by Marcelo, Tif
“All set,” Sal said, as he climbed into the van.
Seconds later, Brandon followed. The front doors shut, rocking the van, and from the back seat and next to Rhiannon, Geneva spied Brandon’s blank side-view expression.
“Where to, Ms. Geneva?” Sal asked.
“Home for me, please.” Her voice croaked out an answer, and she cleared her throat. “We’ve got a meeting to plan for. Right, Bran?”
“Oh, um, yep,” he said.
Silence ensued, and it was protracted and painful despite only being a few seconds, as they got to the main resort road.
“Mr. Brandon,” Rhiannon said in sheer perfect timing, breaking the silence. “How did you know what you wanted to do?”
“What do you mean?” Brandon lowered the visor and looked back through the mirror. For a beat Geneva caught his eyes and promptly looked away. There was so much to unpack in his expression.
“I’m supposed to be coming up with a major, but there’s too much to choose from.”
“I thought you were doing nursing?” Geneva asked.
“I did some dissecting today, and it was . . . something. I don’t know if I can do blood and all that after all.”
“To be perfectly honest?” Brandon said. “I didn’t know what I wanted at your age. A couple of my friends got accepted to this college in Texas, and I applied to it, and there I went. I picked a major that interested me, though didn’t really know what I could do with it. History.” He snorted. “You see where that got me? Not using history. I went to grad school to do what I realized I wanted to learn, which was business. The moral of the story, just go with what you think is right. Time will tell, and if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.”
“That’s so easy to say,” Geneva commented.
Faces turned her way.
Oh goodness, did I say that aloud?
“You disagree?” Brandon asked.
She shook her head and gave Rhiannon a small smile. She recognized the look of uncertainty across her face, the pressure she was probably feeling. She didn’t know enough about Rhiannon to make assumptions, but her own experience had taught her otherwise. “I don’t disagree, but I just feel a little different about it. I didn’t know what I wanted to major in, either, but with what I decided, I put myself into it a hundred percent. I made it my decision. My major was accounting, and I had all these jobs I was considering, but an internship changed my mind.”
“Such great advice from two successful people,” Sal said as he pulled onto the gravel pad behind Ligaya—Geneva’s stop. He spun around. “I went to trade school, but I took a chance there too. Just got lucky that I liked it.”
Rhiannon nodded, eyes roaming the van and then meeting Geneva’s. “It’s so hard, being an adult.”
“And in all honesty, even as adults we don’t have all the answers. We still make a lot of mistakes,” Geneva said.
The van was claustrophobic with all of them looking at her. Correction, with Brandon not looking at her.
“Well.” Geneva slapped her hands on her lap. “I’d better go. Lots to do. Thanks for everything, Sal and Rhi; I’ll keep in touch. See you soon, Bran.”
Geneva didn’t wait for answers and instead excused herself as she climbed over Rhiannon and popped the door open to the relief of the open air and the gravel underneath her feet. With a final wave, she put distance between her and the van and Brandon, and that scorching kiss.
In high school, Geneva had felt nothing for Brandon other than that he was Beatrice’s baby brother. Growing up, she’d treated him like any older sister would. If anything, she had been more doting, aware of their family dynamic. Chris and Gil had each other, she and Beatrice were inseparable, and Brandon was left to whoever decided to share their time with him. Brandon had been the one always left behind.
When she and Brandon had reunited at Chris’s wedding after years of seeing each other on social media, right away she’d been able to tell that he was the same Brandon but more.
Had he been primed for a fling?
Perhaps. He was still mourning his parents, and she was mourning them too. She had been lonely and had been searching for . . . she didn’t know what.
Back then, it had started with a kiss, as it just had again.
Could she let this continue? He was still her best friend’s younger brother. Their careers still took them in the opposite directions.
Geneva now entered Ligaya, mind swirling with thoughts. Of everything, really, in her life. Thoughts of the sparse furniture and of how none of the things were hers.
Yes, she had done this by design. She’d kept it bare and minimalist, and she’d been loud and proud about it. She’d touted it after reading books about the theory of minimalism, after mulling over the significance of the movement. Proud of being able to let go and simply move toward the goals she hashed out for herself year after year.
But at what cost?
Luna sauntered in from the kitchen, a queen awoken from her nap. She crooned at Geneva, then turned right around and made her way up to the loft, as if not wanting anything to do with her.
Geneva didn’t blame her, because she was a mess.
She threw her keys on the table and dropped her messenger bag on the ground. She ran her fingers through her hair. Her body flushed with need of the unresolved, with the leftover heat of Brandon’s hands all over her, along with all the subsequent consequences of their togetherness. This was also another reason why she left things, places, and people. She could not deal with drama. Brandon was, in every possible way, drama.
She was filled with tension, with irritation, with energy misspent. She didn’t need to exercise, though she knew exactly where she wanted work done, and by whom.
A knock sounded at the door and she whirled at the noise.
“Geneva.” The voice was low, a growl through the wood, and her tummy flipped.
She laid a hand on the doorknob. “Brandon?”
“Can we . . . talk?”
“I don’t know,” said her mouth, straight from her brain without a filter. She wasn’t sure if she could do it, just talk. Not after the warehouse, and in her current state, bothered and hot.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I am.” She nodded, instantly comforted. He cared for her—he did. And then she laughed, because while he was worried about her, she was trying to get over this . . . need for him. She turned the knob and popped the door open a sliver.
Brandon’s hands were braced on each side of the screen door. Seeing her, he stepped back and stuffed his hands in his back pockets.
He was still wearing the same clothes, yet she was seeing him with a different filter. The kind where he was naked.
Her breath hitched at the thought.
“Hey,” he said, after the silence between them. “I’m sorry . . .”
The statement made her frown. “You’re sorry?”
“Not that it happened, but that . . . that we didn’t talk about it first. We had decided . . .” Then he straightened. “But no, I’m not sorry that we kissed. That was . . . I had been wanting to do that ever since forever.”
“Forever?”
“Yeah, Geneva. Forever, yesterday, four years ago. Being with you was never the problem. It’s everything else. My family, our circumstances, is what always gets in the way. Are you . . . sorry?”
“That we kissed?” If he could feel the heat steaming off her now, the need that was growing inside her, it would make him blush. But admitting it would be a catalyst for her to open the door all the way, for him to come in and possibly create a bigger mess than this was. Because it was a mess. “Brandon, we’re both visitors in essentially your family’s home.”
“So you’re sorry.”
Yes? No? She pried the truth from her teeth. “I don’t know.”
“What do we do?”
“We . . .” Continue to kiss all day and night. “We can’t do this again. We have work to do, and I’m only here—”
“I kn
ow, I know, eleven days. You’re right. You’re absolutely right. Okay.” He took one step back. Then he turned, then spun to her. Lifted his hand to say something. Geneva stilled at the doorway. Her own defenses were down; a slight bit of temptation would be enough for her to give in. “I’ll . . . I’ll keep in touch for when we can meet with Lainey?”
“Yes. In public.”
He breathed out a laugh. “Yes, in public, and purely platonic.” He took one step back and heaved a breath.
He was going. She was going to let him go.
Again.
She shut her eyes tight as the word wormed its way out of her mouth. “Brandon.”
He looked over his shoulder, then turned, slowly this time. He looked up at her through impossibly long eyelashes. “Yes.”
Geneva’s body was going rogue. It pushed the screen door with a squeak. Heat rose up her chest. Because she and Brandon had belonged to one another once upon a time, and she knew that in his kiss was pure bliss. “Maybe just one more kiss?”
He scooped her into his arms. They didn’t have far to go, just steps to the kitchen, with their lips interlocked, breaths as one. Brandon was strong, solid, and he propped her up on the kitchen counter, perched precariously, as his lips trailed across her cheek, earlobe, and neck.
“Longest kiss ever. Time it,” he said against her skin. The vibration made her giggle, and he followed suit, until his lips met hers again, and they found a groove.
She dug her hands in his hair and found purchase with her legs wrapped around his waist. “Guinness Book of World Records,” she said in between kisses. “You win.”
This part was so easy with Brandon. It was simple and comforting and safe and wonderful that she could just put everything aside.
Why couldn’t they do this? They could meet off resort. They could make things work.
Something vibrated against her ankle, but she ignored it, relishing Brandon’s hands as they made their way up the sides of her bare legs.
But the vibrating didn’t stop. It kept on and on and . . .
Brandon pulled away, snapping the moment in half. He growled as if in pain. “I’m sorry. I have to get that.”
She dipped her chin into her chest, nodding.
He plucked the phone from his back pocket and answered. “Yep.” After a beat, he frowned; then he shook his head. He stepped back, away from her, and as the distance between her body and his increased, the moment rushed headlong into reality. She hopped off her kitchen counter and grabbed a bottled water from the refrigerator, taking a second to breathe in the cold air.
What had just happened? What was she about to allow to happen? Where was her logic?
“See you soon,” Brandon said.
She turned, taking a swig of water, and with it swallowed the nerves that had built up inside her. “What’s going on?”
“Two things. It seems that Chris and Lainey ran into one another, and she mentioned us meeting with her and why.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Oh crap.”
“Yep.” He linked his hands behind his head. “So he wants a meeting with all of us tomorrow. He’s got some overnight thing with Eden, but eight a.m. sharp.”
She righted her thoughts and took one deep breath. Back to work. “I mean, it wasn’t ideal for him to find out, but if he’s not insisting on a meeting tonight, it’s probably not so bad?” She shrugged to inject levity. “What’s the second thing?”
“Beatrice has a proposal for us. It’s about our pictures.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Day 5
Weather: mostly cloudy, 87°F
Hurricane Oscar: Category 1, over The Bahamas
It wasn’t as much a dining room as it was a boardroom, with Brandon and Geneva on one side of the table and Gil and Beatrice facing them, with Chris at the head.
Chris was always at the head. And, of course, he was in full lecture mode, which put Brandon on the defensive.
“Honestly, I wasn’t too surprised that Brandon went against my suggestions, but I didn’t expect it from you, Geneva.”
Brandon opened his mouth to object.
“Aw, Kuya, you don’t have to go there.” Gil beat Brandon to the punch, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. “She was looking out for us, weren’t you, Geneva?” His tone was relaxed, too relaxed, and almost placating.
Geneva was looking down at her clasped hands.
This was getting ridiculous. Chris was treating them like they were children. “Wait a sec—” Brandon started.
From under the table, a searing pain jolted his shins. Gil eyed him pointedly as if to say shut up. “And I think Brandon has a point. Restaurants aren’t his expertise, and since the contractor is here, why not?”
“It’s about the budget. We’re down to every line item, and we all know this. Everyone except these two apparently. They seem to think that they have carte blanche over decisions.”
“I’m sure some of our decisions were made in a vacuum.” Gil raised his hands in defense. “That’s my opinion.”
Silence descended over their group; Brandon calmed. He nodded at Gil in thanks. Sometimes his own temper got to him. Much like grabbing the marshmallows while making s’mores, Brandon really needed to ease up and let things play out instead of grabbing for the first opportunity.
Around his family, sometimes, he regressed back to acting like the youngest, the smallest, the most immature, even if he had already made a life for himself. Even if he was a grown person.
Brandon tipped his coffee cup toward himself; it was empty. They’d had eggs, bacon, and garlic fried rice for breakfast first as a family, because nothing could get between Pusos and food, especially when Chris cooked, but as soon as the last of the plates had been cleared, the small talk had disappeared along with it.
Yesterday had started with a bang and ended as a dud. This morning, the tide changed as drastically as the ocean’s undertow.
He and Geneva had kissed. They’d touched. They’d laughed. They’d somehow foolishly put away history. Foolishly, because history never did end in the past—that was at least something he’d learned from college. He’d also learned that history dampened the naivete of the present day, just as Chris’s call yesterday had virtually snuffed out the smoldering fire between him and Geneva. After hanging up, without fanfare, he’d left Geneva’s house as if their kiss had simply been a passing thought.
Maybe it was better that way. That kiss was too close to falling into what history had deemed a mistake.
The m word—he hated that word. He hated it with a passion, for what it connoted. Because he was the expert on this, on making mistakes. In his family he was always atoning for something, being the last to learn.
Chris wiggled a finger. “I’d wondered, you know? When you mentioned the consultant the other night, I wondered if something else would come down the pipeline.”
Brandon was tired of this. “I was doing research. Why is this so bad?”
“You’re not getting it. You didn’t keep me in the loop, and it’s me who looked like a fool. Lainey asked me about it as if I already knew, and I didn’t.”
“Aw, Kuya, you didn’t look like a fool—” Beatrice interrupted.
“Yes, I did.” He crossed his arms as he meandered to the window. “I played it off, though. Because you might be right.”
Geneva met Brandon’s eyes, mirroring how he felt. Was this concession?
“I asked her about her rates.” He rubbed his beard impatiently. “They’re acceptable, but she can only help us while she’s here to install the houses. We’re cutting it close, in everything, and I don’t like it. Oscar is a day away from Florida, which means it’ll be on us in a couple of days.”
“We can get quite a bit done in two days,” Brandon piped up. Optimism ran through him despite a ball of nervousness threatening to form in his throat. There was no storm yet. He was okay. They were okay. “Mike and I have come up with a plan to prioritize securing the homes and wrapping up some
tasks. I can send that to you.”
Chris nodded. “Good. I just hate to lose ground or change the date of the grand opening, because the marketing and publicity is working. And speaking of publicity. There’s another proposal on the table, which I wholly am against.”
“But,” Beatrice piped up, “I insisted that I at least share it. But it’s totally up to you both.” She rose from her chair.
Once again, Geneva met Brandon’s eyes.
“It’s about the pictures Tammy took for social media. They’re very good.”
Chris raised a hand. “And weird.”
“Not weird,” Beatrice said. “Obviously they’re not weird, because they’re doing well. Engagement is up.”
“Okay. So, great.” Brandon peered at his siblings.
“No, you don’t get it, Bran,” Chris said. “The pictures she’s talking about? They’re of you and Geneva. Show him, Gil.”
Gil sat up in his seat and woke the screen of his phone. After a couple of presses of a thumb, he slid the phone across to Brandon. Geneva scooted her chair closer, and with bent heads, they spied at the resort’s Instagram.
Admittedly Bran had been caught up. Being on the resort had been a whirlwind. As if by crossing the land bridge, he’d been taken away from the real world. He hadn’t been looking at anyone’s Instagram or Facebook, not since Beatrice had shown him the first picture of him and Geneva on social media.
He also wasn’t the expert on what made a good feed and what didn’t. Except that this one looked uniform and pleasing, with outlines of couples against the horizon or running on the beach. Of standing next to the baby-blue house, a guy holding a woman’s hand, spikes of sea oats in the background.
Wait a sec.
It was he and Geneva, at Yakap.
“That’s us,” Geneva whispered. “You were helping me up after I tied my shoes.”
Three emotions warred inside him. Shock, that someone had been watching them. Vindication, that they should have been together, that they should have remained together. Anger, that Geneva had left him.
“Oh my gosh, it’s of the two of us. All of these photos are of the two of us,” Geneva said, reaching across him to zoom into the photos. “This is when I almost fell while running in the sand.”