary or something? Jesus, Brian.” Only Steph knows how badly I always wanted a wedding in a barn. She’s the only one I ever confided in that I wanted homemade everything from decorations to food.
“When do you want to do it?” I ask without waiting for Brian to respond to my sister.
“Beginning of April.”
“Why then?” I’m intrigued. Steph’s at a loss for words. Tommy ... well, he looks really confused by all of this.
“The trees are starting to bud and even though the nights are cold, the days are usually warm. It’s when everything comes to life up here,” he responds, not even stopping to think about what he’s saying. “Everyone’s twitterpated.”
“There it is. This is about sex. I knew my brother was in there somewhere,” Tommy shouts like he just discovered the cure for cancer. “Right, man, this is a sex thing?”
“No, it’s not a sex thing, Tommy,” I say, my eyes never leaving Brian’s face. “This is about rebirth. Spring. Second chances. Isn’t it?”
Brian turns to look at me and I feel like we’re the only two people in the room.
“Do you remember when we were, I don’t know, we were maybe seven and we watched that wedding in the park? You and I met up over there on our bikes and we sat on the swings for the longest time. It was the oddest thing because we didn’t talk much and then a few people started showing up. We watched some random couple get married in the gazebo and it was magical,” he says as I nod my head, the memory flooding back and filling my senses. He reaches over and tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear, the gesture sweet and kind just like the memory. “You sighed. I remember the sound of that sigh all these years later. That little wedding with just a few guests was your dream wedding. I want to make all your dreams come true.”
“I can’t believe you remember that,” I whisper.
“I remember everything about my time with you,” he responds quietly.
The sound of a throat clearing brings us out of our memories. It was more than memories though; it felt like we were there all over again.
“So, April in the wood shop. We should start working on a menu, Stell, don’t you think?” Steph’s eyes are barely holding back tears as she takes another swig of her beer. “Meatballs, lasagna, a salad or two. Flowers, you’ll probably want stargazer lilies and daisies, right? I’m going to go get some paper and a pen so I can start writing this down.”
She slowly rises to her good foot, places the crutches beneath her, and hobbles out to the living room.
Brian
Chapter Thirty-Three
I watch Stephanie try to leave the room as gracefully as she can, which isn’t graceful at all, and when she’s a safe distance away I excuse myself from the table, leaving Tommy and Stella to discuss my use of the word “twitterpated” — she thinks it’s adorable, he thinks I’m horny.
Walking into the living room behind her, I ask, “Are you okay with all of this, Steph?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
She responds but doesn’t turn to look at me. Instead she stops and I see her head droop slightly as she reaches up to push a lock of hair behind her right ear.
“Steph, look at me when you lie to me,” I joke. “I’ve known you a long time. I know it doesn’t seem that way, but I have, and I can tell you’re upset. Talk to me?”
Slowly she turns on her good foot and scrutinizes me while assessing her words before she’s spoken them.
“Yeah, no, I’m not okay. Not in the traditional sense. I’m happy f
or you and Stell, please don’t think it’s anything other than that. I love you guys together. I’m just ... I just thought maybe at some point it would happen to me. I thought it was happening to me.”
Reaching out, I take her gently by the shoulders.
“You thought he was the one?”
“For a while. It’s stupid. He was so great in the beginning and —” she drops her head back staring at the ceiling “—I thought he’d change. Why are girls always so naïve? Why do we always think they’ll change? Do you know what he said to me the night he attacked me?”
The hate in her eyes kicks me straight in the gut and I just shake my head in response. It’s all I can do.
“He told me I would always be his. Always,” she whips the words at me. “And I said I would never be a man’s property. Then I spit in his face and he pushed me to the ground and did this.”
“And you survived. You are surviving —”
“Barely, Brian. I’m barely surviving. I’m living in my sister’s spare bedroom. I put a night light in the bathroom because the darkness scares the living shit out of me now. My best friend is afraid to talk to me because he might say something that hurts more than it should and I can’t get him to understand it’s not his fault. I’m still living in fear even though Max put a bullet in that fucker’s head and literally killed my living nightmare. I’m still afraid,” she finally admits. The strength drains from her, her shoulders slumping as the weight of the confession is lifted from her frail body.
“Stephie ... oh, Steph, it’s okay to still be afraid. Just because his body is dead and cold doesn’t mean the memories ever will be. You’re allowed to be scared of the dark, just don’t forget there are a whole lot of us waiting for you when you’re ready to find the light,” I say, placing my index and middle finger under her chin so she’ll look at me. “We’re all here for you.”
“I know. I know, you guys are always here and I should be talking to you about all of this stuff, or to Stella, or someone, but I just don’t want to be ... a burden.” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “I want to be happy around all of you. I don’t want to subject you to this.”
“You mean you don’t want us to be privy to the wit and charm you possess? You’d take that away from us? I’m shocked,” I feign, clutching my chest like she physically wounded me, and catch a small smile at the corners of her mouth. “So, let’s grab that paper and pen you pretended to come get in order to get away from us happy people and go start making some lists. It might make you feel a little better to do something with your brain. Let’s go forget for a while why you’re on crutches and instead eat rum cake and talk about flower arrangements.”
“You don’t think I’m a burden?” she questions warily.
“If I thought you were a burden, I wouldn’t have followed you in here in the first place to make sure you were okay. If I thought you were a burden, I wouldn’t have driven through the night from Tennessee to get home just to see for myself that you were still in one piece.” I pause and collect myself while watching her reaction. “Steph, even when you were a baby and wanted to tag along with me and Stella, you were never ever a burden. You never will be.”
“If you’re just saying this because you’re marrying my sister, I’m going to make your life miserable. You know that, right?”
Steph lets out a laugh, a real laugh, and I’m glad the gloom has left her eyes for the moment.
“Kid, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I say grabbing one of Stella’s notepads and a pen from the coffee table.
***
“Not bad for our first holiday together. We did food, presents, lots of visiting, planned a wedding, and ate more food. Is there anymore apple pie?”
Stella’s practically climbing into the oven when I walk out of the bathroom with a towel draped over my shoulder. I don’t hide the fact I was staring at her backside when she stands up and turns around with a pie plate in her hand and a fork hanging out of her mouth.
“You look yummy, too. But I want this pie. No way am I letting Tommy eat it for breakfast,” she says pulling out a barstool and hunkering down at the counter.
“You looked like you wanted to run away at the sight of coffee cake this morning and now at midnight you’re eating pie right from the dish. Are you feeling alright?” I ask only somewhat joking.
Stella finishes chewing the bite in her mouth and swallows, watching me suspiciously before popping another forkful of pie in her mouth.
“I feel fine. I just really love pie. Where did you get this recipe, anyway? It tastes really familiar,” she says before taking another bite.
It should taste familiar to her — it’s her grandmother’s recipe. I’d never believed cayenne pepper belonged in pie until Jenny let me go through her recipes for the holiday and I came across a faded piece of paper with Nana Barbieri’s handwriting on it.
A low moan jars my senses and I snap my attention back to Stella at the counter.
“I remember her making this pie when we were kids. Oh my God, Bri, I haven’t had this in years. Mom never makes it like this.”
She’s going to eat the rest of that pie if I don’t stop her. Another moan escapes her lips and I swallow hard against the reaction my body is having to her, to that fork in her mouth, to the fact my soon-to-be wife loves food as much as I do.
She’s changed out of the clothes she wore all day. Sitting in front of me with one leg propped on the stool she’s perched on, I watch her thoroughly enjoying her foodgasm while wearing a strappy top that accentuates the natural curve of her breasts. Her hair has grown long enough that she drapes it over her left shoulder and it falls to the channel between her breasts.
With each moan, I watch as they rise and fall; it’s mesmerizing.
“You need to stop that,” I say, my tone a gentle warning.
“This pie, though. Brian, please tell me you had some of it earlier,” she says, closing her eyes as her full, soft lips wrap around the fork again. “This ... is worthy of an orgasm.”
“Which is why you need to stop,” I say, having moved to stand beside her. I take the fork from her hand, set it back in the pie plate and swiftly cover her shocked mouth with my own as she turns to me ready to protest.
She tastes damn near sinful.
Stella reaches up and pulls my mouth harder against hers, ravenous.
“Bathroom. Now.”
She’s commanding. Demanding. She’s in charge.
Stella grabs my hips and pushes me backward until my shoulders are pressed against the frame of the bathroom door. She stands on her tiptoes to reach my neck, licking and nipping at the tender flesh. I drag my fingertips from her neck down her spine, feeling her shiver in their wake as she presses her body fully into mine and breathes out a moan so low it’s barely audible.
“I need you naked and in me,” she whispers.
I cup her face in my hands and capture her bottom lip with my teeth as I turn her back to the open door and walk her through, pushing the door closed with my foot once we’re safely on the other side. My hands still on her face, I feel her begin pushing down my legs the grey sweatpants I threw on after my shower, my boxer briefs bulging from the barely restrained erection.
Reaching behind me, Stella turns the lock on the door despite the late hour.
“Brian,” she breathes out my name. “I want you. This isn’t about need. I want you and if you don’t hurry it up, I’m just going to take what I want.”
A smile forms on her lips knowing full well I’ll give her what she wants.
“No need to take it.” The words are hardly out of my mouth before I’m lifting her shirt above her head and the swell of her breasts fall from their confines like forbidden fruit. I lift one to my mouth as I wrap my other arm around her waist, cupping her firm ass in my hand. Flicking my tongue across the tip of her nipple, I feel her chest rise with the sharp intake of air.
Her hands are in my hair, her fingers threading through it and holding on as I continue my
gentle assault on her breasts.
I lift her up, wrapping her legs around my waist, and pin her against the wall with my hips, grinding into her as I find her mouth with mine again.
Breaking the kiss and glaring at me, she says, “You’re teasing me.”
“Not on purpose. I’ve had to share you all day. Don’t be mad because I want to take a little extra time with the foreplay.”
“The pie wasn’t foreplay enough?” Her smiles lights up my life and I move in to kiss her again, my cock twitching in my underwear when I feel her tongue slide along the seam of my lips.
I stand her back on the floor, sliding her yoga pants down her legs until she steps out of them and notice she’s opted for no underwear.
“Commando, eh?” I ask, shaking my head. “It’s like you planned for this to happen.”
“The only thing I planned was for me to eat food and go to bed. This —” she laughs gesturing to the space between us and then the room “— is because of that damn pie and your dirty mind.”
“It wouldn’t have been so dirty if you weren’t moaning and practically mouth fucking that fork,” I say, and watch her pretty little mouth fall open, knowing I can’t make her wait any longer.
I strip my boxer briefs off and pull her to me, the heat of our bodies colliding as a rush of cool air swirls around us.
Stella walks me backward until the backs of my legs touch the bathtub and she pushes on my shoulders making me sit on the edge. Resting my hands on her waist, I pull her body to me, kissing her belly, her hips, down to the apex of her thighs. She shudders, holding onto my shoulders, and pushes me back to climb on and straddle my lap.
She lets out a pent up sigh, her head falling back, as I enter her. I rock my body as best I can, feeling myself hit deep within her. Stella moans and begins moving her hips, pushing herself up off me while I’m left unable to move in this position.
Holding her hips, I push her back and forth on my cock, rubbing her clit into my pelvis, and watch her skin begin to blush. I love the way it creeps up her neck as an orgasm builds deep within her and I rock her faster.
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