Cook Brothers: The Whole Flipping Family

by BJ Harvey

  With nothing else for it, I step forward, frame Faith’s face in my hands, and gently press my lips to hers.

  And this is one kiss I vow to never let myself forget.

  5

  Faith

  “How could you ever think this was a good idea, Faith?” Ezra says. We’re in Dad’s truck, on our way with everything I own—which, admittedly, isn’t much—to my new ‘home’ with my husband.

  “It’s hard to explain.”

  Ez reaches over to squeeze my hand. “How about you try, Faith, because you don’t leave for twelve years then come back and marry the man who we both know would never do something like this on a whim.”

  I turn to face my big brother. “You think I did this?”

  At least he’s honest enough to shrug.

  “Nice, Ez. Real nice. So yesterday’s show of support was what? Out of pity?”

  “C’mon. What do you expect? None of us can understand it. You broke his heart; he came home with a dark cloud over his head that took years to go away. He’s been getting out there and living his life until we told him you were coming home.”

  “And then?”

  “He got really drunk in Vegas, came back and went radio silent for a week. Suddenly he’s taking a sabbatical, choosing the next house to flip with Jamie, and proposing to you the very first time he sees you again. How does any of that sound?”

  “Third-life crisis?” I ask, genuinely curious and intrigued by what Ezra has just revealed. Somehow it gives me a little bit of comfort. I’m pretty sure his marriage proposal was a spur-of-the-moment thing, but Ez is telling me there were signs suggesting Bryant may have put at least some thought into this. Since he’s still so closed off—except for that moment we shared during the ceremony—I’d be a fool to read too much into it. My name is Faith, not Hope, and if I have too much of the latter, I may just lose a lot of the former. The only thing that got me through was the belief that Bryant would give me another chance. Jamie’s wedding may have been my excuse to come back, but my time staying away was definitely up.

  “We’re all just worried,” he says softly.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ez. I’m not a naive kid anymore.”

  He gives me a narrowed glance. “I meant we’re all worried about both of you. There was a time when we thought you and Bryant getting married and living happily ever after was a forgone conclusion. And then—”

  “And then I fucked it all up.”

  He opens his mouth but snaps it shut, a muscle in his jaw clicking. Ez and I are very similar, except for the fact that Ez falls head over heels freely and for the wrong women, whereas I met the love of my life when I was eight and had a come-to-Jesus moment at twenty-two. I needed to break free, and screwed everything up in the process.

  “Faith, we don’t think that.”

  I laugh because honestly, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all day. “Ez, did you not see Mom praying this morning? The woman who has not stepped foot in a church since your last marriage disaster.”

  “Do you mean wife one or wife two? ’Cause both were pretty epic failures.”

  “Both?” I say, a smile playing on my lips. “I actually think I heard Mom ask God to give Bryant the patience to live with me. Then I heard her tell Marcy that I was never the best housekeeper… or cook… or roommate in general, so as long as Bryant can fend for himself, he should survive.”

  Ez grins, snorting as he fights a laugh.

  “And then they came up with a cooking schedule so that ‘poor Bryant’ could receive food care packages from the moms to ensure he maintains a balanced nutritional diet.”

  “Oh God,” Ez says, laughing out loud now.

  “Wait, it gets better. They’ve also looped in the wives, aka April and Ronnie, and the sisters, aka Delilah and Abi, to visit us once a week for a ‘welfare’ check. Like they actually think we’re at risk!”

  Ez turns his head slightly and quirks a brow. “That’s actually not a bad idea. Do you remember the time you made brownies?”

  “I was fifteen!”

  “Delilah was making three-course gourmet meals at twelve.”

  “She’s a freaking chef now, Ez.”

  “What about the time you wanted to make a romantic meal for Bryant when you were eighteen and the fire department was called?”

  “The oven was faulty.”

  “And when you made tuna casserole for that neighborhood BBQ and half the street went down with food poisoning?”

  I sigh. “Look, I get it. I’m not that good with seafood.”

  He presses his lips together as if trying not to laugh at my grossly misleading statement. I may have completed a bachelor’s degree with honors, added on one year of my master’s at the top of my class, then finished my Ph.D. with so many recommendations that my CV reads like a Wikipedia page of leading zoologists, but cooking has always been my downfall. When we were at college, the only reason I didn’t starve to death was Bryant’s culinary skills.

  “Does everyone forget the gift Marcy Cook gave the women of Chicago when she taught her boys how to cook?”

  “Oh no, especially since those food talents have gotten those Cook brothers a lot of ass over the years.”

  “Thanks for the reminder, Ez.”

  His mouth gapes open. After pulling to a stop at a red light, he turns his face and looks at me like I’m the world’s biggest idiot. “Oh, so you don’t like the fact that Bryant hasn’t spent the last twelve years living as a monk while you were experiencing life as a single girl in Australia? C’mon, Faith. He’s a man, not a fucking angel.”

  “I know,” I hiss. “Doesn’t mean I need to have that fact rubbed in my face.”

  “So you marry the guy at City Hall with no discussion about what’s happened in the years you’ve been apart—relationships, sexual partners, anything? Well, color me surprised.”

  “Ezra Kane Baker, that is not nice.”

  He shakes his head and turns his attention back to the road, making a right turn into my new neighborhood. “And she full names me,” he mutters, his lips turning up into a half-grin. I can’t help but snicker, because full naming a Baker always stops an argument. It’s a rule Delilah, Ez, and myself came up with and shook on when we were fifteen, fourteen, and twelve respectively.

  But I owe my brother an explanation. The breakup with Bryant wasn’t easy on anyone—including our close-knit families. Neither one of us divulged the whys, hows, or whens. I know that by staying away for so long, the big question still lingers. The two of us getting hitched with no warning and two days after seeing each other face-to-face for the first time in twelve years has, in fact, raised more questions, most of all, for me.

  I’m still none the wiser as to my husband’s motives. All I know is we left City Hall yesterday with a signed marriage license, rings on our fingers, and Bryant telling my brother to bring me and my stuff to the house this afternoon.

  We didn’t even spend our wedding night in the same part of the city. I know it seems strange to care about something like that, but it just seems so wrong. Was I disappointed? Sure. But I’m also not going to push Bry too far, too soon. I’m still not even sure whether it was stubborn pride pushing him to see the marriage ceremony through. One of the things both Bry and I have in common is our stubborn streak.

  Ez slows the truck and flicks on his blinker before turning into the driveway of the worst house I’ve ever seen. I’m talking Dorothy’s house after it survived the tornado and landed in Oz. I half expect to see the Wicked Witch’s legs sticking out from underneath it.

  Ez turns off the engine as I lean forward and stare at what’s apparently my new home for the foreseeable future. What have you agreed to, Faith?

  “Quite a project, right?” Ez murmurs quietly.

  I turn toward him, my eyes bugging out at his massive understatement.

  “You didn’t think it might be pertinent to mention that I was moving into a pile of sticks?”

  “I figured the
surprise would do you good considering you shocked all of us with a shotgun wedding, minus the baby,” he says, his lips twitching. My brows jump sky high.

  “Crazy as it may seem to everyone else, Ez, when offered a sliver of a chance by the only man you’ve ever loved—maybe ever will love—you take it, however insane, out of the blue, and incomprehensible it may be,” I snap.

  His face falls, all amusement slipping from his expression as he reaches over and covers my hand with his own. “Bakes, I’m sorry. You’ve just gotta understand where we are all coming from with this. We love you, and we love him, and there was a time when we thought this was always going to happen. But after twelve years and seeing him finally get on with his life—”

  “You mean, moving on from me.”

  “No, because that man never has. The name Bryant Cook was never said without Faith Baker being attached, and I don’t think that’s something a man like Bry ever gets past. You both had your lives planned out.”

  “Ever think that was why I had to run away?” The words are out before I can stop them.

  Ezra’s fingers flex against mine, squeezing my hand. He looks like I’ve struck him across the face with a wet fish.

  My fight-or-flight instinct kicks in, and I choose the latter, brushing off my secret admission, and jumping out of the car like my ass is on fire.

  “Faith!” Ez calls just as I shut the truck door, gulping in fresh air and avoiding looking at my new home.

  This is too much for me to deal with right now. Ever since I stepped off the plane on Thursday, I’ve been dealing with concerned looks, frustrated glances, and worried gazes from my parents and siblings. Even Abi Cook—my former best friend—tried to corner me at the wedding, warning me not to even think about going through with Bryant’s ‘asinine’ plan.

  With a fair few drinks under my belt, I was about to snap at her before her tall-drink-of-water husband stepped in and swept her away, shooting me a backward glance that was a mix between concern, intrigue, and amusement.

  Suffice to say, my lingering jet lag and own concerns about the situation I now find myself in—mostly how I’ll survive and a) not throttle my husband, b) create a new life for myself here in Chicago either with or without my new husband helping me achieve that, and finally c) not let myself completely fall apart if this crazy plan of his ends with the dreaded D-word: divorce.

  “Faith, hold up,” Ez says, slamming the door and coming to help me with the tailgate that I can’t seem to open. I blink rapidly to stop my threatening tears from taking hold. He cups my shoulder and lifts my dipped chin with his index finger. His soft eyes are almost my undoing.

  “Please don’t make me cry, Ez. Not now and definitely not here.”

  His gaze roams my face, his jaw clenching before he nods and lets me go. “I’ll just say this. You’re a force in your own right, Bakes, and everyone knows that. You have had a determination to walk your own path, your own way since the second you stood on those two giant feet of yours.”

  “Hey,” I say with a laugh, shoving his arm. “They’re not that big.”

  He smirks, and I know then that all is good in my world—for this moment anyway. “Whatever happens, whatever you two have to process and work your way through, I’m here for you. Okay?”

  “Thanks, Ez.”

  “And if you end up needing to hide the body at the end of it, just call me.” He tilts his head and arches a brow in amusement. “I know you, and I know Bry. There’s gonna be a lot of fun along the way before we get to the happy ever after part.”

  “Fun?”

  “Oh, mostly for the rest of us—probably not for you two. Renovating and getting to know each other all over again? All while pushing each other’s buttons and seeing who’ll be the first to break? Let’s just say that Jax might’ve suggested we take out shares in a popcorn manufacturer.”

  I shove him again, a little harder this time, but laughing while I do it. “Asshole.”

  “You didn’t dispute it though,” he says, still chuckling.

  “I promise, I’ll jump ship and give up if it gets even close to the stage where you might need to help with a body.”

  “Care to shake on that?” He holds his arm out in my direction, squeezing my fingers when I slide my palm against his and shake his hand. My eyes widen when he doesn’t let go straight away. “You protect that soft spot of yours, Bakes, and I’ll always be a phone call or text message away.”

  “Dammit, Ez. Don’t make me cry. He’ll see it as a sign of weakness,” I say with a slow-growing grin.

  He lets me go with a wink. “We can’t have that now, can we? Go inside and get yourself settled. I’ll bring in your bags.”

  I turn toward the stepping stones leading up to the porch and stop mid-step at the mouthwatering sight of Bryant Cook—my husband—filling the open doorway. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since yesterday when we said our vows in front of a judge.

  “Welcome home, wife,” he says. He leans against the wooden frame, his presence almost as overwhelming as his physicality, especially when he’s wearing low-riding jeans on his strong, square hips, and a Def Leppard T-shirt we got at a concert we snuck out to in our senior year. A smirk curves one side of his mouth, his gaze raking me over from head to toe like it’s his God-given right to do so. It’s impossible not to lock my knees and clench my thighs together at the mischief I see in his gaze especially since it’s always been one of my most favorite—and private—sides to him.

  When our eyes finally meet, there’s a spark of something unreadable in his—part amusement, part surprise, part annoyance maybe—and as quickly as the moment happened, it’s gone. Bryant moves his attention to my big brother who lumbers past me with a heavy suitcase in each hand, sweat gathering on his brow.

  “Hey brother,” Bryant says with a grin.

  “You do know that’s not exactly a new name for me.”

  “No, but it’s definitely more real now,” Bry says. He steps out of the way when my brother reaches the door, grabbing one of my bags from him and murmuring something I cannot hear. God, I wish I could lip read.

  Ez’s eyes snap to Bryant’s, and they stare at each other for a moment before my brother nods and disappears down a dark corridor leading deeper into the house.

  Bry steps out onto the porch, the two of us now alone. “I’ll grab the rest of your things. I’ve set up a room for you and told Ez to put your bags in there.”

  My eyes go wide as saucers. His thoughtfulness isn’t out of character, but given our current ‘situation’ it is a surprise. His lips quirk up, and for a second, I get a glimpse of that boyish charm he always used when trying to get in my pants. As if realizing he’s doing it, he quickly schools himself, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Ah, yeah, so I’ll just go get those bags and let you get settled.”

  “Running away so soon, Bry?” I blurt out. His step falters. He’s not as unflappable as he wants to appear to be.

  He turns and paints on a panty-melting smile that is as fake as the two front veneers he got his senior year thanks to an unfortunate first blow-job incident in his parents’ back shed.

  “Oh no, babycakes. Definitely not. I’m in for the long haul—always have been. I’m the one waiting for you to realize just what you’ve agreed to, especially since it’s the very thing you ran away from twelve years ago. Maybe you’ve forgotten that fact, but I have not.”

  And just like that, all words escape me.

  Then again, I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Because there’s one thing Bryant Cook didn’t remember when saying I do, something I told him back when I was an infatuated thirteen-year-old trying to work out how to get my best friend to make a move.

  “Do you believe in true love, Bry?”

  “Like ‘to death do us part’ and all that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I s’pose. I mean, Mom and Dad have been married for over half their lives already. They’re happy.”

  “Did you know that
swans mate for life?”

  He looks up, his eyes widening. “Like, forever?”

  “Yeah. I just read it in this book.”

  “That’s pretty cool.”

  “When I get married, that’s going to be me.”

  “You’ve got a few years before you’ve gotta worry ’bout that, Faith.”

  “I know. But I thought it was important, you know.”

  “Know what?”

  “That I’m only ever going to get married once. My husband will know that I mean it. He’ll be the only man I’ll ever love from that day forward.”

  “Have you been reading your mom’s kissing books again?”

  “Nah. Just thought you should know.”

  He nods and returns to his paperback.

  After a few minutes of silence, I speak again. “Will you remember, Bry?”

  He looks up from his book and meets my eyes, the two of us staring for what seems like forever—to a thirteen-year-old girl in love with her best friend, anyway.

  He reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Yeah, Faith. I’ll remember, and if I don’t, promise me you’ll remind me. Okay?”

  “Yeah, Bry. I’ll remind you.”

  Now is not the time to do that, but sometime soon, you can bet your ass I’ll be keeping that promise.

  It’s my trump card. I’ve just got to wait until it’s the right time to use it.

  Besides, I’ve waited twelve years. What’s a little while longer?

  6

  Bryant

  Since Jamie and April are on their honeymoon, Jax and I are leading the charge on the new project. I still have the duplex I bought five years ago, but living in this house while I do it up kills two birds with one stone.

  Firstly, I can rent out my place and have someone else pay my mortgage while I live for free. Secondly, I’m on-site every day, I can do extra work on the weekends, and Faith can help me whenever she’s not working. That’s if she has a job.

  We haven’t exactly spoken since Ezra left. We moved all of her suitcases and boxes into the guest room, and I chose to leave her alone for a while to process the last twenty-four hours.