Can't Have You: A Stand-Alone Brother's Best Friend Romance
Page 23
Max nods to the front door. “You need help with your bags?”
“Oh, I figured I’d stay at a hotel. It’s only a few nights, and I’ll be leaving again on Monday. Three nights at a hotel isn’t a big deal. I didn’t want to impose.”
“What?” Max frowns, laughing as he shakes his head. “No way. Isabelle!” he calls out.
A woman’s head pops out of the door. She has cropped, dark brown hair and full lips that are almost too big for her face. “Hi!” She waves, flashing a brilliant smile at us. I raise my hand toward her and glance at Max. He’s beaming.
“Isabelle, this is Sacha. Come bring him inside while I grab his bags. Sneaky fucker was trying to wriggle his way out of staying with us.”
“Well, we can’t be having that.” She laughs, walking barefoot toward us as we stand in the driveway. I can’t remember when I last saw someone walking barefoot outdoors. I’ve lived in the city for far too long.
Max’s fiancée surprises me when she wraps her arms around me. She pulls back, keeping her hands on my upper arms as she searches my face. Her eyes are kind, and her smile is easy.
She’s pretty much the opposite of me.
“So, you’re the famous Sacha Black. I was starting to think Max had made you up.” She smiles warmly at me, and the tightness in my chest eases ever so slightly.
For the first time in a decade, I feel like I’m coming home.
Ignoring my protests, Max grabs my bag from the trunk of the car. The two of them lead me inside, and I slip my keys into my pocket. I slip my fingers over the USB key, the movement calming me. Then, I head for the front door. I’m not prepared for the assault on my emotions that awaits me on the other side.
Everywhere I look, memories flood my brain. Good ones. Bad ones. Trivial ones.
Right there is the corner of the coffee table where I split my head open while Max and I wrestled at thirteen years old. Over there is where I would sit with the Wise family for dinner whenever my own parents forgot about me as they left town on business or worked late.
The same faded, brown couch dominates the living room, where I kissed Willow Wise for the first and only time, ten years ago.
I jerk my eyes away from it, forcing a smile on my lips. “Hasn’t changed in here at all.”
“We’re saving up to redo the kitchen,” Isabelle explains, brushing her hands down her pants. “Tea? Coffee? Water?”
“Beer?” Max grins.
“Beer sounds good.”
My best friend takes a seat on the sofa, and I take care not to touch it as I sit on the old Laz-y-Boy recliner in the corner. If I sit next to him on that couch, I know I’ll be thinking of Willow.
The way she looked when she sat there, beside me, asking to be kissed. The way my body trembled against hers. The way she made me feel alive when she pressed her lips to mine.
The way it tore me apart to leave without looking back.
Isabelle appears with three beers, handing one to me, one to Max, and keeping one for herself. She nestles in on the sofa next to Max, who slings his arm around her shoulders.
“So, getting married, huh?” I ask, nodding to them as I lean my head back against the recliner. “You’re a lucky man.”
Isabelle blushes, shaking her head. “I’m a lucky woman. Max is one of the good ones.”
I grunt in acknowledgement, taking another sip of beer. The bitter, golden liquid pours down my throat and causes my shoulders to relax.
“So, how’s the restaurant? I saw you were featured in Bon Appetit!” Max whistles. “Big leagues. Never thought Sacha Black would be the head chef at a Michelin-starred restaurant.”
I chuckle. “It’s going well. We’ve got a good team.”
“Mom always said you had a gift for cooking.” Max smiles sadly. “Too bad your parents couldn’t see it.”
“They didn’t want to.” I take another swig of beer and then clear my throat. “So, four weeks, huh? You must be excited.”
“For the wedding?” Isabelle laughs. “Mostly exhausted. I never thought it’d be so much work to plan it.”
“Hope that guy’s helping you out.” I point my bottle at my best friend, who gives me that same grin I remember from our childhood.
This is fine.
Everything is okay.
Willow isn’t here, and I can enjoy my best friend’s company. There’s nothing to stress about. I’m just here to visit Max for his bachelor’s party.
Nothing more.
All going well, I’ll be gone by Monday without even seeing Willow Wise, and then I won’t need to worry about her until I’m back here for the wedding. Then, I can just avoid her during the ceremony and leave early the next day. I’ll make up some excuse about needing to be at the restaurant.
Easy.
Simple.
Clean.
But just like everything in my life, things are not easy, simple, and clean. Nothing ever goes according to plan. I can’t even manage one weekend in my hometown without feeling like my stomach is falling out of my ass.
Because right when I think I’m getting comfortable, the front door opens, and my heart stops.
I hear her voice before I see her. The wind blows a gust of air inside, carrying the scent of vanilla and strawberries toward me.
The same scent that has lingered in my dreams for a decade. The smell of my teenage obsession. Of my first love.
The scent of heartbreak.
Willow turns the corner into the living room, and my heart falters.
I wasn’t ready for this. Even if I thought I was ready, I was kidding myself. Willow Wise is ten years older, but she’s still the same girl I knew when I left this godforsaken town.
No, she’s not the same. She’s dressed in black from head to toe. Gone are the mismatched socks and glittery scrunchies in her hair. She doesn’t look like a unicorn threw up all over her.
She’s different.
She’s better.
I left her as a gangly, awkward teenager with eyes that were too big for her face, and I’ve come back to the woman of my dreams.
Doe-eyed, full-lipped, with curves in all the right places. A goddess. Too good to walk among mortals. Too beautiful to look at without feeling like the world is tilting on its axis.
Her eyes are drawn to mine, just as mine are drawn to hers. The words die on her lips as they fall open, and all I can think of is how they would taste to kiss.
“Sacha.” Her voice is strangled, and her smile slips off her face.
I stand up, letting my arms hang loosely by my sides. “Hey, Frogface.”
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