by B. Cranford
Including Declan. She knew he read them to his nephew whenever he got the chance to spend some time with him, but reading a kid’s book and enjoying it are two different things.
His declaration had brought a smile to Brighton’s face, but it faded as she asked the important question, “And what’s three?”
“Three is that I’ve never seen anyone as torn up as Sebastian was yesterday when I told him about your week from hell.” He stood and walked over to where she still sat in her rocking chair, before crouching down in front of her. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told him, but he asked and I wanted to make sure he knew. Really knew how hard it was for you, and how hard you worked to get back on an even keel.”
In spite of herself, Brighton felt a warm glimmer of pride. Sebastian’s addiction meant that he didn’t give thought to where the money he gambled away came from, or who it might affect in the long run. She’d been so determined to find her place in the world—after a childhood constantly moving around—and to do it her way, that she’d insisted on contributing half of the down-payment for the house they wanted to buy.
She'd ended up contributing more than half, so determined was she.
His parents could have helped. They wanted to help, that she knew. And she loved them for it. But she’d been driven by pride, by the need for something steady, and in the end that’s why Sebastian’s betrayal hit so hard.
He’d watched her work hard, writing her books, entering endless reams of information into the files of a nation-wide chain of healthcare centers. He’d seen her budget, scrimp and save for each penny, knowing that the reward at the end would be all the sweeter for having worked for it.
The emptying of the one joint account they shared had left Brighton broke. Not, thankfully, in debt but with next to no cash to put a deposit on a new apartment.
“Week from hell, huh? Is that what we’re calling it?” She worked hard to inject some playfulness into her tone, focusing on Declan’s encouraging words and love of her little panda friend.
“Seems appropriate, Bright.” He grinned at her, a smile she returned as she nodded in agreement.
Declan was right. She’d given in to the temptation to cry, alone in her new apartment on the night she’d moved in, and somehow it became a week of avoiding calls, skipping meals, barely sleeping. She began to doubt everything, everyone. Including herself.
Especially herself.
It was Declan who came to her rescue, a white knight on a noble steed. Or, more like a suited-up sports agent in a Mustang, but close. He banged down the door until she’d opened it, wrapped his arms around her and reminded her of all the ways she’d succeeded. All the ways she was loved.
Much like he was doing now. But without the hug. She could really use a hug, though, and she was tempted to fall into Declan’s arms and get one.
“Why couldn't I have loved you, instead? You’re kind and smart and successful. And you have that cool car. Don’t even get me started on your perfectly tailored suits.” A blush started to form on Declan’s cheeks as she looked him up and down in an obviously leering fashion. It was their thing, something they’d done to one another for as long as she could remember but this time, with her words clearly embarrassing him, her gaze seemed to discomfort him. Which, of course, only made her want to keep going. Keep playing. Lighten this moment. “You’re hot, dude. Like, whew.” She made a show of fanning herself, before continuing. “You make me laugh and hold me when I need comfort.”
At that, he opened his arms to her, and she walked into them with no qualms or questions. Everything she’d just said was true, but the thing was Declan wasn’t the one she’d fallen for. When she’d been with Sebastian, in his arms, her heart would race. She’d feel not just safe—which was always how Declan had made her feel—but sexy.
Besides, none of that took into account that Declan was also Sebastian’s best friend. Even if, and it was a big, fat if, she'd felt something, anything, other than warm, friendly feelings towards him, she'd never come between two men who'd known each other since they were kids.
Declan’s voice interrupted her straying thoughts. “I know I’m a catch but, honestly, it’s nice to know that you know it too. How have you resisted me all this time?” He paused to brush a kiss across her forehead, a move that reminded her, once again, how different it felt when it was Declan’s lips on her, and not Sebastian’s.
Declan’s was the kiss of a friend, a champion, a protector. Sebastian’s had always been a prelude to something else. A deeper kiss. A hotter connection. A need that grew until it exploded. “It’s been a struggle, I won’t lie.”
That earned her a laugh, before he switched back to serious Declan. “He wants to fix it. You don’t need him to, but he wants to. Will you let him at least try?”
Would she? Could she? Could she find a way to persist and let him try to fix it at the same time? God, did she even want to? And how many questions was she going to ask of herself?
A sudden flash of Sebastian’s face the first time they’d kissed overtook her mind. Eyes closed, mouth pulled into a smile that might’ve broken her heart if it didn’t make her so damn happy. She’d smiled back at him, watching as he savored her taste, and promised there’d be many more like it, his eyes closed all the while.
And then, an echo of a different kiss, another time. The words that accompanied the meeting of their lips whispering against her ear; words she’d wanted to give back to him but was too afraid to.
I love you. You’re not just my Bright Star, you’re my North Star.
“Yes.” Her answer came out a whisper, but it was enough. She’d made her decision. “I want to try.”
She could let him try; she didn’t have to make it easy though.
Declan pressed another kiss to her forehead, laid the present on the arm of her chair and wrapped his arms around her once again. The comfort she got from her friend was enough to bring back her excitement over the present he'd brought along with him, so she pulled back from the circle of Declan’s arms and scooped it up.
As she began to unwrap the gift she heard the doorbell ring, indicating that their pizza had arrived, but she was too busy tugging on the ends of the ribbon to care. Peeling back the wrapping paper, she uncovered a box and carefully slid the lid off, pushing aside the tissue paper that covered Sebastian’s gift.
And then burst out laughing.
Sebastian's phone buzzed from where it sat on the counter. He'd been watching it more or less since Declan left the office with his gift for Brighton, hoping his friend would let him know how it went. When too much time had passed with him staring at the blank screen, he'd set it down and forced himself into the next room. Now, though, he raced over to it, wishing he wasn't so far away.
Those ten or so feet were torture when it came to his girl.
Wrapping his hand around the phone, feeling the weight of it in his palm, he looked down at the device. The name on the screen made his breath catch.
Bright Star.
He'd changed his phone and number when he'd left rehab, determined to start anew, be away from any and all bad influences—including the so-called friends who'd enabled him. Only a handful of his contacts made the cut when it came time to transfer everything over.
Brighton was the first and most important, not that he'd ever planned to use it. At least, not until he was better.
He swiped the screen without reading the preview. Prolonging the torture just a little was worth it to put off the possibility that she'd messaged to tell him to back off.
The first message informed him of something he already suspected.
Bright Star: Dec gave me your new number.
Good. He'd meant to do it himself the other day, but had forgotten. Or subconsciously decided to not, just in case she straight up rejected him.
Noting the bubbles that indicated Brighton was typing, he moved on to the next messages. They were as simple as the first.
Bright Star: I got your gift.
Br
ight Star: Both of them actually.
Well, the fact she had it and was still contacting him was a good sign, right?
A fourth message appeared, though the dancing bubbles remained. She was typing more.
Bright Star: I can't believe you.
He cringed. That didn't sound so positive. Maybe she was messaging to let him go, for good. In his head, her sugar-sweet voice—one he'd heard a thousand different times, saying a thousand different things over the last couple of years—spoke the words over and over.
I can't believe you.
I can't believe you.
I. Can't. Believe. You.
I CANNOT believe you.
The bubbles stopped. So did his heart. And then, the final message. A photo, no caption. He stared at it harder than he'd watched the bubbles.
His shoulders sagged in relief. He pressed a hand to his heart, to restart it, stop it racing, keep it from beating right out of his chest. He didn't know which. Maybe all three.
Someone else had taken the photo—safe to assume it was Declan. In it, Brighton’s green eyes sparkled, laughter clear on her face. In her one hand, a Panera gift card and a pair of lacy white panties, nearly identical to the ones she'd been wearing when he'd seen her flashing the soup-and-salad crowd.
He'd picked them up after lunch with his father, after making sure the orchid and the vodka had been safely delivered to her doorstep. He’d hoped that their shared sense of humor—and her ability to laugh off her embarrassment—would remind her that once they'd had fun together.
Teasing.
Playing.
Laughing.
Loving.
The middle finger on her other hand was giving him the universal sign for fuck you, the edge taken off by the happy expression that showed in her face. Brighton’s elegant bird showed off a thin silver band, one he recognized as one of his gifts to her.
One that was given on the day he told her he loved her the first time.
Without thinking about it, he typed a response—the very thing that was on his mind.
Sebastian: You're still my North Star.
He hit send, and waited.
Waited.
Waited.
Waited.
Nothing came. She didn't respond but, still, he couldn't help but think that, for now, all was okay. She'd enjoyed his gag gift, and sent him a picture of her looking more beautiful than he'd ever seen her. Progress.
He set the photo as the background on his phone so her laughing green eyes and pretty face would greet him every day, multiple times a day, when he checked it for the time, messages, email or, most likely, just to see his girl. That done, he headed into his bedroom, flopping down on the bed and switching on the TV, trying to keep his mind from thinking about her message, his message and what lack of response could mean.
He watched two mindless hours of ‘90s comedy shows while trying—and failing—to not think about her, and was just drifting off to sleep when his phone buzzed once more, Brighton’s name and her simple, but telling, message grabbing his attention.
One single character, but one that made him break into smile and ensured he'd have his first good night of sleep in years.
A star.
Chapter Eight
She’d started it, Sebastian decided. With her first text, she’d invited him to start sending messages, just to talk to her.
Just to make sure she was thinking about him as much as he was thinking about her.
Setting aside the paperwork he had been completing for a client, Sebastian picked up his phone. It had been two days since he’d sent his first gifts, and he decided now was a good time to just remind her that he was here.
Sebastian: Bright Star.
Bright Star: Sebastian.
Sebastian: Okay, we’ve established who we are.
Bright Star: You started it, I was following your lead.
Sebastian: Really? And will you continue to follow my lead? ;)
Bright Star: Depends.
Sebastian: On what?
Bright Star: Where you plan on taking me.
Sebastian: Hmm, interesting.
Bright Star: What do you want, Seb?
Sebastian: What are you wearing?
Bright Star: Yoga pants. Tank top.
Bright Star: Wait.
Bright Star: I am *not* following your lead anymore.
Sebastian: You nearly did.
Bright Star: You tried to trick me!
Sebastian: Did not.
Bright Star: Did too.
Sebastian: What are we, twelve? I wasn’t trying to trick you.
Sebastian: But maybe I was trying to catch you off guard.
Sebastian: Nearly worked too.
Bright Star: Well, joke’s on you. I’m not wearing anything particularly sexy.
Bright Star: Except . . .
Sebastian: Except what, Brighton?
Sebastian: Brighton?
Sebastian: Brighton Rebecca Starling.
Sebastian: If you’re not going to answer me, I’m going to let my imagination run wild.
Sebastian: Nipple tassels. A garter belt. That tank top you cut the boobs out of for a Halloween costume. With no bra.
Bright Star: Calm down, man. I had to take a phone call.
Bright Star: Also, a garter belt with yoga pants? What on earth?
Sebastian: Don’t care. Get back to the except. EXCEPT WHAT?
Bright Star: The shouty caps really aren’t necessary.
Sebastian: I WILL DECIDE WHAT IS NECESSARY WHEN IT COMES TO THAT DAMN EXCEPT. SO TELL ME . . . EXCEPT WHAT?
Sebastian: Please?
Bright Star: Except . . . I am wearing those panties you sent me. ;)
Sebastian: Fuck.
Sebastian dropped his head to his desk, inwardly cursing but outwardly smiling. Yes, the knowledge that she was wearing his gift—and the visual that accompanied it—was making him rock hard.
She was wearing the panties he’d given her and that meant she was thinking about him. Exactly as he’d intended.
Not only that, she was replying to his messages. The next stage of his plan was going to be fun.
The knock at the door came after Brighton finished her simple breakfast of cereal and freshly squeezed orange juice. She wondered who it could be but, given the gifts she’d begun receiving daily since she’d run into Sebastian for the first time over a week earlier, she suspected that whoever it was, it had to do with him.
Striding to the door, she checked herself to make she looked okay. If he’d done something crazy like send a singing telegram—which she wouldn’t put past him—then she didn’t want to frighten the poor messenger.
Deciding that her pink sweats and baby blue tank—a tank that reminded her of Sebastian’s eyes—were good enough, she swung open the door.
A huge bouquet of flowers, a riot of colors and smells, greeted her. And behind them, a kind looking older gentleman. His smile wasn’t quite as big as the arrangement in his hands, but it was close. “Someone either loves you very much, or they’re in a lot of trouble.”
Brighton laughed. “It’s maybe both, I think.” She reached out to take the flowers from him, admiring how each stem was placed just so, each color somehow complemented the one beside it—even when they should have clashed—and each scent drifted across her like the most expensive perfume. “These are beautiful.”
“My wife,” the man spoke with pride in his tone, “is the best florist in three states. And I hope this helps your fella out of the doghouse.” He winked at her and she reached for her purse, wanting to offer the friendly man a tip. He was at the elevator before she had the chance.
“Thank you,” she called after him, earning a wave from over his shoulder, before she shut the door and slid her phone from the pocket of her sweatpants.
She was smiling as she opened her messages, joy at receiving not just flowers, but flowers that were so riotously perfect, making her far more emotional than she should otherwise have been.
<
br /> Bright Star: I just got flowers. They’re beautiful, Seb.
Sebastian: Who is sending you flowers?!
Bright Star: You are.
Bright Star: Aren’t you? I mean . . . the last ones were from you.
Sebastian: Is there a card? If there’s a card, take a picture of it. I’m going after the usurping asshole.
Sebastian: Well, *I’m* not. I’ll send Declan. Since he’s bigger than me.
Sebastian: Not the point. The point is, I’ll get him somehow *shakes fist*
Bright Star: HAHA. There’s a card. I don’t know who else it would be.
Bright Star: You’re an idiot.
Bright Star: These are from you.
Sebastian: Had you going, didn’t I?
Bright Star: The sending Declan part was a nice touch. And the fist shake.
Sebastian: I thought so.
Sebastian: Wanted to make you smile. Did it work?
Bright Star: The joke made me laugh. It was these beautiful flowers that made me smile.
Shaking her head at his teasing, she set her phone down and admired the flowers one more time. The card, which simply said, “Love, Sebastian” and had a silver foil star printed on the front, was propped up beside the vase. She wanted to take a mental snapshot of them side-by-side, a reminder of this moment.
Because this, she thought to herself, was a moment worth remembering. Worth keeping.
A moment when the past wasn’t crowding her thoughts and giving her reason after reason to doubt.
Sebastian looked down at the phone taunting him. The screen was blank, and had been all day, but that didn’t mean his mind was.
In fact, his mind was full of one thing, and one thing alone.
Actually, make that one person.
Brighton invaded his every thought, as she had constantly in the two weeks since he’d first seen her again. If he wasn’t trying to come up with another gift to send her—the flowers he’d previously sent had gone over well, but the giant poop-emoji shaped pillow did not—he was thinking of ways to convince her to talk to him.