by BJ Harvey
The look on her face when she saw this house for the first time was worth not telling her beforehand. As she walked through the rooms, her expression morphed from horror, to fear and occasionally concern—probably for her safety—and all of the looks on her face were equally amusing.
Now I’m sitting in a chair on the back porch, my feet propped up on the railing, with a bottle of beer in my hand and a slowly darkening sky before me.
My plan has and will never be to torture or punish Faith. None of this was ever about that. However, it doesn’t stop me from finding the situation amusing, bordering on comical.
Who sees their childhood love—their only love—for the first time after she rejected his marriage proposal twelve years earlier, and proposes again to call her bluff about wanting him back? Maybe I need my head read. There is a plan, though. It may be stupid, but it’s necessary to end this once and for all.
For all my pandering, I do want to show Faith what our life could’ve—would have—been like if she’d stayed… if she’d said yes. Even if she’d said no, I would’ve waited.
Hell, apparently I waited anyway. I don’t think there’s a thing that woman could do that would ever make me stop loving her. Maybe that makes me the puppet and her the puppeteer; she just doesn’t know she still holds the strings.
“Bryant!” Faith shouts. My body goes still; then, I jerk into action. I drop my bottle to the ground. I rip the door open and race to her room.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, hanging off the side of her doorway when I reach her.
Her face is pale, her eyes snapping to mine as soon as I enter the room. She’s standing on top of the bed—more like cowering, really. Her finger points to the floor on the far side of the bed.
“There… there’s a…” She’s near-on shaking her bottom lip trembling.
“What, Faith?”
“There’s a spider under the bed,” she says, shaking her head from side to side, her hands covering her face. “And it had babies!”
I freeze, unable to comprehend what I’m seeing.
“Faith, how on earth can you still be scared of bugs?”
“You don’t know what bugs are until you’ve lived in Australia, especially spiders.”
“You’re a biologist,” I say, remembering how she hated to be put in a ‘specific scientific box.’
“Zoologist actually. Which is a lot different than those bug people who study things like—you know—big-ass spiders, Bryant Cook.”
“Are you full-naming me, Faith Baker?”
“You bet your ass I am, and I’ll keep doing it till you remove said spider and all its spider babies from my room.” She’s shriek-shouting by the end of her demand, and it’s cute as hell.
I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms over my chest. “So no future as an arachnologist?”
“Bry…” she hisses. “I’m begging you.”
“Say please then.”
“What?”
“Please. It’s usually followed by a thank you when the person completes the task you’ve asked them to do. It’s Manners 101. I know Mrs. Baker taught you all about that.”
“He brings my mom into it,” she mutters dryly, looking to the ceiling as if seeking answers—or a weapon to throw at me. Her eyes plead with mine. “Please, Bryant. Torture me with anything else but not bugs.”
I sigh, fighting—and failing—to stop a small triumphant grin making its home on my face.
“Smug much?” she mutters as I round the bed and drop to my hands and knees. “What are you doing?”
I crane my neck to look up at her from the floor. “I’m trying out a new yoga position. What the hell do you think I’m doing? I’m looking for the spider mama and her babies.”
“Like that?”
I sit up on my calves and look at her, dumbfounded. She’s always had a fear of spiders, but this is bordering on ridiculous. I arch a brow. “Got a spare hazmat suit lying around?”
“No need to get snippy.”
My lips twitch. “Never been called snippy before.”
“Never thought I’d need to say the word,” she retorts with a half-smile.
“What exactly does being snippy entail?”
She puts her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes. “Are we really standing here arguing about your behavior?”
“Well if you’d stop, then I could get on with ridding your room of all the creepy crawlies you hate.”
Her face falls. “You think there’s more than this?”
Ah, shit. This is not good. “No. I mean—”
“I can’t… I mean…” Her eyes fill with tears, and I feel like the biggest asshole on the planet.
I stand and open my arms, holding my breath as she looks at my hands then back to my face a few times before slowly moving forward and letting me comfort her. When she bends down and lays her head on my shoulder, a warm feeling settles in my heart.
“You probably think I’m a big baby,” she mumbles against my T-shirt. I smile, rubbing her back and cupping her head, keeping her close, enjoying this far more than I thought I would so soon. I swear this woman has superpowers when it comes to me.
“Can we fumigate the house?” she asks, her soft voice full of hope.
Without answering her, I tighten my arms around her waist and pull her off the bed. “Hold on, babycakes.”
She lets out a squeak as I carry her across the room. Her legs circle around my hips, and her arms strangle me as they tighten around my neck.
Once we’re in the hallway, I gently lower her to the ground, her fingers gripping my shoulders as she tips her wide eyes up to mine. Where I expect to find a spark of anger, there’s soft heat that I’m not prepared to see. She’s still standing close, her chest brushing mine. Her tongue darts out and traces along her bottom lip, and I can’t tear my gaze away.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“Can’t have you being scared of your own room.”
Something about what I said snaps her out of her daze, and she quickly takes a step back. “Thank you. I might order a cab and go to the grocery store.”
My brows bunch together into a confused frown. “Have you forgotten how to drive?”
Her head jerks back, and I see a glimpse of the spunky woman who always let shit fly with me. Used to, anyway.
“Australia does have cars, you know,” she says, her voice full of sarcasm. My mind burns with the memory of how I used to react to her sass, back when we were in a better place.
Instead, I chuckle under my breath and shake my head. “What I should’ve said was, why not ask to drive my truck? It’ll give me a chance to check your room for any more unwelcome guests.”
Her lips part and she blinks rapidly, as if not believing what she’s hearing. “You’d let me drive your truck?”
Now it’s my turn to be surprised. “Well, yeah. I added you to my insurance this morning because I know you haven’t had a chance to get a car yet and I don’t want you to feel like you’re trapped here.”
She blinks again. “You…”
“Yeah,” I say with a shrug. “It’s no big deal.” I leave it at that because it obviously means something to her—whatever that may be—and I don’t think delving into anything heavy is a good idea on the first day of this somewhat precarious living situation.
More like I’m not ready to deal with it right now.
Thankfully, she lets it go. “Okay, but there’s just one problem with that plan,” she says, biting her lip.
“What now?” I sigh, making her lips turn up a little. She looks over my shoulder then back to me.
“My purse… it’s in there.” She tentatively points into her bedroom, and all I can do is roll my eyes. She’s being cute as hell, but I’m not gonna let her know that—not yet. Don’t get me wrong—I have every intention of progressing forward in every way, but unlike my brothers, who are very much followers of the ‘hard and fast’ rule, I’ve always been a believer in ‘slow and steady’ wins the ra
ce.
Doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun with this though. “Should I ask Incy Wincy to bring it out for me?” I try to keep a straight face, but her adorable growl and pursed lips make that feat impossible.
“You’re an asshole when you wanna be,” she says, but there’s no malice in her tone.
“Why, thank you,” I say, giving a small, exaggerated bow. “That’s quite a compliment.”
“Bryant…” she says, sounding exasperated. “I’ll pick up Chinese takeout if you go get my purse.” Her voice takes on a soft, seductive tone, but she’s lured me with food. Damn her for knowing me so well.
“Oh, all right.” I turn around and walk back in her room, my eyes glued to the floor. “Where is it?” I ask, looking over my shoulder and catching her gaze locked on my ass. Her eyes jerk up to mine.
“Corner of the bed,” she replies, sounding innocent.
I grab her purse, picking up her sunglasses while I’m there, and return to the hallway, handing them both over. “My keys are on the hook by the front door.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I also got a set cut for you. I’m not sure whether you’ll need them or not but once we get you a car, you won’t be so reliant on anybody else for transport, so keys might come in handy.”
Her eyes soften, and the gratitude I see in her gentle expression sparks that strange warm feeling in my chest again.
She shoots me a short wave before walking out the front door with a quick, “bye, hubby.” There’s no missing the falter in her step when it hits her what she’s said or the fact that I also freeze stock-still at hearing her words.
It seems far too easy and natural and—dare I say—domesticated, and it’s barely been five hours since she moved in.
I watch her quickly run down the porch steps and hear my truck rumble to life not long after, yet five minutes later, I still find myself standing in the middle of the hallway, staring at the space where she was. Get yourself together, Cook.
I shake my head and turn back toward her bedroom, noting she’s still as messy as she used to be. When I see a drawer left open in the dresser I bought her, silk, satin and lace fabric strewn in and halfway out of it, I put my blinders on and focus on the task at hand: bug check and spray the room. Then I need to get out of there without looking at anything that will give me images in my head I don’t need to have right now. Locate, eradicate, and then extricate.
If only my emotions were as easy to manage.
7
Bryant
An hour and a half, three spiders plus babies, a can of bug spray, and another beer later, I’m sitting at one end of the couch, a box of orange chicken and a fork in my hands, facing Faith, who is cross-legged at the other end, holding her own takeout container in her lap. Some random quiz show plays on the television that sits on the floor. There are so many questions swirling around my head. I’ve spent the last ten minutes not saying anything while I try to decipher what ones I want answers to. Nothing heavy—they’re more at the ‘getting to know you again’ level. God, it’s crazy to think I promised marriage to someone I know nothing about. Who does that? Us, apparently. Maybe this was meant to be after all.
“So—”
“I was—”
We both look at each other and laugh. I nod in her direction. “You first.”
“I was wondering about the house. I mean, it definitely has its charm and all, but it’s not exactly gonna break selling records is it?” she says, waving her beer in a sweeping motion.
I chuckle, reaching over to put my food on the table. Leaning back, I take a long swig of my beer.
“So eighteen months ago—give or take—we bought our first house to flip with Jamie. Originally it was supposed to be his thing, but the more we helped out, the more into it the rest of us brothers got. This is house number five if we don’t count Jamie and April’s house, which they renovated for themselves. Together with your brother, we aim to redesign, renovate, and resell this place within three months before doing it all over again.”
Her lips tip up. “It’s a big jump from teaching college students to renovating a house that looks like it’s about to fall over whenever the next wind blows,” she says with a giggle.
“Someone’s been checking up on me.”
“No!” she says, a little too defensively. When I narrow my eyes, she smirks and concedes with a small nod. “Oh all right, maybe, but asking Ezra doesn’t count.”
I lean deeper into the couch, crossing my arms over my chest. “Your brother is as big of a gossip as Cohen, and that’s saying something.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “I swear the information was volunteered freely… for the most part,” she mutters the last bit, her guilty expression making me chuckle.
“What did Ez tell you about me?”
“Not much.” She averts her eyes, looking like she’s absolutely riveted by a middle-aged woman jumping up and down trying to win the grand prize.
“You were always such a shitty liar.”
“Am not.”
“Am too,” I say back, watching her purse her lips but failing to stop a sly grin making an appearance. “Looks like nothing has changed.”
She rolls her eyes and turns back to face me. “You suck,” she retorts, poking her tongue out. She’s just as cute as she was the last time we shared takeout together on a small two-seater in our studio apartment in college. “I’m not exactly operating with all of the information I need here, Bry. It’s rare that you marry someone without knowing things like their job, their living situation, and what they’ve been up to for the last twelve years.”
“Arranged marriages?”
She tilts her head. “Is that what this is?”
“We could liken it to one, except I was the one who arranged it, and—”
“There’s no dowry,” she adds with a wry smile, her eyes dancing with amusement.
“Damn,” I say, pretending to smack my forehead. “I knew I should’ve added that to the prenup.” She gasps loudly, but I know she’s not offended. Her quiet laughter says it all. “Yeah, you missed your opportunity there.”
“So, what would you like to know?” I ask, more than prepared to answer any question she throws at me. I made a promise to myself that I wasn’t going to hide anything from her.
“About you?”
“Yeah. I’m an open book. Ask away.”
“Okay, let’s start with your job. What do—or were—you teaching? Ezra told me you’ve taken a sabbatical.”
I swallow a mouthful of my drink and cradle the bottle in my hands. “Condensed version?”
“Honest version,” she counters, meeting me dead in the eye, her expression giving me nothing to go on.
“There’s one thing you can always count on, Faith. I’ll always be honest. I’ve never had to be anything but with you, and I’m not about to start lying now.”
She presses her teeth against her bottom lip and nods.
“Okay. So condensed but honest,” I say with a half-smirk. “Masters, Ph.D. in Computational Biology. I’m on the tenure track but heard an important person from my past was coming back to Chicago, and it made me reevaluate.” I break our stare and look around the room. “I was driving down this street to get to the next neighborhood over and saw the foreclosure sign. I called Jamie. A week later, we put in a cash offer and came up with plans to completely do it up, modern farmhouse style.”
“How does that fit in with you taking a sabbatical?”
“I’ve been studying and working non-stop for a long time now. This re-evaluation came at a time when I was close to burnout and in need of a break.”
“So working on this bag of bones,” she says, sweeping her hand in the air, “is how you want to spend your break?”
“Hey,” I say, acting offended. It’s always the way when anyone views the houses we buy before we start work on them. “You haven’t seen the magic we can work. I’ll take you around to Jamie and April’s place when they get home. You�
�ll be amazed, I swear.”
She nods and places her food on the floor beside the couch. She pulls her legs up, wrapping her arms around them, her beer bottle hanging loosely from her fingers. What happened this afternoon has eased any tension between us. I’m not foolish enough to believe that it won’t be there again tomorrow, or next week, or for however long this lasts until reality pops our little bubble. My only hope is that for as long as we’ve got, I get the chance to show her—and also experience—what our lives could have been like.
“Bry?”
I blink twice and focus on her. “Sorry?”
“I asked about this place.
“I’m guessing Ez has been gossiping, and you’re looking for confirmation?” I ask.
She laughs and shakes her head. “Am I that obvious? I could never get anything past you.”
“Still can’t, it seems.”
She narrows her eyes, but her curved lips give her away. “I swear I’ll succeed one day. It’s not fun if you can’t surprise someone occasionally.”
“You can try. Doesn’t mean I think you’ll get there though,” I say with a chuckle.
“Just you wait, mister.” She shakes her finger at me.
“Bring it on,” I say with a grin, feeling more relaxed than I have in weeks. “So how about you? Have you got some job interviews lined up?”
“Ah… so about that…”
“Yes…?”
“I actually already have a job. I had a final interview the day after I arrived, and I’m due to go in this Friday to do all the necessary HR stuff.”
I lean forward, catching myself doing it without even realizing. “So you actually were staying?” I tease, my mouth quirking up.
“I really was.” She laughs, her amusement infectious.
I lean back into the couch corner and pin her with a stare. “Tell me about this job,” I say, taking another drink of my beer.
“It’s nothing big. It’s just—”
“You’ve been working hard your entire life, Faith. Don’t undersell yourself now.” I see the moment my words hit home, her body tensing for a second before she lets it go and relaxes again.