Cards Of Love: The World (Swift Series Book 2)

by Leslie Pike

  “I hate to be a party pooper, but I’m going to stretch out in bed and watch some tv.”

  She gets up and pats her stomach. “The baby’s moving like crazy. Goodnight, Sis.”

  January kisses her sister on the cheek. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Summer. It was great meeting you,” I say and mean.

  “You too. I like you way better than Dick. Hope to see you again.”

  “Me too,” I say.

  She blows us a kiss and exits the room, leaving the two of us to our own devices.

  I turn to January and lock eyes. “See, your sister likes me.”

  “I like you too, pal,” she says emphasizing the last word. Throwing the kitchen towel to the counter, she grabs the front of my shirt and pulls me to her. “Let’s try this one more time.”

  I spin her around and pin her against the wall. “You’re awfully bossy, my friend. I’m not your client, you know.”

  “You don’t want to kiss me anymore?” she says batting her lashes.

  “Forget everything I just said.”

  I lean in and take the kiss. My tongue finds hers, and what I thought I knew about kissing evaporates into thin air. Her lips. They’re soft and full but more than anything I feel like I’m the first man she’s kissed this way. And in the moment the unbelievable happens. The sadness I’ve carried for eight years lightens. There aren’t the right words to describe how I feel, only a reluctance to ever stop feeling this way.

  “Maybe we can play an after-dinner game?” she says turning to walk away.

  I catch her wrist, making sure she knows my intentions. “I like this game.”

  Looking over her shoulder, she releases my grip and sends me a pointed response. “That one can lead to trouble. We need a distraction, we’re getting off course.”

  The phone rings. She looks at the screen then at me. That fucker Dick’s cock blocking me again. I know that’s him. But in an interesting development, she doesn’t answer and mutes the cell.

  “Don’t you want to get that?” I say testing her will.

  “No.”

  I’ll take that one-word answer and the grin she’s giving me.

  “What about instead of games we just talk?” I suggest.

  “Sure. I’d love to hear about your life,” she says grabbing the open wine bottle and two glasses.

  We take a seat on the couch and I motion to her to go first. My story never comes easy.

  “Let’s start with the basics,” she says. “I lived here in this house till I went to college. Like I told you before, I settled in New York after that.”

  “What are you plans? The house, this great place, you’re definitely selling?”

  There’s a funny look on her face, like she doesn’t know how to answer.

  “I think so. New York is my home now. My biggest client’s here as you know. But I’ve got three east coast earners too.”

  “How’d you get into your field?”

  “I was at a sports marketing firm. Worked my way up as their attorney. Along the way I noticed where the real money was. And I knew I had a talent for what being an agent takes.”

  “Never married?”

  “Oh, I was married. But it was a disaster.”

  “How so?”

  “I ignored all those waving red flags. We weren’t meant to be together. It lasted two years. What about you? Any youthful indiscretions you’re paying alimony for?” She chuckles when she says it.

  I take a deep breath and try to get my thoughts together.

  January tilts her head. “That sounds bad.” She laughs. “I take it the answer is yes?”

  “Usually I say no when someone asks.”

  “Why lie?”

  “I was married. Happily. For four years.”

  “Divorced?”

  “No. She died.”

  I haven’t said those words aloud for a long time. And the next ones for even longer. I have to spit it out, otherwise they’ll hide inside my heart for another decade.

  “Her name was Katy. She had a brain aneurysm at thirty-two and died without any warning.”

  “Oh God, Brick. I’m so sorry.”

  “And she was pregnant with our daughter. Seven months along. The baby didn’t survive.”

  As if on command, my eyes flood with tears. Instantly, tears fill her eyes in response.

  “It almost killed me. That’s my story.” My voice trails off.

  She lifts a hand to her mouth. Tears stream down her face.

  “It’s okay. Come here,” I say bringing her close. “I cried for years. It took me a long time to accept that it had happened.” I lift her chin and look into her shimmering eyes. “But thank you for that reaction. It’s very compassionate.”

  I hold her. We sit silently, her head against my chest, absorbing what we now know. She, that I once loved another woman. Me, the stunning realization it could happen again.

  Chapter 5

  January

  “Oh, Brick. It’s lovely,” I say, surveying the Swift property. This first glimpse wows.

  His idea that I meet everyone before we show up for the Halloween party was a good one. I’m curious. What kind of people raised a man like him? Every time we’re together I come away more impressed. Every time we’re apart I find myself thinking about him. His strength of character, the way he treats people. And I love how he can have deep, long conversations or just speak with his eyes. Face it, January, you’re crazy about the guy.

  “This is where we grew up. Atticus rebuilt and expanded the house when he signed our first contract.”

  I’m snapped out of my thoughts.

  “The trees! Just gorgeous,” I say, scanning the dogwood-lined road leading to the home.

  The house comes into view, pillars and porch reflecting the Southern Classic two-story design. Lime green and purple hydrangeas edge the home sitting atop a wide rolling lawn.

  He parks his Mercedes on the brick circular driveway and turns off the engine.

  “Before we go in, a few notes.”

  I almost start laughing at his businesslike tone.

  “I love my family, but they’re likely to be a little too eager to meet you. The Swift’s aren’t good at hiding their feelings.”

  I don’t say a word but force him by my silence to keep talking. It’s one of my best negotiating tools. Silence always makes the other person say more than they planned. The funny thing is Brick knows this trick and most likely uses it regularly.

  “Especially my grandfather. He means well, but he’s gonna say something slightly embarrassing to you or me. Probably both. I apologize in advance.”

  I just smile.

  “And he’s not alone. Atticus and my sister Bristol don’t have any problem saying what they’re thinking.”

  “That sounds alright,” I say, offering nothing.

  “Your best bet is to talk with Charlotte or Mallory. They’re still normal,” he says as if he’s perfectly serious.

  “I’ll remember that.” My tone matching his.

  “I mean, I had a talk with my mother and grandmother and asked them to not read anything into the fact I’m bringing a friend for Sunday supper.”

  He’s nervous and starting to talk faster.

  “It’s just that I don’t bring women here. I haven’t anyway. It’s not that I don’t date, but I never brought anyone here. Not that we’re dating, but even friends. It’s never happened.”

  Poor guy. I move the piece of hair that’s fallen over his eye.

  “Breathe,” I say softly.

  He shakes his head and grins. Then he blows out his tension with a forceful push. “You’re right. Nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m not a wilting southern flower, you know, Brick. I can handle whatever comes at me. It’s my thing.”

  “Good luck,” he says looking sincerely worried.

  I wish I had a video of this.

  He rings the bell.

  Immediately a dog starts barking as if the castle
walls are being breached.

  “That’s The Colonel, my grandparents’ dog. He’s harmless.”

  Footsteps approach the door. It swings open to reveal a tall lanky older man with a shock of thick white hair and wild untamed eyebrows. He wears a persimmon-colored bowtie and a smile. An agitated dachshund is held tightly in his arms.

  “Here they are!” he says, jiggling the dog who watches me with a crazed look.

  Brick places his hand on my back. “January, this is my grandfather Davis, and that’s the Colonel.”

  “So nice to meet you both,” I say.

  Davis puts the dog down before he wiggles out of his grasp. The Colonel does circles around my feet, sniffing his hello.

  “Colonel! Stop that!”

  “Don’t worry, I love dogs.”

  Grandpa leans in between us and whispers, “Before we join the rest of the family I want to warn January they may come on a little strong,”

  That’s funny, Brick said he was the one to watch out for.

  “I’ll keep them in line, dear. Don’t you worry,” he says taking my hand.

  “A girl can always count on a gentleman who wears a bowtie.”

  He looks at me with a twinkle in his eyes and kisses my hand. “You’re a tall drink of water, aren’t you?” Then looking at Brick, “Excellent choice, son! It’s about time.”

  A soft groan leaves Brick’s lips as we walk inside.

  “Is that my Brick?” a female voice calls from the room up ahead.

  “Yes, Mom. January and I are here.”

  Walking into the great room I’m taken with the warmth of the scene. Smiling faces greet us from the kitchen to the conversation area. Brick wasn’t kidding. He’s made them very happy by bringing me.

  “Hi. Everyone, this is my friend, January.”

  All nine mouths sound their response. Hello, hi, welcome to our home, and more I can’t distinguish. It makes me chuckle.

  “Now that was an outstanding welcome,” I say.

  Brick goes around the room making the individual introductions.

  “This is my mother, Lucinda.”

  The striking woman with a dramatic grey streak walks over and takes my hand. “So happy you could join us, January.”

  “Glad to be here.”

  “And this is Boone, my husband,” she says to the good-looking, white-haired man joining us.

  “Welcome. How about a taste of the heavens? I was just pouring myself a Jack Daniels.”

  For some reason that gets a reaction from everyone here. There’s laughter and it’s directed at the young pretty woman sitting next to an equally attractive teenage girl. The girl has a burn scar on one side of her face, but you can see she’s confident despite the wound.

  “Hi, January. I’m Charlotte and this is my daughter, Mallory. That reaction is because of me,” she says rolling her eyes at some memory.

  “Hi. Sounds like a good story.”

  The older woman smiling sweetly speaks up. “I’m Grandma Birdie. And that was all my son’s fault. The first time we met Atticus’ fiancée, Boone got her a little tipsy.”

  “She was drunk off her ass,” says Atticus. “I had to carry her to the bathroom.”

  He gets an elbow to his side and a playful half slap across his head from his grandmother who’s standing behind him.

  “She was!” says the girl looking at her mother.

  “That’s Atticus sitting in the peanut gallery,” Brick says.

  “Great to meet you, January,” he says.

  “I’m Bristol,” the beautiful brunette sitting across from them calls. There’s such a strong family resemblance.

  “Hello. Really nice to meet all of you. Bristol, I think you’re my sister’s obstetrician. Summer Calhoun.”

  “Oh, I love Summer! She’s got such a funny sense of humor. All we do is laugh when she’s in the office.”

  “She only has good things to say about you too.”

  “Dad, I’ll take a drink,” Brick says.

  “I will as well,” I say, knowing there’s no chance of me getting tipsy.

  This obviously pleases Boone. He pats me on the shoulder as if I just won a marathon.

  “Good for you. I’ll give you a little one to start.”

  His idea of little can use some work. But I nurse it for a good hour while talking with the family. They get to know me. Questions. Much to Brick’s horror there’s lots of them. Everything from Boone’s, Where are you from? To Grandma Birdie’s, What do you do? And Atticus’, Have you ever been married, kids?

  And when they ask if I’m living in Memphis permanently, they’re disappointed with the answer.

  Brick hasn’t calmed down yet. I can see a new look on his face. He’s uncomfortable with my being interrogated. Usually his smile is easy and beautifully natural. But this afternoon he looks like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like one of them is going to say something wildly inappropriate.

  I don’t think it’ll happen. They’re lovely and loving to each other. I’d guess all they want is for Brick to be happy. And for some reason that makes me happy too.

  Lucinda rises from her chair. “January, can I steal you away for a few minutes? The girls are going to see if supper is ready. We’re eating out back, and I want to show you that too.”

  “Sure.”

  Brick stands. “I’ll help.”

  “No!” Grandpa and Boone’s voices say in unison.

  Atticus laughs and so does Mallory. Brick takes his seat as prompted.

  With that, all the females get up and head for the kitchen. It was obviously planned. Brick sits back down and rubs his temple and grandpa just smiles and nods as if the master plan’s working.

  “Can I pour you another?” Boone asks as I pass.

  “No thanks. I’m still nursing this one.”

  I follow the ladies into the kitchen.

  “Whatever you’re cooking, it smells wonderful,” I say.

  Grandma Birdie opens the top of the double oven and the most glorious aroma fills the air.

  “It’s my Sunday Chicken, darlin’. It’s ready.”

  “I’m going to show January our backyard,” Lucinda says.

  While the women move around the kitchen, getting different dishes ready to serve, Brick’s mother and I walk to the double French doors. She opens them wide and I get my first look at the Swift estate.

  “Oh! This is incredible!”

  We walk out to the massive tiled patio that sits on acres of rolling green hills. At the bottom are deep groves of trees that line the horizon.

  “We’ve got seven acres of land. Two of them are our little forest.”

  On the patio under an overhang is a long table, able to seat twelve. It’s set with Autumn-themed china, and the napkins and tablecloth are various colors of the changing leaves.

  “I’m speechless.”

  She chuckles and touches my arm. “I’m so happy you like it. I paint out here sometimes and never see the same view.”

  “Are those beautiful watercolors in the house yours?”

  “Thank you. Yes. I’ve been painting since before I met Boone. Let’s sit for a moment,” she says.

  We take our seats on the cushy chairs by the French doors. “I hope we haven’t seemed too nosy today. We usually have better manners,” she says.

  “No! I’ve enjoyed your company immensely.”

  “You’ll have to forgive us, January. We’re such a tight-knit family, and we watch over each other like hawks. Brick has been the one who’s life … well, it’s been a long time since we’ve seen the light he had as a young person.

  Her statement just about kills me.

  “He told me you were good friends. It’s nice to think something has made him smile again. I’m glad it’s you.”

  I watch her face and recognize the look. It’s hope. The one my mother wore for her daughters. Hope for our happiness. Hope for safety. Hope for love and a life as fulfilling as hers.

  “I don’t know
what you know about his younger years,” she says.

  “I know about Katy and the baby.”

  She looks surprised and a bit happy. “He told you. That’s good.” She says it almost to herself.

  Looking over my shoulder, she makes sure no one can hear. “It shattered him,” she says softly.

  Tears flood her eyes and she tries to stop it by pressing her lips together. But one drop falls on her cheek and courses down till she wipes it away.

  My heart breaks for her. And for him.

  She takes my hands in hers and squeezes. “I know he’s forty-one years old and doesn’t need his mother to speak for him. In fact, he’d have a hissy fit if he knew that I was trying. But he’s still my child. And I just want to tell you how grateful I am. Because whatever you are to him, friend or more, it’s enough for me to see him coming back to life.”

  Chapter 6

  Brick

  Green tights and a hat with a feather. Ugh. To make matters worse, a matching tunic so short and tights so thin it shows the outline of my dick every time I raise my arms. It’s useless unless I’m standing perfectly still. If I don’t come up with a fix, Atticus and Bristol are going to love busting my balls all night.

  Agreeing to wear this says something about January’s abilities of persuasion, and even more about my inability to resist her. It’s getting harder to deny. I look ridiculous in this Robin Hood getup. But when she pointed out if I took the stick out of my ass we might have some fun, I caved.

  I park the car in front of her house and turn off the engine. Maid Marion’s waiting on her porch looking good enough to eat. Whoever came up with that saying was a genius. Her fair complexion highlights the colors she wears. The loose blonde hair crowned with a wreath of pink flowers, the pale lavender dress draping from her long, lean frame. I’d like to wrap myself in the skirt. Better yet be under it, lips to lips.

  She floats down the stairs and does a twirl as I’m getting out of the car.

  “What kind of friend asks a man to wear this?” I say, palms open.

  “A fun one, like me.”

  “You look great,” I say, surveying the whole picture head to toe.

  “So do you, my Robin,” she says sweetly and in character.