by Robin Kaye
Storm cleared his throat. “I thought we might stop for a late dinner to celebrate, but I guess we could do that downstairs at the bar. But either way, we’ll be home tonight, kiddo. I promise.”
Nicki’s smile popped out with Storm’s words, and she gave Bree another hug. “You’ll do great. Just pretend you’re in the kitchen practicing.”
“I will.”
“And Storm will be there if you get scared. Plus, you have my lucky rock.”
“I’ll be fine. Thanks, Nicki.”
Storm picked up her briefcase. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late.”
Bree took one last look at herself in the mirror and then at the picture of her and her father—he was the reason she started this whole crusade. Her father’s vision of Red Hook became hers, and with her hard work, it was becoming a reality. She hoped her dad was looking down and smiling on her just as he was in the picture. She needed all the help she could get and figured it was too late to do anything but pray.
* * *
Storm held the door to the meeting room open for Bree and was surprised to see it was standing room only a good fifteen minutes before the meeting was to start.
Bree looked from the dais to him, her nervousness palpable. “Could you do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“Hold this”—she handed him Nicki’s rock—“and this.” Her purse hit him in the chest.
He looked around for a place to stash it, but every seat was taken. “I’ll just stand in the back against the wall.”
“Thanks.” She turned and walked away before he could kiss her for luck, which was probably a good thing since Daniel Knickerbocker was paying an awful lot of attention to them.
Storm watched her back as she made her way through the crowded meeting room and then he fumbled with her purse. He’d never been asked to hold a woman’s purse before, or if he had, he had blocked it from his memory. He was holding a hot pink bag with JUICY COUTURE written in big white letters across the front and large enough to garage a Mini Cooper. If it wasn’t before, his man card was history now.
Storm looked to see if anyone noticed, only to find Thomas a few yards away fighting a laugh. Storm gave him a what-the-hell-am-I-supposed-to-do-with-it look, and Thomas pantomimed slinging it over his shoulder. Storm took the rock and, throwing it in her bag, cringed when he heard it clunk hard against something else. He eased the strap over his shoulder and leaned back against the wall, wishing he’d blend into the woodwork.
He had one eye on Knickerbocker, who sat in the third row, looking as cool and smug as Storm remembered, and one eye on Breezy, who wore her nervousness and emotions on her sleeve. He watched and waited, praying they’d move the reading of the meeting minutes along and get down to new business before Breezy lost her nerve.
A few minutes later, Bree took the mic, and Storm felt something he’d never felt for a woman—pride. Bone-deep pride, which was stupid since he had nothing to do with Bree’s success, but damn, he had never been so proud of anyone before. Bree nailed the presentation and then sailed through the questions. It was the longest half hour of Storm’s life; never before had he felt as invested in anyone or anything outside himself and his business.
The motion to change the zoning passed unanimously—not surprising after Bree’s presentation. He didn’t see how anyone could vote against it. His Breezy was a superstar.
When the meeting broke up, cameras flashed, and reporters peppered her with questions. Daniel made his way to the front. Just as Storm suspected, Daniel couldn’t resist the allure of the limelight for long. When Daniel wrapped his beefy arm around Bree’s waist, Storm’s adrenaline kicked in, his heartbeat sped up, and every muscle tensed. He took a deep breath and checked the urge to go up to the guy, rip his arm out of the socket, and shove it down his throat.
Thomas worked his way over to Storm through the throng of people. “That man sidling up to Ms. Collins is Knickerbocker, I take it?”
“That would be him.” Storm clenched his fist and released it, spreading out his fingers, only to fist them again.
Bree took a step away, but Daniel moved in tandem as if they were connected at the hip, and he pulled her closer.
Thomas gave Storm’s shoulder a warning squeeze. “She can handle herself. You have to let her. The last thing she needs right now is you stirring up trouble.”
Storm let out a frustrated breath. “I know. You’re right, but the man makes me want to punch him like a bag at the Y.”
Bree shook hands with everyone on the board and, as discreetly as she could, separated herself from Daniel before catching Storm’s eye and smiling. She headed for him with a look of triumph on her face.
The moment Daniel noticed Bree had escaped his clutches, he followed her, made eye contact with Storm, a smug smirk twisting his lips, and reached for Bree’s shoulder.
Daniel wrapped his arm around her waist from behind, tugging her against him, and whispered something in her ear.
Surprise, shock, and revulsion crossed her face.
That was it. All bets were off. Storm crossed the room in three strides. “Bree.” He eyed Knickerbocker as he spoke—it was all he could do not to haul off and knock that smarmy smirk off the guy’s pretty face. For Bree’s sake, Storm gave Daniel a heartbeat to rethink his actions.
Knickerbocker released her, and Bree stepped into Storm’s arms. “You were amazing, babe.” He gave her a kiss on the temple, slid her purse off his shoulder and passed it to her, and then took her briefcase. “Come on, there’s someone here I’d like you to meet.”
“I just want to leave.” She took a deep breath and wrapped her arm around Storm’s waist.
“I know, but you can’t let him chase you off. Come meet my friend Thomas Danby.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“You’re news, babe. He wouldn’t miss it.”
She gave him a get-real look but pasted a genuine smile on her face.
“Thomas, I’d like you to meet Breanna Collins. Bree, this is Thomas Danby of the Wall Street Journal, and the owner of No Censor Ship.”
Bree shook Thomas’s hand. “Thanks for lending us your boat. No Censor Ship is incredible.”
“You’re welcome, but Storm deserves most of the praise. I didn’t have much to do with it.”
Storm laughed. “Right, thanks for the props, but Bree is too smart to believe that. She thought I stole it.”
Bree elbowed Storm and smiled at Thomas. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Mr. Danby. I’m surprised you’re here.”
“Call me Thomas, please. You make me sound old enough to be your father—something I’d like to ignore even if it is the truth. Congratulations on the decision. Your presentation was thorough and very convincing. I should know; I’m a professional fact checker. Storm tells me you’ve been on the Revitalization Committee for the last five years. I’ve been impressed with the changes the Committee has effected.”
“Thank you. They are a wonderful group of people, and it’s been a real team effort.”
“I’d like to hear more about it. How about over dinner?”
“Sure.” Bree took a breath and looked over at Storm. “We can go to the Crow’s Nest.”
“Sounds good. Storm’s told me all about the bar. He said you’ve turned it into a real neighborhood gathering place.” He stepped aside to allow Bree to pass. “I hope you two will come out on the boat with me sometime soon. Unfortunately, summer doesn’t last forever.”
Storm gave her an it’s-up-to-you tilt of his head and drew a relieved breath when she aimed one of her thousand-watt-smiles at Thomas. Taking that as a yes, Storm gave her a quick squeeze. “The Crow’s Nest is closed on Sundays and Mondays. Just let us know when, and we’ll be there.”
She turned up the wattage at Storm. “Maybe on our next trip, I’ll be able to pay more attention to the view.”
* * *
Bree walked into the Crow’s Nest to a round of applause, but this time at least it wasn’t beca
use she was caught necking. Still, she wasn’t sure why everyone was applauding.
One look at Storm told her that he had a hand in this, and, before she could stop herself, she pinched him just below the ribs. “You set me up.”
He let out a pleasing grunt. “No, I just answered a few dozen texts. I didn’t want to get on the bad side of both Rocki and Patrice, so I agreed to a party. They’d probably send Francis in the ambulance with full lights and sirens for the impromptu celebration.” He pulled her around in front so she was in full view of the crowd and brought his mouth to her ear, making her wish they were alone. “Don’t worry. We’ll celebrate privately, later.”
“We’d better, or you’ll be sleeping on the couch.” Even to her own ears she sounded breathless. She was disgusted with the way her hormones raged whenever he was in the vicinity. It was bad enough she found herself thinking about him constantly. She’d been waiting for Storm’s effect on her to dissipate, waiting for a time that just seeing him didn’t make her heart race like a drumroll, when his touch didn’t make her catch her breath, or the sound of his voice didn’t make her drool. It hadn’t happened yet, and she was still waiting for the Storm Surge—as she thought of it—to recede.
Everyone important in Bree’s life was there—Storm and Nicki, Francis and Patrice, Rocki, even Pete. Everyone was there—everyone but her own mother who had sentenced herself to life in a prison of her own making, something, Bree reminded herself, she was determined not to do.
She soaked in the moment, watching all the people she loved and the bar she’d worked so hard to turn around, in the neighborhood she helped improve, and felt as if everything in her life was finally moving in the right direction.
Her gaze zeroed in on Storm with his arm around Nicki while he talked to Pete and Thomas and a bunch of the regulars. She took a deep breath, walked right up to Storm, and slid under his other arm, hoping to become part of the circle.
Storm kissed her temple, tightened his hold on her, and it felt right, and natural, and real, and so wonderful, she had to blink away tears.
For the first time since her dad died, she felt truly part of a family. Her family—Storm and Nicki and Pete—right here in Red Hook.
For the first time since her dad died, she felt complete.
For the first time since her dad died, Bree was happy.
Bree let Nicki stay up past her bedtime, but when she saw Pete drooping, she herded them upstairs, putting up with whining on both their parts.
When she returned, Storm caught her hand. “Dance with me.” He led her to the dance floor and held her too close, not that she minded. “Happy?”
“Yes, very happy. Thanks for doing all this.”
“I didn’t do anything. Everyone here planned this; all I did was drag you back. Did Pete and Nicki give you a hard time?”
“No more than usual. Pete made it all the way up the stairs without looking as if he were going to pass out. It was a big improvement.” She rested her head against his shoulder and breathed him in while Rocki sang a ballad—another perfect moment. She wanted to dance with Storm forever.
“What do you think of Thomas?”
“He seems really nice. I’ve always wondered what one of those guys looked like.”
Storm ran his hand down her back, stopping just short of the point of indecency. “One of which guys?”
“The guys who can drop ten million on a toy.”
He leaned back, dipped his chin, and stopped dancing. “No Censor Ship is a hell of a lot more than a toy.”
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to demean it. But still, I can’t imagine buying a house for a tenth of that price, and I’d be able to live in it.”
He pulled her hip to hip and started moving again. “You could live on No Censor Ship if you wanted to.”
“But Thomas doesn’t.”
“No, he’s more of a penthouse-on–Park Avenue kind of guy.”
She pulled away to look at his face. “What kind of guy are you?”
“You don’t know?” He seemed surprised.
“I thought I did, but then I see you with Thomas and you seem to fit right in. It’s obvious that you’re good friends. How many of your friends are like Thomas?”
“Rich? I’m not rich if that’s what you’re asking. Not compared to most of the people I know through business. They’re clients, Bree. I design boats, see that they’re built correctly, and spend a lot of time with my clients during the design process. Some become friends; some don’t.”
“But you have no trouble mixing with them. You’re as easy with Thomas as you are with Francis and Patrice.”
“Some of them, sure. People are people—no matter how much money they have in the bank. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that money is not the measure of a man. That should be clear to you when you look at Dickerbocker.”
Bree raised her eyebrow. “I don’t think Daniel is rich.”
“He dresses as if he is. A guy doesn’t walk around in thousand-dollar suits and handmade Italian shoes unless he makes a good living.”
She gave him a Brooklyn shrug. “I guess, but I never looked at him as anything but a coworker.”
“You went out with him once.”
“Who told you? Patrice or Rocki?
“Both.”
“Of course they did. Sometimes I wonder about my friends.”
Storm kissed her forehead. “They love you; we all do.”
“Yeah, I know, but I’m more concerned about us than our friends.”
“And my having rich friends is a concern?”
“I don’t know. I worry that I wouldn’t fit in with Thomas’s crowd.”
“No one who gets to know you would ever think you’re not incredible. You impressed the hell out of Thomas, and believe me, not many people do.”
“You do.”
Storm spun her around and dipped her. “I’m just an impressive guy.” He pulled her up and then kissed her, proving his point.
CHAPTER 19
Storm had been home for more than a month without having had a morning to sleep in. The first morning he thought he’d be able to started with a crash. The sound of Nicki charging through the living room like a herd of elephants was followed by D.O.G.’s excited bark. She had a few days off school for Rosh Hashanah, so he’d worked until three in the morning, knowing today would be spent with Nicki underfoot. He wiped the sleep out of his eyes, dragged on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, stepped out of the bedroom, and found his laptop swimming with…“Orange juice?”
Nicki froze, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I cleaned it all up. I even washed it.”
He spotted the trail of water from the sink to the table. “In the sink?”
Her head bobbed up and down like the bobble-head doll Bree had on her dashboard. “Whenever I spill anything, Bree rinses it off in the sink.”
Storm sat down, held his aching head, and silently fired off a long list of curses. He’d gotten better about not cursing out loud, but no one said he couldn’t think them.
He’d been there a month. He juggled his work with taking care of Pete and Nicki. He followed the Daniel Knickerbocker investigation Thomas had waged, making sure Bree wasn’t caught up in whatever illegal activities Daniel seemed to be up to his eyeballs in, and kept a close eye on her so that she wouldn’t be caught in the middle when the story hit the presses. Added to all that were working at the bar and spending time with Bree.
He’d been pushing his limits for so long, he’d forgotten what it felt like to rest. Most nights he got out of bed after Bree fell asleep and tried to catch up on his work. He was tired, dog tired, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d backed up his computer. Fuck.
It had been days, which meant he had probably lost a week’s worth of work. It was, he reminded himself, his own damn fault, not Nicki’s.
“I’m s-s-sorry.” She hiccoughed and dissolved into gulping tears.
“It’s okay.” He closed his eyes
and scrubbed his hands over his face. He wanted to kick himself for being so stupid, for leaving his computer on the table, for not backing it up, and for not getting enough sleep.
When he opened his eyes, Nicki wasn’t only crying; she was shaking. “Hey.” He went to put his arm around her and she flinched, not just a blink but a full-body flinch, arms protecting her face, torso bent, ready to flee. Damn, she was terrified. Nicki thought he was going to hit her. It stopped him cold. Memories of his father’s hand, the one thing he never wanted to get in the way of, flashed before his eyes. His insides churned but not in fear, not like he was headed for a bruising, not like sitting in the back of a cruiser with his hands cuffed, and definitely not like the night he ran out on Bree. This fear was the realization that he was on the other end. No, he was not his father. He’d never turn into the monster his father was. He took a deep breath. A strange sense of calm enveloped him, and the huge weight he’d carried his whole life lifted off his shoulders. He’d never turn into his old man. Never. “Nicki, I’m not going to hurt you.”
He tapped his knee, and D.O.G. came over to him. He gave the dog a pat, and Nicki stepped closer—within reach, but she still didn’t trust him. He tried not to take it personally. He knew how it felt to be on the wrong side of an irate man. He wasn’t irate at anyone but himself, but that could be hard for a little kid to figure out.
He took a deep breath, picked up the computer, and took it back to the kitchen, letting it drip over the sink. “I guess we need to go shopping.”
“We do?” She took a gulp of air and wiped her face with sticky hands.
“It looks like I need to buy a new computer.” And see if anything could be salvaged from the hard drive. He grabbed a handful of paper towels, did his best to soak up whatever liquid was left, and then stood the computer on its side to dry on the drain board while he got ready to go. “Do you want to come with me, or would you rather go down to the bar and stay with Bree and Pop?”
“You’re not mad?”
“At you? No, it was an accident. I’m mad at myself. I’ve told you to clean up after yourself how many times? I should have followed my own rules.”