by Marcelo, Tif
“There should be two pillows and lamps with the wooden base and, if you can handle it, a rattan bowl still left in the van,” Geneva instructed as Beatrice and Rhiannon went out for another load.
Eden peeked from the kitchen. “So . . . Bea said that you and Bran were in Ligaya all night long? Was it . . . joyful?”
Her cheeks burned. Geneva had been on her toes after this morning’s sudden arrival at her beach house. So she focused on the screen to keep herself steady. “I was glad to have the company.”
“Where did he sleep? If I remember, that house doesn’t have a couch or a love seat.”
Stomping from the front stoop brought the room to silence as Beatrice, with her earbuds in, entered with pillows precariously balanced against her chest.
Geneva pointed to the loft; Beatrice sang and climbed the stairs.
Silence continued, though Geneva felt Eden’s stare and silent interrogation.
“I’m a romance writer, Geneva.” Eden pretend-swept the floor and glanced up toward the loft. “And romance writers can pick up a trope like no one’s business.”
To add more space between them and reduce the peer pressure that was working on her, Geneva moved to catalog the half-dozen framed prints leaned up against the wall. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Just one bed? Forced proximity?” Eden’s eyes gleamed with both mischief and warmth, and for a beat, Geneva was tempted. How she wanted to talk to someone about this. How she wanted to share this news, especially with friends.
All morning, she had been on cloud nine or, better yet, rocking in a kayak on top of the waves. Thoughts of Brandon and their night had flitted through her head when she’d least expected it, and she’d found herself grinning like a fool.
But she couldn’t yet say a word, not until she spoke to Beatrice first. News traveled like wildfire among the Pusos. They had the kind of ESP that Eden, by way of marriage, possessed. Beatrice had to hear it from Geneva first.
Rhiannon walked in with two lamps and settled them in their required areas. “What’s just one bed?”
“Nothing,” the two women said.
Geneva coughed. “Rhi, can you grab the last of the framed prints from the van? I’m missing a couple.”
“Okey doke.”
When the young woman left, Geneva side-eyed Eden. “You know what this sounds like? This sounds to me like someone is looking for ideas for their book. Is this projection?”
“No, but as someone who’s not a Puso by blood, and impartial to the general drama of this family, my antennae are up. Something is afoot, or perhaps aspark, and I think it’s because of you.”
“Is aspark even a word?”
“No, but as the master of my own universes, I can make it up.” She winked.
“Gen!” Beatrice called from above; her head peeked out from the railing. She took off one of her earbuds. “I think I’m good up here. Do you want to check?”
Eden pointed at her. “Uh-huh. Distraction saves you another day. But heed my advice. Clear the air before it ends up biting you in the butt. Trust me.”
Geneva, face burning, made a pfft noise and rolled her eyes to play it off. Then she hopped up the steps to get the heck out of that room; she knew Eden was right.
She would tell Beatrice after finishing up this house.
When the bedroom came into view, white sheets topped with corduroy pillows on a bed pushed up against a textured wall, all Eden’s questions fell away. They were replaced with pride. What a difference a week made. “This is perfect.”
“I agree. It’s exactly what belief feels like. Classic and reliable.”
The way Beatrice complimented her work always touched her. Not once had Beatrice doubted Geneva’s dreams. Would Beatrice feel different once Geneva told her about her and Brandon? “Eight houses down, two more to go.” Her voice cracked.
“And with six more days?”
Geneva stilled.
Beatrice’s face crumpled into a frown. “Two?”
“I don’t know,” she said, in full truth, and a sliver of guilt wrapped around her like a ribbon.
“But if you decide to stay with me, then you can do more of this. Of anything you want . . . and the sky is the limit!”
The pressure built around her heart, and Geneva resisted it with all her might. She hated pressure; she gave herself enough of it as it was. And now with Brandon . . . what had happened last night was beautiful and momentous. It felt like a step forward toward something positive.
But it wasn’t just about them but also about their families and herself. It meant rearranging her work life to accommodate her current commitments. She couldn’t just bail—
Then again, she would have to leave someone, and something, no matter what. Whether it was Brandon or Beatrice or Foster’s Group or her parents. Never settling down had been her MO; she’d just never looked back, until now, when everything was smooshed into this one couples resort project.
God, wasn’t this place supposed to heal relationships, not make them more confusing?
Thoughts swirled into one big messy mush. She pleaded, “Bea.”
“I’m sorry.” Beatrice raised both hands up in the silence. “I get it. No more pressure.”
“I need more time to think about it.” Because I still have to tell you about Brandon. “Speaking of, can we grab coffee, alone, after this?”
Her expression changed. “I’m here now. What’s up?”
“Bea! Your phone’s ringing,” Eden said from downstairs.
“Hold that thought,” Bea said, then bounded down the stairs.
Geneva fluffed the pillows and, before heading down, took in the room once more.
Yeah, she knew what she was doing around here. But the question was, What was she going to do next?
“Ladies, food at the restaurant in a few minutes. Kuya Chris picked up dim sum. Let’s wrap up here!” Beatrice said as she climbed up the stairs. “Let’s get dessert alone after dinner?”
Geneva nodded. Dim sum sounded perfect, and so did buying her a little more time to think.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Brandon grunted, lowering the stainless steel table. Mike set down his corner, and they both stepped back and surveyed the room, checking the placement of equipment and the new layout.
“That’s perfect,” Lainey said, coming from the swinging kitchen door. “Wow. This was the fastest installation ever.”
“That’s the aim.” He nodded at Mike. To the rest of the crew, he said, “Thanks, everyone. That’s it for now.”
As Mike and the crew made their way out of the restaurant, Lainey pressed on the screen of her iPad. “Check, check, and check.” She beamed. “You’re all set. I think I’m done here.”
Brandon offered his hand. “I want to thank you for everything.”
“You paid me.”
“But you were flexible as we figured out how to work together, and came up after the storm to see it all the way through.”
“Eh.” She waved it away. “This isn’t my first rodeo into family drama, and it was a good excuse for me to head to the beach.” She looked around. “I must say, this is a good-looking kitchen. If you need anything else done, please call me. It was a great break from the tiny houses. Don’t tell my boss, but I missed large, complicated kitchens.”
Brandon walked Lainey out the front door into the bright sun. “I won’t say a word.”
“I’m a little disappointed that I didn’t get to say goodbye to Geneva. Last we emailed she had a nice plan for the dining room decor. Please wish her happy trails from me.”
“I will. I know she’s disappointed too. She’s been so busy.”
It wasn’t the entire truth. Brandon had no idea what Geneva was up to or thinking. Geneva had yet to text back. His instincts were warning him that she was pulling away.
But he also knew that lunging for her was the absolute wrong move.
It’s been less than twenty-four hours since we made love. He
was jumping to conclusions.
“I’ll see you, Brandon.”
“Thank you for everything.”
Then Lainey crossed the street, narrowly missed by a golf cart whizzing by. “Goodness! This is supposed to be a resort. Ten miles an hour!”
Brandon waved a goodbye as she got into a cart and pulled out.
Another cart swerved into the empty spot. The driver, a Black man wearing a fedora, a tank top, and shorts, stepped out.
Brandon rubbed his eyes to focus. “Garrett?”
The guy looked down at himself. “Is that my name? That’s impressive, seeing that you haven’t been returning my calls. For all I knew, you were swept up into the ocean. Jerk.” He jogged across the street.
Brandon opened his mouth to explain, but before he could, Garrett bear-hugged him. “I’m sorry, man. All I thought of was our last phone call when that storm came through . . .”
The tension in his body left him. Brandon hadn’t even thought of Garrett worrying. “I’m okay. And I’m sorry too. I know that I owe you a lot, and so much happened since last night, literally. I don’t know where to start.”
“I’m glad you’re okay. That’s what matters.”
“Look what the storm dragged in! Garrett Carter?” a voice said.
They both turned. Chris and Gil were coming up the street, both holding plastic bags of takeout.
“Damn. Blast from the past.” Garrett bounded over to Brandon’s brothers, and they all did a version of a hug. “Let me help you guys.”
“You here to clean up this mess? Bran, you should have said. We would have made arrangements for you to stay behind the gates.”
“We definitely have room,” Gil chimed in, handing Garrett a bag. “How long are you staying?”
“Just a couple of days. I had to talk to this guy here.” He eyeballed Brandon.
“Whoa! It looks good in here!” Chris said, upon entering the restaurant.
Brandon was relieved for the distraction from his two worlds colliding. Now he had to pick up the debris. “Head into the kitchen. That’s where the good stuff is.” As he watched the backs of his brothers disappear into the kitchen, he reached out to Garrett’s arm, holding him back.
Garrett set down the bag of food on one of the tables. “You told them, right?”
“Told us what?” Chris asked from the kitchen.
Brandon all but rolled his eyes.
Garrett lit up. “He’s got the hearing of a bat.”
“I do.” His brother hovered in the doorway. “What’s going on?”
“We have an offer,” Garrett said.
“Offer?”
“Yep.” Garrett grinned—pride beaming. As far as he knew, he was doing Brandon a big favor. “An unofficial one for the town house, and it’s so good. You really shouldn’t walk away.” He went on to describe who the buyers were and what their plans were to turn the corner property into a school.
“Wait a second. Our town house?” Chris asked.
“I mean, yeah.” Garrett’s smile diminished. “Mulberry Road.”
“It has a project name already?” Gil had entered the doorway, and his mouth was agape. “When did this all go down?”
“I’ve been hounding him about it,” Garrett supplied innocently.
“So you’ve known?” Chris asked, this time to Brandon. “All this time?”
Garrett halted, and his gaze darted from Brandon to his brothers and back.
“Yeah, I haven’t told them yet,” Brandon said.
“This makes me the messenger, doesn’t it?” Garrett crossed his arms.
Brandon pressed his lips together.
“Let’s . . . head outside and wait for the rest of the family, Garrett,” Gil said, shuffling past and grabbing the food. “Have you met my kids? Eden’s coming down with them.”
“I haven’t!” Garrett said a little too loudly.
The two erupted into a faux conversation, but as they left, the kitchen fell into a cold silence.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Chris entered the dining room, though he halted several feet away. “You’ve been home over a week.”
“I wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”
“You just bring it up. You just . . . tell it like it is.”
Brandon shut his eyes to keep his thoughts from catapulting to Chris and Eden’s wedding. “It hasn’t been as simple as that.”
“I mean, it is. Besides, it’s not really your answer but our answer the buyer needs. The house belongs to the four of us.”
“Technically, yes. But you’ve made Heart Resort your home. The sign’s here, the whole family’s here, and I’m the one left behind. I’m the one living with everything they left behind.”
“You’ve always been welcome to live here.”
“Really.” A snort left him. “I was run out of here years ago.”
“I didn’t run you out.”
“But it was sure uncomfortable enough that I wanted to go.”
Chris pressed his fingers against his forehead. “I’m losing my train of thought here, Brandon, because we’ve discussed the past already. And even then, it doesn’t take away the fact that you’ve had this offer all this time, whether official or unofficial. You didn’t tell any one of us. I’m really disappointed. God, I have Willow Tree to contend with. I don’t want to think about you too.”
Brandon shook his head, though defiantly. “I’m not seven, or even seventeen. Don’t talk to me this way.”
“I’m telling you how I feel, and as far as I know, that’s fair game.”
“Look. It wasn’t easy to tell you because I knew you’d react like this. Because it unearths a crap load of things. Figuratively and literally. None of you have stepped back into that town house in months, and when I came to you wanting to move, years ago, you said no on the spot. I couldn’t just bring it up this time around. I wanted to find the perfect time. But now I wonder if there’s even such a thing.”
“You agreed to communicate.”
From his periphery, Brandon caught shadows in the kitchen. Chris turned. Beatrice showed herself, and behind her was Geneva, eyebrows lifted.
“You’re going to sell the town house?” Beatrice asked, looking right at Brandon.
“No, God . . . don’t know.”
“Kuya Chris, he wanted to sell the town house years ago?”
His big brother groaned.
“Should I . . .” Geneva gestured for the back door.
“Don’t.” Brandon jumped in; Geneva was like a life raft in this whirlpool. “I want you to stay, please.” In the silence Brandon gathered up his bravery. “I mean, let’s get Garrett and Gil here. Might as well.”
“I’ll get them,” Beatrice said. “No one say a word until I’m back.” She eyed all of them pointedly and walked out the door.
Just then, Chris’s phone rang. He looked at the screen. “Damn it. Let me . . . let me take this. Give me five minutes.”
Chris exited through the back door, leaving the room empty and quiet. That was, except for Geneva, who looked at him through rounded eyes.
“So when were you going to tell me about the town house?” Geneva said, skipping all pleasantries.
He rubbed his head. “Let me guess. You have an opinion too. Oh, wait. You did. Four years ago.”
“I . . .”
Brandon winced at his words. He knew that he’d gone too far, but there was no escaping the history they had. That somehow, this town house was coming into their conversation once more. And he was upset. He was angry. At his parents for dying, at his siblings for shackling him to a house that they never visited, at Geneva for leaving him, for not clamoring to scream their relationship into the world.
Everyone left him in some form.
“Why does this matter to you?” he said. “You’ve already checked out.”
“That’s . . . what?” She lifted a finger. “We’re going to put a pin on what you just said, because I want to make something clear once more. Yes, I d
id leave Annapolis, and yes, it had something to do with your house and letting go, but it was because you sent me away. I apologized for it, last night, remember? But checking out? What is that about?”
He dipped his chin into his chest, regret rushing through him. This restaurant was not the place for this conversation. At any moment, someone was going to walk in, but since everything seemed to be on the table, he launched into what had fueled his every worry since their involvement. “All right. Let’s talk about it. You run. You ran from me. You keep trying to run from me. Let me guess—you haven’t spoken to Beatrice about us. You aren’t convinced of staying. I bet your bags are already packed, right? Your mind is already miles away from here at your next job.”
“That’s not fair, Brandon. You know why I work so hard.”
“And you know why I hold on.” He shook his head at the pain building up in his body. “You said to me, just before you left the last time, that you thought I was hanging on to the house.”
She nodded, and through her eyes, he saw a perfect clip of the memory play back.
“I did say that. It was after that you told me to go. And I regret that, Brandon. I regret the way I do things, how I walk away.”
Her apologies slowed his anger, but the pain remained. He shook his head. “But it was the crux. You wanted to go, and I couldn’t.”
She nodded. “And now? Can you go? Are you ready to move on?”
He knew what she was asking him, but remembering the calendar on her desk, he looked her in the eyes. In her beautiful eyes. “Are you ready to stay? Are you ready to unpack your entire life from that duffel bag of yours? Because whether you leave in six days or two days, you’re still leaving, aren’t you?”
Geneva’s gaze faltered a beat. Not even a beat—a microsecond. In that moment, Brandon understood, as she did, that whether or not he or she was ready, they had to be ready together, at the same time. It would be the only way.
“This is a repeat.” He half laughed. “We answered our own questions.”