Winning Her Over

by Alexa Rowan

  “Cal?” Her tone was pure incredulity, but hearing his name from her lips after so many weeks still made him damn near euphoric.

  “Yeah, sorry. Yeah. Hi.”

  “What number is this? Where are you? Are you okay?” Now she sounded alarmed.

  He hastened to reassure her. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. It’s the hotel. That stupid wedding.”

  “Where’s your phone?”

  “I—Jordie made me give it to him.”

  “Who’s Jordie? And why’d he make you give him your phone?” Finally, a smile lurked in her voice.

  Relief flooded him; she wasn’t going to hang up on him, despite the twenty questions.

  “He’s my best friend at work.” Cal paused, then sighed, then paused again. “And it was so I wouldn’t drunk-text you.”

  Brenna’s peal of delighted laughter was the best sound in the fucking world. This—this—was what he’d been missing. Not the sex—well, that too—but the closeness. These shared moments in the darkness, making each other laugh.

  Now all he needed was her, next to him. Her warmth. Her scent. His hands buried in the slippery silk of her hair. The rhythmic gusts of her breath tickling his neck as she slept, wrapped securely in his arms.

  “Christ, Bren. I miss you so much,” he choked out. And promptly regretted it, when his confession brought her laughter to an immediate halt. But he pressed onward. “I miss falling asleep with you. I haven’t been able to sleep properly since…the last time I saw you.”

  He could hear her breathing, but her silence continued.

  “Say something, Bren. Say anything. Please,” he begged. “Just…talk to me.”

  There was a long pause before she finally responded. “What should we talk about?”

  Again, the sick feeling of relief, of disaster averted, was overwhelming.

  “Anything. Anything. About your week. About how things are going with Serenity Massage. You were sleeping, right? Maybe we could both lie here on our pillows and talk to each other as we fall asleep. Like we used to. I really miss that.”

  More inane babbling. Incredibly, she was willing to humor him.

  “The business is going really well. August was my best month in ages. I’m thinking of raising my rates for the first time in more than two years. And then I might be able to cut back my schedule a little.”

  “That’s great!” He hoped it also meant she wasn’t skipping lunch so frequently. But he didn’t dare disturb their fragile connection by asking.

  “I’m getting some new clients, too. Someone bought a ten-pack of gift certificates a few weeks ago and gave them to her friends, apparently.”

  Cal’s lips curved in a secret smile. “Good.”

  “How was the wedding?”

  “Fine, I suppose. Spent most of the reception at the hotel bar.”

  “Why?” she asked, sounding baffled and faintly horrified.

  His reply was low and intimate, prodding her. “You know why.”

  When she didn’t respond, he continued. “I didn’t want to drag anyone else down with me. Weddings are supposed to be happy, aren’t they?”

  “Oh, Cal.” The wealth of compassion in her voice was almost more than he could bear. It was certainly more than he deserved. Even now that they weren’t together anymore, she still empathized with his misery. And when they had been together, she’d done everything in her power to comfort and encourage him, emotionally and physically.

  And how had he treated her? First he’d tried to shove her into the friends-with-benefits box along with all the other girls he’d been involved with over the years. She’d accepted those boundaries—up to a point. And afterward, he’d still tried to compartmentalize his relationship with her, keeping it completely separate from the rest of his life.

  He had treated her so unfairly.

  “Let’s talk about something else,” he said, his voice gruff with suppressed emotion.

  “Of course.”

  As she told him about Ash and Cissy’s housewarming party, Cal slowly relaxed. His heavy eyelids slid shut. Her voice was just so soothing…

  “Cal?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You’re falling asleep, aren’t you?”

  “Mmph.” The corners of his lips twitched at her good-humored accusation.

  “I’ll hang up, this call is probably costing you seventy-five million dollars.”

  He yawned. “Best seventy-five million I ever spent.”

  She chuckled. “Night, Cal.”

  “Night, Bren.”

  He drifted off with the phone cradled against his ear and a sappy grin still stretching his cheeks.

  In lieu of his eight a.m. alarm, he was awoken the next morning by a grouchy Jordie, bitterly complaining about assholes who refused to sleep in on weekends. Then the offending item—Cal’s phone—was tossed unceremoniously onto the bed, smacking his shin on the rebound and wiping the amusement off his face.

  “Ow! What was that for?”

  “It didn’t even work anyway, did it?” Jordie jerked his chin at the incriminating handset on Cal’s pillow. “You drunk-dialed her from the hotel phone—which, by the way, you’re paying me back for. I’m not subsidizing your descent into madness.”

  Cal struggled to a sitting position, his back against the headboard. “Such drama.” He started to shake his head in mock disapproval but halted the jarring movement with a wince. “Look, the call went…well.” Last night’s sappy grin threatened to reappear despite his pounding head, as he remembered the thrill of simply hearing Brenna’s voice again after so long. “Anyway, sorry my alarm woke you.” He hoped he sounded at least semi-sincere. “I’ve got a plane to catch in a few hours. I’m heading up to New Hampshire for the rest of the weekend.”

  “Fine, whatever,” Jordie grumbled, crossing the room to his suitcase. “I’m meeting Lara and some of the others for breakfast in forty-five minutes. Wanna join us?”

  “As long as the flirting stays within manageable proportions.”

  “Won’t be a problem,” his friend said matter-of-factly.

  Cal arched a brow as Jordie headed to the bathroom. But since Lara was a coworker, he wasn’t going to ask, and he was pretty sure Jordie wasn’t going to tell. He hoped for Jordie’s sake any awkwardness would be short-lived.

  Two Advil, one perfunctory breakfast—at a table populated by half a dozen hungover attorneys—and six hours later, Cal was nearing the Craftsman-style house on the shore of Baxter Lake. He had caught the shuttle to Logan, firmly ignoring the instinct to grab a cab over to Brenna’s place. Instead, he’d rented a car for the ninety-minute drive north, forcing himself to escape from her gravity well as quickly as possible.

  Most of the block was already full of cars when he arrived, as was the driveway. So he pulled past and parked half a block down, leaving his overnight bag in the trunk.

  Armed with a smile and a six-pack of his brother-in-law Tom’s favorite honey brown ale, he followed the piquant scents of charbroiled chicken and steak up the wide driveway. He passed the familiar fieldstone and exposed-beam facade, taking the flagstone path around to the grassy backyard and the deck overlooking the sparkling lake below.

  His niece and nephew were the first to spot him. Their joyous shrieks of “Uncle Cal!” drew the attention of the rest of his family, and a crowd soon surrounded him. It took a solid ten minutes of hugs, handshakes, and congratulatory back-slaps before he was finally able to make himself a plate of food and snag a beer from the cooler. His mom was over the moon that he’d showed up; every time he looked in her direction, she was smiling at him. Cal was glad he’d made the trip.

  And yet, as the party wound down and he stood nursing a beer and staring out across the gradually darkening lake at the pearlescent sky, he found himself wishing again that Brenna were with him. Even here, at such a great distance from the orbit of his daily life, her gravitational pull drew his thoughts unerringly toward her.

  Today would have been the perfect opportunity to in
troduce her to his family. Maybe her presence would have also eased the grief he was never quite able to suppress when he visited the lake house.

  “Something on your mind?” his mom asked. He glanced to his left, where she’d quietly sidled up next to him. She now wore a dark green fleece pullover against the evening chill, reminding him that he was still dressed for a warm summer’s day. He needed to pull his car into the driveway at some point and grab his overnight bag.

  “Would I be crazy to put in for a transfer to CMH’s Boston office?”

  “What? Where’s this coming from? Not that I wouldn’t be thrilled to have you back in New England.”

  “Well…” He stalled, debating how much to tell her, then decided to go all in. “Over the summer, I was seeing this girl in Boston. Brenna. She broke up with me a few weeks ago, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.”

  His mom’s brows went up, and he hastily added, “It’s not just about her, though. A lot of my clients are in the Boston area. And I’d also like to live closer to you, and Megan and Tom and the kids. I never see you guys,” he said with a wry twist of his lips.

  “I don’t even know where to start unpacking all of that, so I’m going to start with the girl you never once mentioned before.” She frowned at him, the very picture of offended maternal concern. “Brenna, you said?”

  He nodded.

  “Tell me what’s so special about her.”

  “Everything,” he said fervently. “She’s warm, and compassionate, and caring. And smart. And hardworking. And gorgeous. And she makes me laugh.”

  He stopped listing Brenna’s virtues when he noticed the smile that had crept onto his mom’s face, crinkling the corners of her blue eyes. “What?”

  “I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited for you to really fall for someone, Cal. I thought you’d never give me grandchildren, but—”

  “Hey! It’s a bit early to be counting the grandkids, Mom,” he admonished her, even as the idea warmed him from the inside out.

  “Well, look. About this transfer idea. My vote is going to be yes, regardless, but aren’t you worried that transferring so soon after you made partner might have an impact on your career?”

  He was, but the idea he had in mind represented a positive impact, rather than a negative one—assuming he could persuade CMH to support it. He needed advice, but he didn’t want to approach anyone at the firm before his path was certain.

  Cal sighed. “I wish Dad were here.”

  Wrapping an arm around his waist, his mom squeezed him to her side. “I know you do, honey. I still miss him, too, every day. He would have been so proud that you made partner.” She glanced at him. “But after he got sick, he also wanted to make sure you understood that some things are more important than work.”

  “I do. I get it now.”

  “I’m really glad you came up today. It makes me so happy to have all of my family with me.” Then she took a step back and faced him square-on, clasping his hand in her delicate fingers. “Sort things out with Brenna, okay? Because I want to meet her.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “What does she do, by the way? You didn’t say.”

  He looked her in the eye, unflinching. “She’s a massage therapist. She’s got her own business on Newbury Street.”

  “A massage therapist.” Her expression grew calculating. “We could definitely use one of those in the family…”

  “Mo—om.” He drew out the word in mock exasperation.

  “I’m just saying. My back’s been hurting lately—you could always give your old mom a gift certificate.”

  “Funny you should mention that. Coincidentally, I happen to have bought a bunch of them a couple of weeks ago.”

  “You did, did you?” Her eyes lit up. “Then one of them must be for me, right?”

  There was no way out of it, so he capitulated as gracefully as he could. “Of course. But it may be a while before I can give it to you. I kind of have something planned.”

  “You always have something planned, sweetheart. That’s why you’ve been so successful. My son, the partner.” She beamed at him, then pulled him into a fierce hug. “Congratulations again, honey.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  Then she whispered in his ear, “Now, get to work on those grandchildren.”

  He smiled. All in good time.

  13

  BRENNA WOKE ON FRIDAY filled with anticipation. What would today’s present be? After Cal’s late-night confessional last Saturday, her expectations were high. He hadn’t called since then, but he’d sent a text Monday night saying he hadn’t stopped missing her the entire weekend. They’d texted or e-mailed every day since.

  His Good morning, beautiful message buoyed her sense of well-being through the late afternoon. But as the day wound down with no further sign or word from him, her good mood began to slip. First to irritation. Then to anxiety. And eventually to resigned disappointment, as she prepped the suite after her final client had left.

  She was tidying the large therapy room when the doorbell chimed, precisely at her new—and earlier—weekend closing time. She frowned. Who’d be stopping by at eight o’clock?

  As she approached the suite’s glass door to let her visitor in, her mouth fell open.

  Perhaps the long, presentless day had robbed her of her mental faculties. She blinked once, twice. Nope, still there. Maybe she should eat another of Cal’s snack bars. Though skipping lunch had never brought on hallucinations before.

  Impressively realistic, the figment of her imagination had a colorful bouquet in one hand, a white paper shopping bag in the other, and an expression somewhere between incredulous and awestruck on his face.

  With shaking hands, Brenna unlocked and opened the door.

  “I can’t believe I’m actually seeing you, right here in front of me,” said a familiar husky baritone.

  Okaaay. Not a figment. Her stomach dropped out like a car on a roller-coaster, and she staggered back a few steps. “Cal? Wh—what are you doing here?”

  He straightened, somehow managing to look simultaneously apologetic and defiant. Not to mention breathtakingly gorgeous in dark blue chinos and a short-sleeved button-down shirt that had her attention riveted to the triangle of tanned skin exposed at the top of his chest.

  “It’s closing time,” he said, “and I’m here to take you to dinner. If you’ll let me.”

  Cal had just thrown down the present-giving gauntlet.

  She took a step toward him. The appreciative heat in his gaze wasn’t searing her with lust, this time. His gray eyes shone instead with warmth and devotion. And she knew, if she turned him away without at least giving him a chance, she would regret it for the rest of her life.

  She said one word: “Yes.”

  Pure joy spread across his face as if she’d answered another question entirely.

  Drawing closer to him, she smiled in return. “Let me see if I have a vase for the flowers—”

  “No need.” He held up the paper bag.

  “Ah, there’s my Eagle Scout. Always prepared.”

  “I aim to please,” he said lightly, his usual hint of cocky smugness absent. “Looks like you need a few more minutes to finish up, and I know you need to get changed. Anything I can do to help?” His tentative question nearly melted her heart.

  She held out her hands for the flowers and vase. Time to put that ikebana class she’d taken with her mom to good use.

  “How about if you strip the rest of the linens from the table in here and the other therapy room. You can put them in the laundry bag in the front closet. Fresh sheets are in the cabinet over there,” she indicated, inclining her head, “and by the time you’ve got the fitted sheets on the tables I should be back.”

  Brenna brushed past him in search of some scissors, too flustered to wait for his agreement. She needed a few minutes to process that, unbelievably, Cal was here, smelling amazing and looking even more incredible than she’d remembered.
<
br />   It took her about five minutes to disassemble and rearrange the bouquet into the thick, hand-blown glass vase in a pleasing manner. Feeling calmer, she set the arrangement on the side table in the cozy reception area where her clients could enjoy it while they waited for their appointments. The bonsai Cal had given her would have to go in the larger therapy room for now.

  A new fitted sheet was already on the massage table in there, and a folded flat sheet and blanket were stacked precisely in the middle of it. So she called out to him, “I’m going to get changed now, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course,” came his muffled reply from the second, smaller therapy room. “Take your time.”

  The warm early September morning had spurred her to put on a long, cotton dress with an oversized floral print that would thankfully be suitable at pretty much any restaurant. She brought it into the large therapy room and, after a brief hesitation, decided not to lock the door. He wasn’t a stranger, and she knew he had too much respect for her to ever barge in. But she still felt vulnerable as she changed out of her uniform—which was not what she’d ever imagined wearing in any fantasized reunion scenario.

  She swapped her clogs for strappy leather sandals, shoved her soiled uniform into a laundry bag, and, with a racing heartbeat, went to meet her destiny.

  He bent over the table in the other therapy room as he tugged the last corner of the sheet into place. Holy crap, the man had a truly magnificent ass. Brenna’s teeth sank into her lower lip as she admired his backside for a second or two, a welcome jolt of heat rushing through her.

  Tempting as the thought was, if she spent the entire night staring at his remarkable…glutes, she knew they would never get out of there. So she stepped up beside him and, working together, they had the suite prepped in another five minutes.

  They were soon strolling down Newbury Street toward L’Avenue—she was lucky indeed, tonight. Then again, so was he.

  “It’s a good thing I wore something today that’s dressy enough for L’Avenue,” she said, trying to inject a playful tone into their conversation. “What would you have done if it had been ninety degrees and I’d been wearing short shorts, a tank top, and flip flops?”