Cook Brothers: The Whole Flipping Family

by BJ Harvey

“Yeah. I’m just not sure how to scale it.”

  My brother’s eyes soften. “Give it time. Take it from a man who has had more than his share of difficult marriages. He needs to know you’re here to stay and—”

  “And getting married on demand wasn’t enough?”

  “Honestly, you had a City Hall ceremony that right now, seems like just a piece of paper. You two have to get to know each other again as the people you are now—not who you were. You broke his heart and understandably, he’s going to be a bit wary.”

  “I know. I just hope I can make it up to him.”

  “Being here and being present will go a long way. But do you want one piece of advice?”

  “It seems my siblings are full of that today,” I remark, earning a puzzled look.

  “God, Del probably told you to jump his bones.” My head jerks back, making him laugh. “Do I know our sister or what? She’s probably not wrong, but I don’t wanna think about that.”

  “I’m not a kid anymore, Ez.”

  He ruffles my hair, earning a huff. “You’ll always be a kid to me, Bakes. Whether you’re thirty-four or sixty-four.” That makes me melt, and his softening gaze acknowledges that. He gives me a squeeze and steps away. “Just make him see you’re in it for the long haul, and that marrying him wasn’t just a means to an end.”

  “It could never be that with him,” I whisper.

  “I know,” he says. “Oh, did you still wanna go car shopping? I’m pretty busy right now, but I can definitely take you on the weekend.”

  I grin. “I actually asked Bry, and we’re going to have a look next weekend.”

  His brows lift before his lips quirk, and he nods approvingly. “See? Baby steps.” He looks in the direction of the living room. “We better get in there, or else he’ll know we’ve been talking about him.”

  I roll my eyes. “Men!”

  “You love it. Now, come see me work some magic.”

  And hand in hand, we move deeper into the house toward the dining room.

  “So get rid of this wall, and push out the kitchen, and we’ll have one huge open-plan room for the main living area,” Jax says.

  We’re all bent over the house plans which are spread out over the table.

  “And the bedrooms?” Bryant asks, looking across at Ez.

  “We’ll keep the three current bedrooms, but make the master suite bigger and add in the en-suite here.” He points to a large void off Bryant’s current room. “And once the basement is dry-walled, there’s the option of halving it and making a guest room down there with a small window at ground level.” Bryant nods and returns his gaze to the plans. Ezra was still establishing himself as an architect the last time I was home from college. Seeing the design he’s come up with for what I first saw as a disaster with four walls, I’m in awe of his vision. “This is awesome, Ez.”

  Jax lifts his head and winks at me. “Your brother definitely has a knack for seeing the potential in these houses we flip. You should see the finished Barbie Dreamhouse. That project was mammoth, but we just accepted an offer yesterday and made a hundred grand profit.”

  “Wow,” I say, my voice full of wonder. “You guys must be over the moon.”

  “That project was Jax and Jamie’s baby. We were just the hard labor when needed,” Cohen says with a grin.

  I look between the brothers. “I think it’s awesome you guys do this together.”

  “We do too. Although, this is the first time Bryant is going to be living and breathing construction,” Jax says, elbowing his twin in the arm.

  “Yeah, yeah. It’s about time I tried out building life,” Bryant replies with a laugh.

  “We’ll just see how well those pretty hands of yours handle a hammer,” Jase jibes.

  Bryant chuckles. “I might surprise you.”

  “How about you, Faith? Have you ever done any renovating?” Matt asks, brow quirked.

  “Unless you count painting our college apartment bright purple in our senior year, not really,” I reply. Bryant’s head jerks back, but he quickly schools his expression. A quick glance at Ezra’s face tells me he didn’t miss it either.

  “Well then, I’m not sure about purple, but we never turn down extra hands when it comes to decorating and staging,” Jax says, maneuvering the conversation back to safer ground.

  “And we’ll try and keep the disruption to a minimum, Faith, but at some stage, you guys will be confined to one room unfortunately. Or fortunately,” Jase says with a wink. “You are newlyweds, after all.” My eyes dart to Bryant’s amused face.

  “That’s okay. We’ll only need one habitable room at a time so we can just work around whatever you need,” Bry says.

  My eyes widen at Bryant’s words because there’s no missing the fact he’s just told everyone that we’ll be sharing a room—and a bed. Definitely something I thought I’d not only get a say in, but also, a development I didn’t see happening so fast.

  “When do you think that will that be?” He directs the question to Matt and Jase.

  Matt looks down at the plans, then back to my husband. God, it still seems surreal to think of him that way. “I’d say two weeks after we start. Then we can really get stuck in with the redesign and relining the walls.”

  Bry’s eyes drift across the table to me, his gaze roaming my face before a slow-growing grin transforms his features, and fuck, it’s hard not to melt on the spot when he looks like that. There’s a boyish charm to that man that I remember falling for way back at the start.

  Ez, Jax and Cohen all look to me, probably expecting a reaction to the news I’m being forced into close proximity by my husband. But I don’t give them one. When my eyes drift to Bryant, I meet the amused gaze of a man who knows he’s just shifted the goalposts and, by announcing it to the room, has made it near impossible for me to say anything about it without causing a scene or turning the conversation awkward. Two can play this game, Mr. Cook.

  “Yeah. It seems to be a waste to keep two bedrooms livable at a time. Bryant and I can just top and tail like we used to do as kids,” I say with a smirk.

  Jax chuckles. “As kids, yes. That’s before you upgraded to a different kind of—” Ezra makes loud gagging noises, Cohen’s eyes bug out before crinkling at the sides, and Matt and Jase just laugh. Bryant, though? His eyes are locked on mine, and they’re blazing, his lips curved up in a lascivious smile that promises retribution in hopefully enjoyable ways.

  “And we’re definitely not kids anymore, babycakes,” he says, his voice so low and deep I feel it fire through me like a lightning bolt straight to my libido.

  “Damn, is it getting hot in here or is it just me?” Jase says, but I’m locked in my husband’s stare. He quirks a brow as if he’s expecting me to give in, his eyes turning appreciative when I don’t back down.

  “Well then,” Ezra says, clearing his throat and ending the showdown. When I look my brother’s way, his grin is all-knowing. Jax, Matt, and Jase are all bent down, discussing basement measurements, Ezra soon joining them. When I catch Cohen’s eye, his expression is unreadable. With a curt nod, he looks away and zones in on the basement discussion, leaving Bryant and I standing at opposite ends of the table, his gaze so intense it almost takes my breath away.

  “Game on, babycakes,” he mouths. When I simply grin and arch a brow, not giving any indication of the family of butterflies that have made my stomach their home, his eyes narrow. He shakes his head, his lips curving up as he returns his focus to the house plans.

  I give myself a silent fist pump and a pat on the back for winning this one, unable to wipe the smile off my face as I listen to my brother explain the rest of the design.

  If Bry wants to share a room—and a bed—then my plans for initiating the physical side of our relationship might just need to be stepped up. There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep next to the man I love—my new husband—without doing all the things married couples do.

  Bryant may not know what he’s just gotten himself int
o, but I can’t wait to show him.

  Maybe Del was right. I’m just not going to tell her that.

  Not until I know for sure, anyway.

  9

  Bryant

  It’s Saturday morning, and we’re a week into the house demolition, ten days after I married the first and only love of my life. And today, I’m taking my wife out on our first date as a married couple. Talking about doing things backward.

  Faith started her new job this past Monday and has been coming home excited about the work she’s going to be doing, and talking non-stop about it over dinner every night. It’s become almost routine now—a good one—where she gets home around six, has a shower while I cook, then we sit on the couch, eat, and share our day. Hers is about saving the world, one endangered animal at a time, and mine is about demolition, rotten framing, and plans to raise the attic.

  Having gotten up early and gone for a run, I’m showered, dressed, and reading the morning news on my tablet by the time Faith walks into the kitchen. She looks adorably mussed and still half-asleep, proving she’s not a morning person when she doesn’t have to be.

  “I made a fresh pot of coffee for you,” I say, taking a sip from my own cup.

  “Thank you,” she mumbles. She pads across the floor, grabs a mug and pours herself a drink.

  She walks around the table, sitting in the chair next to me and staring off into space for at least five minutes.

  When it becomes apparent she’s not going to initiate conversation, I take the lead.

  “Did you have a good sleep?”

  Her head jerks, as if my voice woke her up all over again.

  “Huh?” she rasps. She clears her throat and after a quick shake of her head, focuses her eyes on mine. “Sorry, I’m not quite awake yet.”

  I chuckle, my lips quirking up. “I can see that.”

  I take her in, her T-shirt and panties bedtime attire now commonplace around the house when we’re alone. I’m definitely counting down the days until we’re forced into close proximity. Matt, Jase, Jax and I have been hard at work all week dealing with other parts of the house, but we’re going to have to get into her room by next weekend.

  She blushes and looks back down to her coffee. “How about you?”

  “Huh?” I ask teasingly. Her tilted head and sharp gaze tell me it’s a bit early for teasing. Good to know. “I’ve already been for a run this morning.”

  She scrunches her forehead. “You run?”

  “I do. I’ve been running every day this week.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?” I say with a laugh.

  “Why run?”

  “It clears the brain and sets me up for the day.”

  “Maybe, if you’re weird like that,” she grumbles.

  “I remember a time when you used to work out every day.”

  Her lips twitch. “Then I learned that life’s too short and cheesecake makes my ass look good.”

  “I’ve noticed,” I say before I can filter myself. Her eyes widen, giggling when I simply shrug in response.

  “Nice to know,” she says quietly, averting her gaze. Not liking that, I reach out and cover her hand, getting her attention.

  “Faith, I may not be obvious about it, but there’s not one part of you I don’t remember and haven’t enjoyed looking at since you came back.”

  Her shoulders drop, her lips parting as she lets out a breath.

  “If you want me to be more overt in my appreciation of your body…” My eyes drift down her body before slowly raking their way back to her face. “… especially the parts I really like, just let me know. I’m more than willing to accommodate.”

  Needing some distance—if only to calm down my body’s response—I slide my chair back and stand, taking my coffee with me and moving my tablet into her line of sight. “You’re more than welcome to use this to read the news. I know you used to like doing that.”

  She doesn’t hide her surprise at my memory but simply nods. Moving to the sink, I down my drink and rinse out the mug before leaving it to dry on the countertop.

  “I’m just going to check my e-mails, and I’ll be ready to go whenever you are,” I say to the back of her head.

  Looking over her shoulder, she smiles. “Okay. I just need to have a shower and do some laundry, then we can leave.”

  “Just come get me then.”

  She nods, and I leave the room, contemplating another run to work off a different kind of pent-up energy. Instead, I opt for instant gratification and have a second shower. No doubt it’ll be a quick one, one part of my body now needing an entirely different kind of workout.

  Three hours and four different dealerships later, one thing is glaringly obvious—Faith Baker is still as indecisive as she was when she was younger. She has decided what she wants three times so far before backtracking and test-driving another model.

  By one p.m., I’m hungry, and I make the executive decision that we need food and a break from upgrades and safety features. When I usher her out of the crosshairs of a rather forward car salesman, she looks at me questionably but thankfully, bites her tongue, and waits until we’re in my truck and pulling away from the curb before talking.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “You’re hungry…” she says slowly as if trying to find some hidden meaning in my seemingly straightforward statement.

  “Yep. It’s past lunchtime. We’ve been looking and not deciding on a car for hours. I figured a change of scenery was needed to clear your mind.”

  She falls quiet, so much so that I sneak a side-glance at her to try and read her mood, but I can’t work it out because she has turned to look out the window.

  “Burgers okay?” I ask, choosing to not make all of the decisions for her. I’ve never been the kind of guy who wants that level of control, and I don’t want her thinking that’s the kind of man I am now.

  “Yeah, sure,” she says quietly.

  I almost wish I wasn’t driving so I’d be able to watch her. I used to be able to tell so much about what she was thinking and feeling just by watching her. Before we got together, we were just two kids—young teenagers—who knew each other better than anyone else.

  I leave her to ruminate and ten minutes later, pull into the parking lot of my favorite gourmet burger place. I hop out of the truck and ’round the back, open her door and help her down before she’s even had a chance to argue.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  “Opening the door for you.”

  That makes her look even more confused. “But—”

  “But nothing. My father taught me to be a gentleman when taking a woman out on a date, something you know all too well since he used to always grill you after we got home.”

  Her gaze widens before she covers her mouth to hide a giggle.

  “And since this is my first lunch date with my wife, I wanted to see whether I still remembered how to do it.”

  Her smile falters a bit when my admission sinks in, her eyes widening. “You haven’t—”

  “Dated? Sure,” I say, locking the truck behind us. I press my hand to the small of her back and lead us toward the front of the restaurant. “Cared enough to make sure I didn’t earn the wrath of my father or yours? No.”

  Her lips part, but I don’t acknowledge my admission. Instead, I hold the restaurant door open and usher her inside.

  It’s not until we’re seated and the waitress has taken our drink and food order, that Faith brings it up again.

  “So… dating life,” she says.

  Leaning back in my seat, I watch her. “Yes. I have had one,” I reply, nonchalantly.

  She rests her arms on the table, her body language anything but comfortable.

  I fight against getting distracted by her olive-brown skin, and the sun-kissed highlights through her dark chocolate hair. I focus on her bright green eyes rather than let my gaze drift to the low V of her white shirt and the yellow bra she’s wearin
g underneath.

  I suppose we need to have this conversation about dating, the twelve years we’ve been apart, and why she left me after rejecting my proposal. Those kinds of things.

  So far we’ve been dancing around each other’s past anything, including our own history. It’s unhealthy, but it’s also a self-preservation measure, not just for ourselves, but likely for our current marital status. I can see Mom’s Christmas card letter now. “This year, our sons Jamie and Jaxon got married, Cohen worked too much, Abi had twins, and Bryant lost his mind and married his childhood love, who he divorced a few weeks later.”

  “So…” she says slowly, playing with her fingers on the table. “Anyone significant?”

  I pour myself a glass of water, lifting the cup to my lips before meeting her questioning gaze. “Nothing lasting longer than a few months.”

  Her brows rise. “Wow. I thought for sure I’d have a heartbroken ex or two to deal with.”

  My mouth twists up. “Sorry to disappoint. I may have shared my bed with women but…” I swallow, weighing up whether to show her a card or two. I look over her shoulder before making my decision. Open book, remember? “I’ve never gotten over the eight-year-old who stole my heart and never gave it back.”

  Her lips part, her eyes widening. “Bry…” There’s too much emotion and history in that one word.

  “And how about you?” I ask, leaning back in my chair.

  “I’ve dated here and there. There was one guy I was with for about eight months.”

  I nod, not liking the idea, but twelve years is too long for her not to have met anyone. Who even knows what kind of guys there are in Australia? The few I’ve met have been confident and outgoing, and have oozed testosterone like they pour it on their cereal for breakfast. “And what happened?”

  “We worked together at the zoo in Sydney. He looked after the giraffes.”

  I snort, unable to stop myself.

  She lifts her brows, her own lips curving up. “What’s so funny?”

  “Giraffes? What, was the lion tamer taken?” I muse.