FEELING IT_A Best Friend's Brother Romance

by Scarlet Wilder

  “And Caitlyn? Was she the same?”

  At this, I raised my eyebrows. “Actually, no,” I said. “If anything, there was something about her that made me want to talk about Willa. Since the day she died, up until Caitlyn’s arrival back in town, I couldn’t even say her name. Hell, I wouldn’t let anyone else say her name, either. And then, after spending time with Caitlyn and opening up about it, it doesn’t seem to hurt so much.”

  “So why on earth haven’t you just come out and told her you love her. Damn it, Logan. Just because she’s a few towns away doesn’t mean it’s all over. You don’t have to run there on foot, Son. You can drive, you know. This thing can still work without anyone giving up anything.”

  I rubbed the beard that had grown there after weeks without shaving, and then I wiped my eyes and exhaled deeply. “Goddammit, Bill, I don’t know,” I said. “Have I fucked the whole thing up entirely?”

  “That depends,” Bill said.

  “On what?”

  “On how much you think you want to take the advice of an old man who doesn’t really have the right to tell anyone what to do.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CAITLYN

  †

  WITH THE TIP OF my tongue poking out from between my lips in concentration, I balanced the last strawberry onto the tower of fruit slices. The meringue was holding up well, and the tiny rosettes of cream in between the layers were fresh and stiff. I was just about to place some mint on the top when a hand reached over my shoulder from behind only to slap the whole construct down. It fell onto the plate in a soggy medley, and I gave a cry of disappointment.

  “Non! It’s too tall!” Antoine Bovary snapped. “There’s no need to get carried away. You’re not building la tour Eiffel, for fuck’s sake. Follow the instructions,” he shouted in his familiar thick French accent.

  Furiously ashamed, I stared at the mess and glowered at him. “It was beautiful, Chef,” I said. “We had incredible feedback on these last week. I followed your instructions to the letter and these are no different!”

  “Start again, cet instant,” he said. “And this time, leave your ego out of it.”

  My ego?

  I wanted to scream at him telling him that he was the only asshole with an ego problem in this place and not me, but I kept my mouth shut and bit my tongue. After all, nobody would take the word of an Assistant Chef over that of a Michelin-starred Executive Pastry Chef. For the hundredth time since I started this job over two months ago, I longed to go back to Revellier’s, to march into the place, get on my knees, and beg Martine to take me back.

  Leaving a job is always a risk, but I’d been so flattered by Carl’s interest in me that I went for the interview. He made me feel so welcome, and then he sweetened the deal with a salary that was impossible to turn down, or so I kept telling myself. It hurt Martine, I know, for me to have been away for so long only for me to show up and hand her my notice. I felt so bad, but I thought I was doing the right thing.

  Well, it turned out to be one of the worst decisions of my life. My interview with Carl may have gone well, but I didn’t meet Antoine Bovary until I actually started working at The Bakery. He was petulant, sullen, demanding and narcissistic. I lost count of the number of times I wanted to take that Michelin star and shove it so far up his ass that it’ll lacerate a tonsil.

  He was also something of a sociopath, as he gave me instructions and then denied he’d ever done so. I knew he knew what he was doing; he simply liked to mess with me and make sure I understood that I was only a lowly assistant. It was a way to control me, to remind me that he was Le patron at all times.

  On top of all that, I was in a new city and in a new apartment and I didn’t know anyone. The heap of still unemptied boxes that greeted me every evening I got home, was a stark reminder of the mistake I’ve made in coming to Burlington.

  I sighed heavily as I stood in my doorway, staring at them once more. Then I asked myself the same question I’d been asking for the past couple of weeks. “Is this really what living the dream feels like?”

  I seriously started to reconsider the choices I’ve made and the direction my life was taking, as it seemed that every decision I’d made since leaving Vergennes, turned out to be a mistake.

  I’d have sat and felt sorry for myself if I wasn’t so damned annoyed. I never thought that, at the age of only twenty-two, I would already feel stuck in a job I hated, and the only thing I had to look forward to was the weekend and not because of any plans I’d made. It only meant two blissful days away from that asshole.

  Thank God it was Thursday, so I just had to make it through one more day. I thought about soaking in a hot bath for a while and was about to do so when I heard the buzzer indicating that there was someone at the downstairs entrance. I found it strange as I didn’t really know anybody and wasn’t expecting company either. Besides that, it was nearly eight o’clock, so, at least that would rule out salesmen and religious nuts.

  “Hello?” I said, talking into the microphone.

  “Hi, honey. It’s Dad,” the familiar voice greeted me. “I was in town, so I thought I’d come by and see my little girl. Buzz me in?”

  “Of course!” I said, surprised at hearing my dad’s voice. What was he doing here?

  Since I’d left Vergennes and moved to Burlington, I’d kept up a regular communication with my father. He called me every couple of days, checking to see how work was going, how the new place was treating me and whether I needed any money. But, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him just how unhappy I really was.

  I never thought for a second that he’d just drop by, though. He knew where I lived, but had never once visited in all the time I’d lived away from home, even when I stayed in Montpelier. I was puzzled.

  I had the door open, waiting for him, and he grinned as he saw me before giving me a warm hug. He kissed my temple. “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “Oh, not bad,” I said. “Your timing was perfect. I was just about to get in the tub so I’m grateful that you here now before I settled into the tub.”

  He came in and looked around. “Seems cozy,” he said, and I was grateful for him not making a fuss about the stack of unpacked boxes.

  “That’s code for small, right?” I joked.

  He smiled. “You forget that I live in a nice big house, so any apartment feels small to me.”

  “I’ll probably be able to afford a bigger place but I had to move and this was the only one available within walking distance from work,” I explained. “So, the convenience makes up for the lack of size.”

  “So, how’s the job going, then?” Dad asked.

  I forced the brightest smile I could muster. “Yeah, it’s great!” I said, flinching at the sound of my high-pitched voice. I just shrugged and pretended that I didn’t notice and cleared my throat.

  “Longer hours, but I’m being paid to train under one of the world’s best, and you can’t put a price on that, right. It’s experience that counts in my line of work and I’m lucky to be in the right place at the right time!”

  But my father was no fool. “Wow,” he said. “That’s about the biggest load of crap I’ve heard from you since the time you melted my favorite Pink Floyd album because you left your straighteners on it.”

  “Curling tongs,” I mumbled.

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing.” I tried to ignore his comment and opened the refrigerator only to quickly shut it again before he had the chance to see just how bare it was. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything cold to drink. Would tea be okay? Or maybe coffee?”

  “It’s a bit late for coffee,” Dad said. He sat at the small table in the kitchen. “Tea sounds good.”

  I cringed. “Uh, I don’t have any milk or lemon. You’ll take it black, right?”

  “Wouldn’t want it any other way,” he said, generously, and I sat down opposite him after I filled up the kettle and left it on the stovetop to bring the water to a boil.

  “I don�
��t want to be funny, Dad, but why are you really here?” I asked. “You never come to the city and to just ‘drop by’ at this time of night, doesn’t really make sense. What brought you here?”

  “Well, what brought me was the Burlington Bus Company,” Dad said. “I stood up this morning, looked in the mirror and decided it was time to do something different. Be a bit spontaneous. So, here I am!”

  “Dad, you forget we’re related,” I said. “That’s about the biggest load of crap I’ve heard from you since the time you took my ice-cream away, put it in the freezer and told me that freezers get locked at nine every evening only to be opened the next morning.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Did I really say that?”

  “Yep. The locks freeze at nine on the dot. Then they thaw by morning, conveniently so Mom could make you waffles for breakfast.” I got up, poured hot water over the teabag and stirred it before lifting the teabag out and tossing it into the trash. I brought the cup over for Dad and he let it cool for a little while.

  “Your mom loved to drink tea,” he said.

  “I know,” I replied. “One of my earliest memories of her is finishing a cup only for her to grab it and read the leaves at the bottom, trying to fool us into believing that she could see our futures.”

  “Every time she did that, she’d tell me she could see that my cholesterol was high and I needed to eat fruit for breakfast and not waffles,” Dad chuckled.

  “And she told me that I was going to go blind from watching so many cartoons,” I laughed. “It seems we all told each other stories.”

  “So, then why are you pretending to be happy here when you’re so miserable?” Dad asked before taking a sip of his tea.

  It was a rapid change of tack and it caught me off guard. Knowing my dad, I imagined it was some old interrogation tactic he’d used in the old days. Get them laughing. Pretend to be their best friend so the guards come down and then sucker punch them with a question that knocks them off balance.

  It worked and I started to cry. I was so mad at myself for being so weak but the last few weeks of misery came spilling out.

  “I hate the job,” I sobbed. “I made such a huge mistake, giving Martine my notice. They’ve already filled my position, and there’s no way they’ll take me back, so now I have to work for some prima donna with a superiority complex who tears me down every chance he gets.”

  Dad put his teacup down and reached out to take my hand, offering some comfort.

  “Whatever happened to you opening your own place?” he asked. “Ultimately, that’s always been your dream. Gaining experience is valuable, but surely you shouldn’t need to trade your happiness for it. From where I’m sitting you have what it takes to make it on your own, my girl. If that wasn’t the case you’d never have received a phone call from these people. Why sell what’s yours under someone else’s name?”

  Looking over at my Dad, it was enough to make me want to cry all over again. What he said made so much sense but, at the same time, everything seemed such a mess.

  “It’ll never work, Dad. I won’t be able to afford my own place, not in Burlington. Rent is just too expensive. I’d need Vergennes’ rental with Burlington’s clientele to make it on my own.”

  “From what I heard about the festival, you cleared out in Vergennes,” Dad reminded me, but I didn’t want to think about that day. It only reminded me of Logan.

  I didn’t even bother trying to be casual in front of my father anymore. “So, how is he?” I asked.

  “Who?” Dad asked innocently.

  I rolled my eyes heavenward. “You know who.”

  “Aw, he’s doing all right, I think. Turns out he’s a pretty good carpenter. The guy’s got a real talent.”

  “I know,” I murmured.

  He sipped his tea and made a face. I couldn’t blame him. It was pretty bad. Then, he looked at his watch. “Shit,” he said. “I need to leave now if I’m to catch the bus. You know, the ride over was as rough as the back of a hedgehog. I thought my back was going to slip out of joint again. Those old seats aren’t made for old men like me.”

  “Dad, you’re barely fifty,” I said. “Stop being so dramatic.”

  He winced as he got out of the chair. “Would you do me a favor, honey, and drive me back? I really can’t sit on that bus again even though the ride over is just a little over half an hour. I’ll give you money for gas.”

  “It’s really late,” I said, but it did seem as if he was in pain and I could hardly send him back on the bus when he’d come out all this way just to see me, although I was still suspicious about it all. I sighed. “There goes my bath.”

  “Thanks, my girl,” he said. “I appreciate it.”

  The last place I wanted to go was back to Vergennes, but I had no choice. Once again, I asked Dad why he hadn’t bothered to get himself a new car. He got some money from selling parts of the old one and he always had money squirreled away for a rainy day, so I knew that he had enough to buy himself a decent vehicle.

  I drove my car out of the underground parking lot and he met me outside the building. We drove back to Vergennes, arriving a little before ten. I yawned as I turned off the engine.

  “It’s probably not a good idea for you to drive back right now,” Dad said. “Come on. Sleep here tonight and just leave early in the morning. It’s a quick drive. You’re bed’s where you left it. I’ve still been sleeping downstairs.”

  “All right,” I conceded. At least Dad had milk in the refrigerator for a proper cup of tea.

  We walked up the steps and he opened the door. He hadn’t locked it before he left, which seemed strange to me. Since I could remember, Dad had always bolted every door and checked it at least once before he went anywhere. He threw his keys in the bowl on the entrance table and walked into the kitchen. I followed him. I was desperate for a glass of water.

  But when I stepped through the door, I froze. I stood in the doorway as if paralyzed from the neck down and my words turned to cotton in my mouth.

  I should have known better than to believe one more damned story about my dad’s back. He wasn’t in pain at all. He’d brought me here for a reason. And, the reason was sitting at the table.

  “Hi, Caitlyn.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  LOGAN

  †

  SHE DIDN’T TURN AROUND and walk out, as I thought she might. That was a relief. It gave me hope. She looked at me, then at Bill, and then closed her eyes. “Why?” she whispered. “I feel like every time I come back here, it’s because of some cruel trickery.”

  All I wanted to do was get out of the chair, walk over to her and wrap her up in my arms, but it was too soon. When she opened her eyes again, they glistened with tears. “I can’t,” she said. “I just can’t do this.”

  “Honey, you need to hear him out,” Bill said, but I interrupted him.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “It’s late and yes, we weren’t entirely honest with you, but there’s a good reason for it. There’s something I want to say to you, something I want to show you. But I knew you wouldn’t come if I’d asked. Not after everything that’s happened. So your Dad offered to help me out.”

  She looked over at Bill and I could tell by the way his face dropped that he knew just how angry she was with him for deceiving her once again. He excused himself and threw me a quick wink as he passed me on his way out.

  As he disappeared into the lounge, I stood up. “Look, Caitlyn. I know this was a shitty way of getting you here, and I could just as well have come over myself, but I needed you to come back here. It’s just that I knew that you wouldn’t have come even if I begged you to. Not after the way I left things two months ago. So, all I ask is one hour. That’s it. I’ll pick you up early morning and bring you back again and, after that, you can go back to Burlington and never need to see me again if that’s what you want. I just really need to show you something.”

  She didn’t reply. Then she pursed her lips and looked me straight in the
eye.

  “No,” she said. “I won’t go with you tomorrow. Let’s go now and get this over with. Whatever it is you want to say, it has to be tonight. After the day I’ve had, nothing could make things any worse.”

  †

  I brought the bike to a stop next to the shed, pulling it onto its stand after we got off, and I went to unlatch the doors and turn on the lights. I offered her something to drink, but she declined.

  “Say what you brought me here to say, Logan. Let’s not waste any time. You’ve got one hour and the clock is ticking.”

  She was so beautiful trying to be such a hard ass; I could have pinned her down right there and kissed the breath from her. But, she was right, I didn’t want to waste any more time.

  I held my hand out to her and, at first, she just stared at my open palm, but I patiently waited until she placed her hand on mine. “Come, there’s something you need to see,” I said as I took her hand.

  I led her to the back of the shed to where the tarpaulin hung over the large wooden structure, covering that which I’ve not shown anyone since I started working on it. “Do you remember this?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Yes,” she said, curtly. “You didn’t want me to see it.”

  “Well, like a lot of things, I wanted to keep it hidden. But I don’t want to anymore.” And, with that, I reached up and grabbed hold of the heavy green material with both hands before pulling it off the frame and letting it drop to the floor in a heap.

  It only took a moment for her to recognize what she was looking at. She drew in a sharp breath and her anger was suspended, giving way to wonder. She didn’t say anything at first, but then she extended her arms and ran her hands over the smooth wooden surface of the hull of the boat in front of her.

  “Oh, my God, Logan,” she said. “It’s so beautiful. This must have taken forever to finish. How long have you been working on this?” she asked.

  “It’s been about a year now,” I said. “Come, there’s one other thing I want to show you.” I took her hand again and walked toward the stern where I crouched down and she did the same. I reached up and ran my fingers across the five letters I’d scorched into the wood.