“Because if you do, the thoughts running through my head will surely put me straight into hell.”
His eyes narrow on me and he leans in close, just a few inches from me. “What thoughts are those?”
“I’m not telling.”
His brown eyes fall to my lips, then move back to my own. “I’ll get some wine in you. You’ll talk.”
I snort as he pulls back out onto the street, circles back to the restaurant, and easily finds a spot, which is hard to do this time of year.
He shocks the hell out of me by taking my hand in his, linking our fingers as we walk inside. His hand is warm, but not sweaty. Dry and smooth, but not cracked or callused.
Frankly, it feels fantastic.
“Two, please,” he tells the hostess. He never lets go of my hand as we’re led through the dining room to a table by the front windows, in the corner. When our hands pull away so we can sit, I feel a loss that seems absolutely ridiculous. “Is the food good here?” he asks after the hostess leaves.
“Mm. Oh, that’s right, this didn’t open until after you left.”
“The hotel recommended it,” he says with a nod. “It smells good.”
“Wait until you taste the bread. You’ll never be the same.”
He grins at me, and my heart stops. I’ve known this man forever, and yet, I don’t know him. I recognize his face, but I don’t recognize the firm body that’s come with being a man.
And I have absolutely no idea what his life has consisted of over the past ten-plus years.
“Tell me everything,” I blurt out.
“About what?”
“About everything. I don’t know anything about you anymore, and that makes me a little sad.”
He sighs and reaches over to squeeze my hand. He doesn’t let go.
“I don’t know anything about you, either.” He frowns, looking at our fingers, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. “But we have a week to learn.”
“Let’s start now,” I suggest, making him laugh.
“Well, one thing I know is that you’re still as impatient as you ever were.”
I nod, but we’re interrupted by the waitress, who goes through her whole spiel of wine and specials. She writes her name on the paper on our table. Once she’s taken our order and leaves, Brody says, “So, what’s your verdict on the suit?”
I let my eyes travel over him, taking in the navy suit and white button-down under it. He’s paired it with a lighter blue tie that sets off his brown eyes.
I’m pretty sure my panties are soaked.
“It’s good.”
His eyes narrow. “It’s just good?”
I shrug, take a sip of my water, and look away. No, it’s not just good. It’s fucking brilliant. I want to rip it off of him to see what’s beneath it.
But that seems a bit forward.
“I mean, if you like that sort of thing.”
He sits back in his chair, staring at me. “You confessed this afternoon that you do like that sort of thing.”
I smile, holding his gaze as the waitress delivers our drinks and leaves. Neither of us takes a sip.
“You look damn good in that suit, Brody.”
He smiles now, a bit shyly, and then he looks me over, the way he did when I first opened the door to him.
“You’re just… wow.” I cock a brow, and he slowly shakes his head.
“You were always a beautiful girl, Brooke. But damn, you’re stunning. Thanks for coming to dinner with me.”
“Thanks for inviting me.”
The time flies by as we dig into our food, and Brody falls head over heels in love with the garlic bread.
I told him he would.
We’re both fat and happy as we mosey out of the restaurant, toward his car.
“God, I can barely move,” I moan as I drop into the seat and rub my food baby. “Why do I always eat too much?”
“Because it’s delicious,” he says and sighs when he sits next to me. “All of my clothes are suddenly too small.”
I laugh and nod. “Me, too.”
He drives us back to my house, parks at the curb, and is still the perfect gentleman as he opens my door and escorts me to my porch.
“Do you want to come inside?” I ask as I unlock the door.
“Yes,” he says with a sigh, leaning his shoulder on the frame and looking down at me with longing. “So I’d better go.”
I nod and paste a smile on my face, determined to not let him see my disappointment. I’d like to spend more time with him. It’s easy, just like it was before, with a new sexual tension that’s just exhilarating.
“Well, you have a good night. Thanks for dinner.”
I turn to go inside, but he stops me, framing my face with his big hands.
Is he going to kiss me? Please, God, kiss me. I bet he’d win an Olympic gold medal if it were a sport.
He leans in, his eyes on my lips, and I brace myself for the kiss of the century.
But he plants his lips on my forehead, takes a deep breath, and then pulls away.
“See you tomorrow, Brooke.”
He walks away and I hurry inside, shut the door, and lean my back against it. My heart is hammering in my chest, my breath coming as fast as if I’d just run a marathon.
Not that I know what that feels like, since I only run if something’s chasing me.
I’m an idiot. I’ve been on fire all evening, enjoying his touches and our conversation, and I wanted nothing more than for him to kiss me.
And he was just being nice.
Because he’s my friend.
And that’s all he’s ever going to be.
Chapter Four
~Brody~
I’m a fucking idiot.
I wanted to kiss her. Hell, I wanted to take her inside, strip her out of that dress, and explore every delectable inch of her tiny little body.
And if she wasn’t giving off kiss me signals, I’ll be damned to hell.
She’s absolutely on the same page. But this is Brooke. The girl I used to care about when I was a kid, and let’s not forget that I’m leaving in just a few days.
While I wouldn’t mind a romp in bed with a willing, beautiful partner, it just can’t be Brooke.
I’m not an asshole.
I pull into the hotel on the lake where I’m staying, hand my keys to the valet, and ride up the elevator to my room. I’m on the top floor, but at only four floors up, that’s not saying too much.
Cunningham Falls has always had a height restriction on buildings, only allowing them to be four stories high, and no taller.
But I’m high enough up that I have a killer view of the lake and the ski mountain. I walk out onto the balcony and sit in the fancy outdoor couch, kick my feet up, and cross my hands over my still-full belly.
I’ve come a long way. I started out as an abused kid, living not even a mile from here. And now, I’m in the biggest room the hotel has, in a thousand-dollar suit that I had the concierge find for me this afternoon.
I didn’t lie when I told Brooke that I’m an engineer.
I just didn’t tell her that I own the firm. And I did it all without one single penny from Glen.
I sigh, drag my hands down my face, and then frown when my phone vibrates in my pocket.
“Chabot,” I answer.
“Hey, boss,” Van, my assistant, says. “How’s Montana?”
“Hot,” I reply and grin. I wouldn’t be able to function without Van. He is way more than an assistant. He has excellent instincts, and he’s trustworthy.
That’s the most important part.
“I have a few things to go over,” Van continues, and we spend the next thirty minutes talking about current projects that several of my engineers are working on. Once he’s caught me up to speed, he takes a deep breath, and I know he’s about to start asking personal questions.
This is Van, after all.
“So, why are you still in Montana? You were supposed to be back two days ago.”
“Good question,” I murmur. I can’t exactly tell him that I’m here because there’s a certain brunette that’s captured my attention. He’d call me seven different kinds of a moron, and he wouldn’t be wrong.
I have a business, and a life, to get back to in California.
“My father’s estate is taking longer than I thought to settle.”
It’s not a lie.
“When do you want me to arrange for you to come back?” he asks. “I’ll book the tickets tonight.”
“Next week,” I reply and can almost hear his scowl from a thousand miles away. “I can work remotely.”
“Do you need me to come there?”
“No. I’m fine. I’ll work remotely, and you can continue to call me daily with updates. If you need anything, I always have my phone on me.”
“Sounds good. Talk to you tomorrow, boss.”
He hangs up and I drop my phone in my lap. I forgot that the pace here is much slower than in San Francisco. To say it’s calmer is the understatement of the year. I don’t remember the last time I sat outside just to watch an eagle fly.
Or at all, for that matter.
I usually fall asleep on the sofa of my office, then get up the next day and do it all again. I’m a workaholic, just like the asshole who raised me. The only good thing Glen Chabot ever gave me was his work ethic.
I’ve put it to good use.
And until two days ago, I would have said that it was enough for me. That I was perfectly content.
How could Brooke change things so quickly?
* * * *
“This is a huge arrangement for someone’s table,” I comment the next afternoon as Brooke shows me how to stick stems into this green foam stuff to make it stay in place and look nice.
“It’s not going on a table. It’s going on a casket.” She smiles sadly and then walks to the other side of her work station to consult her notebook.
“Oh.” I frown, pausing in placing the sunflower in the green foam. “Who died?”
“Derek Snyder,” she says, then looks up at me with a sigh. “We need to make a similar bouquet to this one and deliver it to his widow today.”
“Sunflowers? Don’t most people get calla lilies or roses?”
“He preferred sunflowers,” she says. “I met with him several times, and he was very specific about what he wanted.”
“He planned his own funeral.”
“Every detail.” She nods, passes me another flower, and then gets to work helping me. “Let’s finish this up so we can work on his wife’s arrangement.”
We spend a good hour working on the massive arrangement for his casket, and then Brooke reaches for a vase, another green foamy thing, and we built a similar bouquet to the one for the funeral.
“This is lovely,” she says, turning the finished product around in a circle, checking for holes. “Derek would have liked it.”
She walks over to her desk, opens a drawer, and retrieves an envelope.
“He didn’t have a card filled out; he wrote her a letter,” Brooke says and passes it to me. “It’s not sealed. You can read it.”
“This is an invasion of privacy.”
She shakes her head. “I helped him write it. Go ahead. I’m trying to show you that my shop is important to the community, and this is part of it.”
I pull the letter out, lean my hips against the table, and begin to read silently.
My dearest Shelly,
If you’re reading this letter, it’s because Brooke has come to our home with a bouquet of flowers for you, after I’ve passed on. I’m so sorry, babe. I know you’re having a hard time now, and I hope the flowers make you smile.
You’ve been amazing over the past two years since my diagnosis. You never left my side, spending every minute with me at the hospital, at the doctor’s visits, and you saw things that no wife should have to see.
I don’t know that I can ever thank you enough for your love. Being your husband was the greatest joy in my life, and I know that once I’m gone, I’ll miss you every day. The way your hair hooks around your ear. The way you laugh when I tell my stupid jokes, and especially the way you sigh when I make love to you.
You are precious, and wonderful. You are the reason I held cancer back for as long as I did, because I wanted to eke out every moment I could with you.
I’m not going to get into boring things here. There’s a will for that. This is to remind you how very loved you are. I will always be with you, and you will always be with me. I know we’ll be together again, but take your time, Shell. Live your life to the fullest. Laugh and cry, sing and dance. Travel. And, when you’re ready, marry again and have the babies we always longed for.
You have so much love in you. Don’t keep it all to yourself.
I love you, babe. Forever.
XO, Derek
I fold the letter, blinking my stinging eyes, and return it to its envelope.
“Wow. He was young.”
“Twenty-eight,” she agrees with a nod, accepting the letter from me and tucking it in among the blooms. “His wife is a year younger.”
“That’s sad.”
She nods again, lifts the bouquet, and says, “Let’s go.”
She secures the flowers in the back of her SUV and drives us the short distance to Shelly’s house.
“This must be the hardest part of your job.”
She considers for a moment, and then shrugs one shoulder. “Yes and no. I liked Derek, and I was heartbroken when he passed away. But delivering flowers like this is actually beautiful. I get to help comfort people during a time of great sorrow. It may seem like something small, but when they see the flowers, they have a moment of happiness, and that’s important.”
I reach over to take her hand and give it a squeeze.
“I agree. It’s important.”
Her brown eyes fly to mine in surprise as she parks the car and takes a deep breath.
“Here we go,” she says softly.
We ring the bell, and the door is answered quickly.
“Hi, Blake,” Brooke says, reaching her arm out for a hug. The younger woman smiles sadly, her eyes on the flowers.
“She’s in the kitchen,” she says, then looks at me. “Hi.”
“Hi. I’m Brody. I’m just helping Brooke today.”
She nods as she steps back, gesturing for us to come inside. “Nice to meet you. My sister will love these flowers.” Her eyes find Brooke’s. “Are these the ones?”
“They are.”
“Oh man. I didn’t think I could cry anymore, but it turns out I was wrong.” She reaches for a tissue and leads us through the house to the kitchen. There are already dozens of bouquets of flowers set about, ranging from small to big, and all different kinds of flowers.
And when we reach the kitchen, a tall woman, probably five foot eight, with long blond hair, is standing at the island, dunking a tea bag in hot water.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Brooke says as she approaches. She sets the flowers on the island, and Shelly’s eyes fall to them. She looks tired. Maybe a little lost. And when she sees the sunflowers, her shoulders sag, whether in sadness or relief, I’m not sure.
“Oh, Derek,” she whispers, and pulls the letter out of the blooms. “He’s left me letters all over the place.”
“That’s sweet,” Brooke says. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Shelly.”
The other woman nods, a small smile touching her lips as she brushes her fingertips over the sunflowers.
“These were his favorite.” She takes a deep, ragged breath. “But you already knew that.”
“Are you going to read the letter?” Blake asks her sister. Shelly hugs the envelope to her chest and shakes her head.
“I’ve been saving them for bedtime because that’s the worst time for me. It makes me fee
l like he’s there with me.”
“He is,” Blake says and wraps her arm around Shelly’s shoulders, giving her a supportive hug. “He’s still here.”
Shelly nods and smiles at Brooke. “Thanks for these. I’m sure Derek was in cahoots with you for a while. That’s just how he was. A planner.”
“I thought I was a planner, and I don’t have anything on him,” Brooke says with a small laugh. “We’d been planning this for about a year.”
“A year,” Shelly whispers. “That’s when we thought he was in remission. He was feeling so good.”
“And took the opportunity to get things in order, just in case,” Blake adds, smoothing her sister’s hair back from her face.
“Thank you,” Shelly says to Brooke, holding her hand out to squeeze Brooke’s. “This is really special.”
“You’re welcome.”
After we’ve paid our respects, we’re back in Brooke’s car, headed back to the shop.
“I don’t really know what to say.” My voice fills the car, sounding louder than I intended. “I don’t think I could do your job.”
“There are sad days like today,” she agrees. “But like I said earlier, it gave Shelly a moment of happiness. And, thankfully, not every day is like this. Just wait until Saturday.”
“What’s happening on Saturday?”
“You’ll see.”
Chapter Five
~Brooke~
It was a shit-tastic day.
I didn’t let Brody see how horrible it felt to deliver those flowers to Shelly today. It was tearing my heart out of my chest. But I can’t let the customer see that, and I need Brody to realize just how special my business is, and how the community needs it.
On top of being sad, it’s a scorcher today. It’s been a hot summer, hotter than normal, and for the first time since I bought my house, I’m regretting not having air conditioning added.
This house was built in the sixties. It’s been updated, but no one ever added the convenience of A/C, mostly because we typically only have a few weeks of unbearably hot weather a year, so it really isn’t worth the expense unless you’re building a brand new house.
Not to mention, it still cools way down at night, and those of us who grew up here have mastered the art of trapping the cool air inside for the majority of the day.
Tempting Brooke: A Big Sky Novella Page 4