by Rae, Harloe
I hold up an open palm. “Wait, what? No. No, no, no. I thought we were messing around.”
“Meh, maybe. But promise me something?” She slouches deeper into the couch.
I squint at her, weighing the possibilities. “That depends.”
“Give someone a chance to prove you wrong. You deserve to find love again.”
The sweet Pinot turns sour in my stomach. That’s never going to happen. But to appease her, I force a smile. “I’ll try.”
“That’s a good start. This feels like a change in the right direction. I want you to be happy, Brae. Speaking of, have your folks called lately?”
“Nope. Not that I’m surprised.”
“Don’t they care about your recovery?”
“Clearly not.” I rub at the ache in my throat.
“Have you ever considered going to visit them? Turn the tables on their silent treatment. I could go with you.”
I’m shaking my head before she has the first sentence out. The thought of abandoning Thicket, even for a weekend, gives me chills. That shop is my baby, the closest I’ll come to having a real one. Some might call me a workaholic. I prefer the term dedicated. I’d never be able to relax thinking about my shop dark and empty and cold. “I’m not interested. I can’t just up and leave. I have responsibilities.”
“But don’t you miss them?”
“Why would I? My family isn’t the sentimental type to get sad about. I haven’t fit into their equation since leaving for college. And they live far away. Not that you’ll hear me complain about that.”
“You act like they’re in Alaska.”
“Might as well be,” I grumble. Sadie’s pinched expression stabs at me. I release a long exhale. “Fine, I’ll think about it.”
But I won’t. Truth be told, my family has not been very supportive of my decisions. My parents never approved of Devon. After he died, they took that as an opportunity to try dragging me back to our small town in the middle of nowhere Iowa. I didn’t go. The rift spreads wider with each missed call and forgotten holiday. They know where to find me, but the odds of that happening aren’t in my favor. The sting of their rejection has long since faded.
“Paris will never happen, huh?”
I furrow my brow. “I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to.”
I peer over at her. “It’s hard, okay? I’m comfortable in my little bubble. But visiting Europe is on my bucket list.”
Sadie knots her fingers together. “I’m being a pushy bitch. Sorry, Brae. I got a little excited to see you smiling again.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m lucky to have you urging me on. If it wasn’t for you, I’d probably never leave my house. You’re a really good friend, Dee.”
Her bottom lip sticks out. “For real?”
“Yes, dork. Don’t be mopey. That’s my job.”
She wags a finger at me. “Not anymore. That ship has sailed.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m by no means cured.”
The timer dings and Sadie pops out of her seat. “Finally! Dinner’s done. And so is all this talk of brutish men and neglectful family members and forceful best friends and emotional relapses. Let’s watch a chick flick and finish the wine and regret our choices in the morning.”
I giggle, the sound rich and full. “You’re a nut. But that’s the best plan I’ve heard in a long time.”
Sadie shimmies her hips and dances into the kitchen. “And one more reason to celebrate.”
Brance
Sued
I open the rear passenger door and bend to face my son. “Ollie?”
He’s practically vibrating in his seat. “Yes?”
“What’s the rule?” I’d repeated the phrase enough in hopes he’d never forget. Wishful thinking, I know. But now is the true test. I lift my brows but remain silent otherwise.
“Stay by your side and don’t run ahead,” he recites in a diligent tone.
“And why is that important?” Keeping my expression neutral is a challenge when he’s smiling so wide.
Ollie’s lips twist. “Um, so I don’t get run over?”
I chuckle. “Yes, that’s true. I want to keep you safe from everything.”
He nods. “Right, got it.”
“Do you?”
He begins pulling at the straps over his chest. “Uh-huh, yup.”
“I mean it, Ollie. You have to hold my hand,” I remind him.
He reaches for mine and links our fingers together. “All done.”
With some masterful maneuvering, I unbuckle him without letting go. Ollie springs forward and hops out of the car. Once his feet hit the pavement, we’re off at breakneck speed.
My arm is straight out in front of me. “Ollie, slow down.”
His neck swivels around. “I’m just walking.”
“I can barely see your shoes.” I swear the scent of burning rubbing is stinging my nostrils.
He looks at his sneakers without slowing down. “They’re still tied.”
“That isn’t the issue,” I laugh. Clearly my words went in one ear and out the other. Surprise, surprise.
“Daddy, Daddy, look! There it is.”
Ollie cranks up his pace, almost dislocating my shoulder in the process. I attempt to reel him in with a light tug. That only causes him to double his efforts. I almost stumble from the momentum. Talk about a backfire. I appreciate him finally listening about sticking with me, but this is straight painful. He’s freakishly strong for such a little tyke. Must be all that candy he’s been consuming.
An acidic tang fills my mouth when I see the massive lollipop directly in our path. That fucking sign is a beacon for children. Good marketing? Sure. Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about the tactic. I bet Ollie could find his way blindfolded, but that neon monstrosity certainly helps. Prying him away is becoming more challenging by the day. Mary informed me, while wearing a Cheshire grin, that they’d visited Thicket almost daily this week. Seems my son hasn’t gotten over his latest obsession yet. Unlike his nanny, I was not encouraging this newfound infatuation.
My resistance didn’t stop Ollie’s determination. The moment I’d get home from work, the begging and fussing would begin. Thankfully, I was able to distract him with other preferable activities. We went to his favorite restaurant that has an arcade attached. I loaded up his game card and let him go wild. The following night I suggested a new cartoon that hit theaters, along with promises of popcorn and gummy bears. I took him to the pool with waterslides and a lazy river. Yesterday we brushed up on our bike-riding skills. I’ve been collapsing into bed each night utterly exhausted. Worth it? Absolutely.
Today is a different story. I wasn’t able to deter Ollie with the park or ice cream or even pony rides at a petting zoo. When his pleading started first thing this morning, I couldn’t say no again. The last thing I wanted was a repeat of last Saturday. Even if that means spending an hour in this atrocious sickly-sweet sugar pit. I can play nice with the shop owner. At least somewhat. Maybe I’ll hover by the door out of sight. I snort. Since when do I duck and cover? That isn’t my style in the slightest.
Man the fuck up, I scold. She’s just a chick.
But that chick is sinking her claws into Ollie. Braelyn would be a pitiful fool to even consider trying that shit with me. My bite makes grown men cower in the courtroom. If this woman has any sense, she’ll back off.
We reach the building and Ollie snuggles into my side. “Thanks for bringing me, Daddy.”
I suck in a sharp breath when my chest squeezes. The only soft spot left inside of me expands. This kid melts my stone-cold heart with a few simple words.
“Anything for you, kiddo.” And I mean that with every breath left in my lungs. I’d never put myself in this position for anyone else. I open the door and shuffle him inside. That annoying chime rings out, announcing our presence.
A cheerful voice greets us. “Welcome to… oh, hey! Great to see you, Ollie.” Braelyn’s perfectly straigh
t teeth shine bright when she smiles at him. My body tightens for an entirely different reason. Fuck, why couldn’t she be a troll? Maybe my real problem is the unnecessarily long dry spell I’ve been under. I need to get laid.
Ollie shakes out of my hold and dashes toward her. “Hi, Miss Braelyn!”
“Hey, pal.” She passes over a colorful piece of taffy. “Got a new flavor this morning.”
The demand that she asks my permission burns on my tongue. I swallow it down, sure that Mary allows him to have free reign. Ollie’s little fingers make quick work of the wrapper. He pops it into his mouth and starts chomping away. There’s no point savoring it when he has a slew of other treats coming his way.
“Mm-hmm, it’s yummy. Bubblegum and uh, um, something else,” Ollie mumbles around the candy.
“Strawberry,” Braelyn supplies.
My son bobs his head. “Yeah, it tastes really good.”
She ruffles his shaggy hair. “Glad you like it.”
I silently observe their routine, already established and growing deeper roots with each passing moment. If I left, would they even notice? I won’t give her the satisfaction of testing the theory. Instead I choose to keep my distance and let them do their thing.
Rays of sunlight stream through the window and cast a rainbow reflection across the floor. My gaze is drawn to the simple pattern, the irony not lost on me. This place is anything but ordinary. I’m not even sure where to look first. There’s shit crowding every available surface. I glance at the crammed shelves and funky paintings. There’re stacks of books surrounding a rocking chair and a collection of lamps in the corner. The room smells like fresh flowers and sugary perfume.
It’s clear that most of her effort goes into the candy section. The confections are artfully displayed in a rainbow array of colors displayed along the wall. Every piece has a place, making the presentation very eye catching. No fucking surprise there. She might as well hang another sign or five. But I’ll give her a little credit. Based off Ollie’s stash, her supply is rather impressive.
After another quick visual sweep, I tune back into their conversation.
“I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me,” Braelyn says.
“No way! Never, ever. My dad just drives really slow.”
I gape at them. “Weren’t you here yesterday, Ollie?”
He glances at me over his shoulder. “Well, yeah.” His deadpan tone raises my guard. When did he get so clever?
“It was a joke,” Braelyn interrupts.
I widen my stance, preparing for battle. “Oh, really? I had no idea.”
Ollie glances between us. “You remember my dad? He was here with me once.”
While his attention is diverted, she glares at me. “Oh, yes. I sure do.”
“He took me all sorts of places this week. That’s why we were so busy,” Ollie explains.
Her mossy eyes search mine, a storm brewing in those green pools. “Is that so?”
“Uh-huh. Daddy took me swimming and out for ice cream. We even went to the movies.”
“Lucky duck. I haven’t been to the theater in ages.”
He makes a squeaking sound. “What? No way. Wanna come with us next time?”
Braelyn’s slender throat bobs. I’m fascinated by the movement. I get a rise thinking about the conflicting emotions raging inside of her. How will she answer? There’s no way in hell she’d agree. The air grows dense, enough to choke on, as her silence stretches.
Finally, she opens her mouth. “I’ll have to check my calendar, buddy. It’s hard to get away from the store.”
He bounces on his toes. “Okay, great. Talk to my dad about it. Can I go play now?”
Braelyn beams at him. “Of course, kiddo. You know where the toys are.”
That’s all he needs to hear before darting down the designated aisle. I watch him disappear in a flash of red and denim. When I look at Braelyn, the thundering in my pulse roars. She’d been all smiles for him, but now all evidence of happiness melts away. When she turns to me, a scowl mars her features. My gut twists painfully, and that stops me short. Am I seriously jealous of my son? That’d be a hell no. I roll my shoulders and strengthen my resolve.
“Fancy seeing you here.” Braelyn crosses her arms, shoving a pair of luscious tits up for my viewing pleasure. I almost applaud the shirt’s low neckline, but thank the summer heat instead. No point giving her ass any credit for wearing less clothing.
I try to keep my focus on her face. “Is it?”
“No, not at all. I could smell your hostility from a block away.”
Well, this is escalating quickly. “What’s your fucking deal?”
Braelyn’s mouth forms a flat line. “Care to be more specific? You seem to have a myriad of issues with me.”
Her smooth features distort. I wait for her to explode or have another panic attack. She just continues glaring at me.
I clear my throat. “In general, what’s wrong with you?”
The apple of her cheek twitches. “Real tactful, asshole.”
“Meh, I’m not in the habit of mincing words.”
“Clearly.” Her tone is desert dry.
“So?” I tap my loafer on the tile floor.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I was involved in a car wreck. The accident left some lingering effects.” Her blank expression hides the rest, and I choose to ignore her lack of detail. For now.
“Were you driving?”
“No.”
“All right.”
Braelyn rests her weight on one leg. “What’s your story?”
I point at myself. “You’re looking at it.”
“Good to know the sharing was one sided.”
“I never promised to return the favor.” My smirk makes a reappearance. “At least not in that way.”
The flush racing up her neck gets my blood pumping hotter. She ruins it with a sneer. “As if that’d ever happen.”
That’s the damn truth. The chances are higher that I’ll run for president, but she doesn’t know that. I grant myself permission to take a lazy perusal of her body. Goosebumps break out across her arms. Watching her squirm is fucking fascinating. “We’ll see.”
“We really won’t.”
Once again, she easily casts me aside. I don’t care enough to ask her why. But the brushoff is still aggravating as fuck. I narrow my gaze on hers. “You’re so certain.”
“And, for whatever reason, you’re extremely determined.”
“Considering my profession, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She studies me for a few moments. “What is it you do for a living?”
“I’m a lawyer.”
She snorts. “That was my one and only guess.”
I glance down at my plain tee and jeans, raising a brow. “Am I that obvious?”
Braelyn twirls a finger in the air, building up steam. “You’re very…” she trails off for a moment before settling on, “cunning and conniving. I imagine you mowing down witnesses in the courtroom.”
I cross my arms. “Talk about a fucking stereotype.”
“If the shoe fits.” She shrugs, not backing down in the slightest.
Two can play at this game. I open my wallet and take out a glossy card. “If you’re ever in the market for a divorce attorney, give me a call.”
She scans the name—Bysek & Associates—and flicks my offering away. “Hard pass. I’m never getting married, therefore I won’t need a divorce.”
I scoff. “Looks like we agree on something.”
“I find that hard to believe,” she mutters under her breath.
“You’re quite the spitfire.”
Her husky laugh cups my balls and applies just the right amount of pressure. “Never in my life have I been called anything close to that.”
“Well, there’s always a first for everything.” Am I fucking flirting with this chick? After a quick deliberation, I figure why the hell not. I take another opportunity to openly check he
r out, making my leering known. Other than the deep neckline, her shirt is nothing special. Her flowy skirt touches the ground and hides anything of value. Lucky for me, I have a vivid imagination.
Is it fucked up that I’m picturing her mouth stuffed full of my—
I slam a concrete wall down on that twisted path. Yup, most definitely screwed up. I keep my ogling above the waist, as an extra precaution. Braelyn isn’t wearing any makeup other than some glossy shit on her lips. Her blonde hair is twisted in a loose braid. I want to unravel the golden waves and watch them spill over my hands.
What the actual hell is happening to me? Usually my dick gets hard for high heels and short skirts and seductive curves on display. This woman is the opposite of the chicks I usually fuck. Apparently the desperation is messing with my standards. Or my cock is confused from the arousing banter. Either way, I need to get laid. I’ll take whatever at this point, except her.
“Problem?” The question drags my eyes up to hers.
I work my jaw back and forth. “Not at all.”
“I can’t begin to comprehend why you’re looking at me like that.”
“Then why bother asking?”
She wrinkles her pert nose. “Let’s get one thing straight, I’m not your type. Desperate and needy clashes with this outfit.”
I bark out a sharp laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself, sugar. I prefer my women classy and refined and down to fuck wherever.”
“Is that a realistic combination?”
“Haven’t you heard of a lady on the streets and a freak in the sheets?”
Braelyn gawks at me. “You’re worse than I thought.”
I lick my bottom lip, slow and deliberate. “Know what you need? A good, long fuck.”
She makes a choking sound. “Are you kidding?”
“Not at all. The endorphin release will set you straight.”
“Oh, that’s really interesting.” She makes the sound of a buzzer. “Turns out it’s actually not. That’ll be a hard pass from me. Thanks anyway.”
I knock on the counter beside me, the sound cracking through our tension. “Oh, I wasn’t volunteering. Just a suggestion to keep in mind. Might make you less… bitchy.”
Her eyes narrow into green slits. “You’re such a pig.”