by Cara Colter
Once home, Bree busied herself with laundry and the multitude of other things that had gotten stacked up while she had been trying to get her cookie orders caught up. She was also trying, unsuccessfully, to win back the affection of her neglected cat with his favorite game, but his chasing of the red light seemed desolate at best.
Her phone rang. She stared at the caller ID. There was that hammering in her heart again!
“Hello?” She hoped she didn’t sound breathless.
“You sound out of breath. What am I getting you from?”
She tucked the laser pointer behind a plant, as if he could see it, as if it was evidence of a life that had gotten too staid, too safe.
“I was just coming up from the apartment-building laundry room with a basket,” she said. Okay. Fifteen minutes ago. She was not still out of breath from that. “I take the stairs. My version of a StairMaster.”
She was talking to a billionaire about basement-laundry facilities and stairs. He probably hadn’t done his own laundry in years.
“You weren’t supposed to let me fall asleep,” Brand chided her. His voice was so natural, as if this was the most natural thing in the world, his calling her.
She felt something in her relax, just a bit. She thought of baking cookies with him, and the way his face had looked when he was sleeping.
Okay. He was a brilliant businessman. He was a billionaire. He was also still just Brand.
“I know you have your own formula for dealing with jet lag, but you just looked so tired. I didn’t have the heart to wake you up.”
“I have chocolate around my lips.”
She giggled, even though she did not want to be thinking about his lips.
“I was thinking about what you said about taking a couple of days off,” Brand said. “Are you going to spend them doing laundry?”
“Possibly,” she said cautiously. She tried to think of something more exciting that she could tell him she was doing with her days off, but she was coming up blank. The sound of his voice was having that effect on her.
“Look, when I’ve been under a lot of stress, or I’ve been really busy—or if I’m fighting jet lag—I like to go kayaking. It grounds me.”
“Oh,” she said. Just when she was thinking she could dismiss his billionaire status, he had to show her the difference in their worlds. Basement laundry. Trying to get your cat to play. Jet lag. Kayaking.
“Have you ever done it?” he asked.
“No,” she said, a little tightly.
“Would you like to?”
She had to sit down. Was Brand Wallace asking her on a date? And then it hit her. No, not a date.
More of the same. Poor girl. Had an affair. Ended up pregnant. Left school. Life in ruins. Needs looking after. Needs bolstering. It was so far from how she wanted him to feel that she could have screamed. Instead she bit down hard on her lip.
“Are you there?” he asked.
“Are you asking me because you feel sorry for me?” she finally asked.
“Yeah,” he said, “I am.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. Well, besides no, she couldn’t go on a date with him on that basis, because it wasn’t really a date. She wasn’t even sure what it was.
“There I was in Bali while you were slaving away over cookies. I’ve been thinking about your jailhouse pallor.”
“Oh, brother,” she said. She had been so far off the mark it wasn’t even funny. He wasn’t thinking about her confidence at all. Well, maybe it was still a little funny. Or maybe not. Here she was thinking she was falling in love, and he was thinking about jailhouse pallor.
“It’s making me feel guilty about the trip to Bali. I hate feeling guilty.”
“I thought maybe you were asking me because you felt sorry for me,” she said. “After I confided in you about what happened to me in college.”
“Weird,” he said.
“In what way?”
“That you would think I would perceive you as weak, because of that. The opposite is true. I find you very brave.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. You don’t see yourself as brave?”
“No, not really.” Bree had never, not even once, thought of herself as brave. Though she supposed maybe it did take a certain amount of bravery to wear that silly cookie beret and her quilted apron!
“That’s how I see you,” he said firmly. “It takes a lot of guts to start a business, especially after your dreams have pretty much had the crap kicked out of them. You picked yourself up, you dusted yourself off, you started again.”
So, he had heard everything she had said to him, and instead of making him see her as weak and foolish, a girl who had let her heart get her in a world of trouble, he saw it in a completely different light.
“You have what it takes, Bree, you have what it takes to make your business whatever you want it to be.”
“Thanks.”
“But you have to take care of yourself, too. You have to know how to intersperse hard work with fun and time away from your business.”
So, it wasn’t really a date then. More like a mentorship. She should say no, shouldn’t she? Just on principle? Just because, in their minds, it was obvious they were moving the relationship in different directions?
“Hey, I don’t ask just anybody to go sea kayaking. It’s not for the faint of heart.”
Another very good reason to say no. She was not sure Brand had mentioned the sea part of kayaking when he had first mentioned it. Kayaks were very small boats, weren’t they? In a sea that could roil up, cold and dangerous, in a second? In channels shared with huge ships and creatures of the deep?
“In fact,” Brand said, “I’ve never asked anyone to go with me before.”
“You haven’t?”
“It’s kind of my sanctuary out there. A deep and private pleasure. But also, amazing stress relief. Which is why I’m asking you. I know you’ve been under enormous stress, with the fire, and catching up on those orders.”
Bree listened to what he wasn’t saying.
It struck her that, despite the “mentorship” spin on this, he was nervous about asking her. She was almost positive about that: the gorgeous, self-confident, successful Brand Wallace was nervous about asking her to do something with him.
Suddenly, the whole “unknown” of it, the adventure of it—not just of sea kayaking, but of getting to know Brand better—was completely irresistible.
Something had been healed in her when she told him her most completely guarded secrets, when her tears had fallen like a secret ingredient into those cookies.
And this is what it was: for a long time, despite going through the motions, despite going on the dating sites, despite saying something different, she had been saying no to life instead of yes.
And suddenly she just wanted to say yes, even though it sounded faintly terrifying. But she wanted to be brave again, even if it ended in heartache, to embrace whatever life, in all its magnificence, offered her.
More, she wanted to trust someone again.
None of which she said to him. To Brand, as casually as she could, as if a billionaire invited her to go kayaking with him every day, Bree said, “That sounds fun. Sure.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BREE HAD TO look up online what to wear for kayaking and it was only then that she realized she knew nothing about what she had let herself in for. Was she going to be paddling her own kayak? She hoped not! Most sites recommended a few lessons before you went out on your own, particularly so you would know what to do if you capsized.
Capsized? In ocean water in May? She checked what the temperature of the water would be. Forty-six degrees Fahrenheit. Not a death sentence, but still, even if you were wearing the recommended clothing it would be simply awful. Wouldn’t it? Unless Brand saved her...
Given her investment in the cloak, she couldn’t really justify buying an outfit made specifically for kayaking, so she was pleased with the look she managed to assemble: cotton leggings, a T-shirt topped with an oversize wool sweater and a light jacket.
Brand was already at the English Bay parking lot they had agreed to meet at when she got there. He was single-handedly sliding a slender kayak from the roof rack of the vehicle.
Bree paused for a moment, just watching him, the play of muscle, the ease with which he handled himself, before she got out of her vehicle. He was gorgeous and rugged-looking in multi-pocketed outdoor pants and a hooded jacket.
As she approached him, she was welcomed with a smile that made her feel like her heart was a flower opening up to the sun after a long rain.
After they greeted each other, she studied the kayak.
“It has two holes in it,” she noted. “I thought you said you usually go by yourself?”
He slid her a look. “I didn’t figure you for the jealous type.”
“It’s dating the Elvis guy,” she admitted. “It’s given me a suspicious mind.”
He threw back his head and laughed. She knew, with sudden delight, it was going to be that kind of day—laughter-filled and fun. His laughter was a sound that eased some of the nervousness in her, caused both by trying something new and more one-on-one time with the billionaire.
“By myself is relative, I guess,” Brand said, answering her question. “Beau usually takes the front hole, which, by the way, is generally referred to as a cockpit.”
The idea of that big dog in the kayak with him made her laugh, too. She’d been nervous, but now with the sun on her face, and the smell of the sea in the air, and Brand smiling at her, and handling the kayak with easy strength, she could feel her confidence rising.
He took her cell phone and keys and put them in a waterproof bag.
“We aren’t going to get wet, are we?” she said, and her confidence dipped a little.
“It’s Vancouver. It could start raining anytime.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“I know you didn’t. I am seriously hoping we are not going to get wet. But we’ll put these on just in case.”
Bree was glad she had not purchased an expensive outfit when he handed her an ugly yellow life vest, which made about as much fashion statement as wearing a neon marshmallow!
He came and helped her when her zipper stuck.
“Is this Beau’s, too?” she said, blinking up at him as he leaned in close to her to unstick the zipper.
“Believe me, you’d smell it if it was.”
And they were laughing again, even as she became aware that what she smelled was him: a delicious scent, deeply masculine, outdoorsy, clean.
He picked up the kayak and swung it up over his head, part of it resting on his back.
“I can help,” she offered.
“Don’t worry. I’m used to doing it by myself.” She took the paddles and followed him down to the water’s edge, admiring his strength and the broadness of his shoulders, the ease of long practice that made what he was doing seem natural to him.
He set down the kayak and pushed it into the water, but just a bit.
“Okay, get in. Straddle it, feet on both sides, paddle in the middle, push it along until you can step in to that front cockpit.”
Before she knew it, she was in the kayak, and she hadn’t even gotten her feet wet, though she had worn light canvas sneakers just in case. When she wiggled a bit to get comfortable, the kayak rocked, despite him steadying the back of it.
But then he shoved it hard, and got in the back cockpit in one easy motion. The vessel seemed to stabilize with his weight, and they glided off the beach.
“We’ll do a fairly short paddle today,” he said, “Just to get you used of it.”
He was saying that as if there might be more excursions!
“Don’t feel like you have to paddle with me. Rest if you start getting tired. And don’t be shy to tell me if you’ve had enough.”
And then he went over some of the rudiments of steering and paddling together. They practiced stopping, turning and reversing direction a few times. It was fun! She hated to admit how right he had been about her life not having enough fun in it.
Maybe this wasn’t a date. She wasn’t quite sure about how to define this outing, but whatever it was it was so much better than anything that had ever happened on e-Us. Going for coffee suddenly seemed like the most ridiculous way to get to know a person! And meeting someone at the bookstore hardly seemed better.
Because this was getting to know a person: learning to paddle together, watching in awe as eagles soared and fish jumped, laughing when she accidentally splashed him and then laughing harder when she did it again on purpose.
The setting was glorious and kayaking seemed very simple, but she suspected he was doing most of the work. Before she knew it, they were gliding effortlessly through the stillness of the dark water toward the mouth of the bay.
Tell him when she had had enough? Really, it felt as if she could never get enough of this.
It occurred to her, once they were way out in the water, that she had him exactly where she wanted him.
Because she could finally ask him questions he could not get away from. She could, maybe, find out where all this was going. Was this a date? Was this delightful little outing going to lead to something else?
Don’t be terrifying, Bree warned herself. No wedding bells or babies.
They paused to rest off the shore by Stanley Park. She was breathing hard, and her arms and shoulders ached, but in the nicest way. Not too far off was the hum of traffic, and she could see people walking and biking the Seawall, but she had a sense of it being deeply quiet. The kayak rocked ever so gently on the sea. He passed her a bottle of water.
“Do you like it?” he asked. “Kayaking?”
“Love it.” She took a deep sip of her water. “Brand, why don’t you have friends who are, um, women?”
He took a sudden interest in something on the shoreline. “Is that a deer?”
She squinted where he was pointing. “I think it’s a branch.”
“Oh.”
“How come?” she said, refusing to be distracted. She might never have him in a boat again!
“What makes you think I don’t?” he said, raising an eyebrow at her.
“Your house told me.”
“What? How?”
“A million ways. No forgotten umbrella. No makeup around. No The Lucky One or Dirty Dancing or The Notebook in your movie collection.”
“Did you go in my bedroom?”
“Of course not! I didn’t have to to know you basically live out of three rooms. I bet your bedroom is a man cave, too.”
“You’re right,” he said with a shrug. “The house is a masculine haven inhabited by Beau and me.”
“I’m trying to get the why no significant other.” When you’re obviously so irresistible.
“I’m busy,” he said uncomfortably.
She waited, not commenting. As she had hoped, there was no place to run from the question.
“I had a girlfriend. We saw each other for two years. We weren’t engaged, though I think she wanted to be. We actually, ah, tried living together. She moved in. And she moved out again. Three days later.”
“What happened?” she asked in horror. Three days? Was something horribly wrong with him? Three days?
“Beau.”
“What?”
“He ate some of her stuff. Like her sofa. She gave me an ultimatum. Dog or me.”
She knew she shouldn’t laugh. She knew she shouldn’t. But she giggled. “She knew you had a dog, obviously, before she moved in.”
“Yeah, she just hadn’t had to live with him before.”
“Fantasy meets reality?�
�� She would do well to remember this. He was the kind of man a woman might build a fantasy around.
But for two years? His ex hadn’t known after two years how much that dog meant to him? She could actually say to him “dog or me” and think she was going to win that one?
Bree felt she knew Brand better than that after just this tiny bit of time!
“She took down the Elvis posters. She didn’t even ask.”
“Actually, since you mention it, I’m curious about the Elvis thing. I don’t get the impression you like Elvis much.”
“Actually, I know it really wasn’t about Beau or the Elvis posters,” he said carefully.
She was looking over her shoulder at him. Unless she was mistaken, he was deliberately not telling her how he felt about Elvis. He had the cookie jar, yes, and the posters, but when she had put on Elvis music that morning he had arrived home from Bali, she was almost positive he had flinched.
“So what’s it really about then?”
“I’m not cut out for it. The whole domestic-bliss thing. I wanted to be, but I’m not. We’d been dating two years. It was fine when we both had our own spaces, but as soon as she moved in I felt suffocated by her. A two-year relationship in ruins, and I was so happy to see her marching out of my house, I was practically dancing. I don’t know what that says about me.”
“That she wasn’t the right woman?” Bree suggested mildly.
“I don’t think that’s it. I think it’s more that I’m not the right guy. Maybe I’m just like my old man. No staying power. When the fun stops, I’m gone.”
This brutal self-assessment surprised her so much it put her off the trail of how he really felt about Elvis.
“I don’t believe that,” she said firmly. “I’ve seen how you treat people. Not just me, but your employees. Chelsea told me your lawyer who called her has hired his own fire investigator. She’s practically a stranger to you, and you did that for her. You’re a good, good man, Brand Wallace.”
“Aw, shucks,” he said with mild sarcasm, clearly trying to brush off the compliment.
“No, I mean it.”