Kiss the Girl

by Melissa Brayden

  Brooklyn blinked back at her because she hadn’t known that. “I feel like I should say I’m sorry, but that doesn’t really fit, does it?”

  Cat shook her head. “I think that’s the problem. Maybe we all have to get past thinking someone should apologize.” They were wise words coming from a seventeen-year-old. But Brooklyn had a feeling Cat had been through a lot.

  “You might be right. But enough with the serious stuff, if that’s okay with you.” She flashed Cat a smile. “We should order dessert.”

  Cat dabbed her eyes and sat forward, smiling back at the invitation. “Choose for me. Something I probably haven’t tried before.”

  “An adventurous type. I like it.” As Brooklyn reached for the menu, she noticed her: their mother. It was strange to see Cynthia out in the real world, in her very neighborhood, to be exact. She was speaking to their waiter, who was gesturing in their direction. She turned and crossed quickly to their table.

  Brooklyn inclined her head to Cat. “I think we have company.”

  Cat turned just in time for her mother to arrive. Without hesitation she slid into the booth next to Cat and pulled her into a tight embrace. “Do you know how terrified I was?”

  “I’m sorry,” Cat mumbled, but she was hugging her back and that was something.

  “I’m so glad you’re okay. I had all these visions of something happening to you, never seeing you again.” She was holding Cat’s face in her hands. “Please don’t do anything like this ever again. I felt like my blood pressure—”

  “Mom, mom, mom,” Cat said, trying to slow her down. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken off, but I’m fine. We were just having dinner.”

  She turned to Brooklyn then and her eyes softened further. “Thank you,” she said. She reached across the table and took her hand, squeezing. But she didn’t let go. She stayed just like that, one arm around Cat and one holding onto Brooklyn.

  “It was a surprise,” Brooklyn managed to say. “But it gave us a chance to get to know one another.”

  “I tried gnocchi,” Cat reported proudly. And then a thought seemed to occur to her. “How did you find me?”

  “You weren’t answering your phone, but I was still able to track you with the lost-phone app. I was only a couple of hours behind you. Technology can be a wonderful thing sometimes.”

  “Wow. Who knew?” Cat asked.

  “And don’t think you’re off the hook. Just because I’m thrilled to see you alive doesn’t mean we’re not going to discuss this later, with repercussions.”

  Cat sighed deeply. “Gotcha.”

  “Since you’re here, do you want to join us for dessert?” Brooklyn asked. It felt like an olive branch in some way. They hadn’t ended their last visit on the best of terms. It was only then that Cynthia released her hand, and a warm smile replaced the touch. She held Brooklyn’s gaze for several beats.

  “I would like that very much. I’m starving actually.”

  “We could order some more gnocchi,” Cat suggested.

  Brooklyn signaled their waiter.

  Two hours later when Brooklyn glanced at her watch, she was shocked at how quickly the time had passed. They’d killed the second round of gnocchi and a half a tray of Sicilian cannoli and were now on to their second cup of coffee. The ice had been broken fairly easily this time around, and something about the combination of the three of them just clicked. The conversation flowed; they laughed together and swapped stories with ease. Maybe it was the impromptu nature of the meeting, with no stressful buildup first. Whatever it was, she was genuinely having a good time.

  Brooklyn gestured in a circle with her spoon at Cat. “So I think we’ve established that you’re a little boy crazy.”

  “How so?” Cat asked, her mouth hanging open at the assertion.

  “Three possible prom dates you can’t decide between is kind of telling.”

  Cat shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for fluffy hair.” That pulled yet another laugh from Brooklyn. She really was a fun kid.

  “So what about Jessica?” Cynthia asked. “How is she?”

  “Oh,” Brooklyn said, faltering for a moment. “Um. That’s a good question. I’m not really sure. We stopped seeing each other a few weeks back.”

  “No way,” Cat said. “You guys seemed so perfect together. What happened? Her fault?”

  “Mine, actually.” She set her coffee down. For whatever reason, she felt strangely at ease with the two of them, like she was among friends, and that brought on an uncharacteristic dash of candor. “I don’t do well with relationships.”

  “Why is that?” Cynthia asked with concern.

  “Um. I guess I don’t let people in easily,” Brooklyn admitted. “It’s just not something I’m ever going to be successful at. It terrifies me actually.”

  Cynthia tilted her head to the side as if trying to assess the situation. “Answer me this. Do you love her?”

  Brooklyn took a deep breath and studied the portraits on the wall across the room. This felt like a blatant breaking of rule number one, but she allowed herself to go there temporarily. “Yes. And that’s part of the problem. The stakes were too high. I need my life to be simple.”

  Cynthia sat back thoughtfully. “I could sit here and nod my understanding and support at what you seem to feel so strongly about, or I could give you the advice I missed out on giving you all these years.”

  Brooklyn didn’t hesitate. “What’s the advice?”

  “Sweetheart, you can’t hide from life. You’re depriving yourself of the most precious gift this world can offer you. Love.”

  Cynthia opened her mouth to continue but had to pause, as something was clearly tugging at her. She stared at the table for a moment, but when she raised her eyes back to Brooklyn’s, the emotion they held was jarring.

  Brooklyn’s heart pounded away in anticipation of what Cynthia was about to say.

  “You may have felt like you were unloved most of your life, and that devastates me more than I can ever articulate. But you have to know that wasn’t the case. My heart was bursting with love for you, and so was your father’s. We didn’t know where you were, or what you were doing on a given day, but we did know that we loved you. So you see, you’ve always had love. You just didn’t know it.”

  It was a new way of looking at things that she’d never considered. She took the words and turned them over again in her mind. Coupled with the stories Cat had recounted, it seemed that she did have a place somewhere, in a strange way. And then and there, something lifted. She felt lighter. “So what you’re saying is—”

  “That you, Brooklyn, are entirely deserving of love, and that—”

  “The brain freeze is worth the ice cream,” Cat artfully inserted.

  That pulled a look from Brooklyn. “I’m sorry. A brain freeze?”

  “That’s what Mom always says. I’ve heard it a hundred and nine times.”

  Cynthia tilted her head from left to right, mulling this over. She turned to Cat. “That’s true. I was just trying to say it a little more eloquently for Brooklyn.”

  “Why? Isn’t she part of the family technically? Shouldn’t she hear it the way the rest of us always have to?”

  Cynthia held up a hand, palm up. “You know what? You’re right.” She turned back to Brooklyn. “The ice cream is worth the brain freeze. And isn’t ice cream everything?”

  “It is.” Brooklyn smiled at the concept. “Ice cream is everything. I’ll keep the brain-freeze thing in mind. But for now, I think I’m doing okay. Now that I have you here, however, would you mind telling me about my name? I’ve always wondered.”

  Brooklyn couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw a twinkle in Cynthia’s eye at the mention. “You were named after our first date.”

  Cat narrowed her gaze. “Your first date with dad?”

  Cynthia bopped her playfully in the head. “Of course with Dad. He finally asked me out after I’d waited months for him to notice me, and I desperately wanted to go.
The only problem was that neither of us had any money. So he came up with the idea that we would hold hands, walk across the Brooklyn Bridge, and get to know one another better. He proposed that if it went well, when we made it across the bridge, I would let him kiss me.”

  “And how did it go?” Brooklyn asked.

  The blush that touched her cheeks was endearing. “It was the best conversation of my life. Followed by an off-the-charts kiss.”

  Cat raised one shoulder. “That’s kinda sweet.” She turned to Brooklyn. “You were named after a date. You have no choice but to be a romantic.”

  “The cheeky kid has a point,” Cynthia said, wrapping her arms around Cat.

  Brooklyn had to admit it. She liked the story.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “There’s got to be somewhere better for you to be right now.”

  Jessica didn’t turn around at the sound of Bentley’s voice. She kept her eyes on her computer monitor and the verbiage from legal that would go into their revamped proprietary agreements. “That sounds like judgment,” she murmured.

  “Very astute of you.” He came farther into the room and stared at her. She could feel his gaze overtly and finally swiveled to face him.

  “Something you need, Bent?”

  He shook his head. “I left my wallet. I thought I’d come back to the empty, dark office and retrieve it. But what to my wondering eyes should appear?”

  “A workaholic and eight tiny Red Bulls?” Jessica asked, smiling sweetly.

  “That’s one way to put it.” He perched on the edge of her desk. “It’s Friday night, Jessica. Christmas is four days away. You shouldn’t be at work at 9:23 in the evening. You should be with friends, family. Where’s Ashton?”

  “She’s spending Christmas with her dad in Colorado. I encouraged her to go. She should spend time with him. She’ll be back after New Year’s.”

  He considered this and switched directions. “Come to dinner with us. Me and Deidre.”

  “I’m happy here. On my own. Besides, I have no interest in crashing your dinner date du jour. That’s actually a more pathetic option, thank you very much.”

  He grabbed a stack of mail from the corner of her desk. “What about these, huh?” He sorted through the pile. “Invitations galore, Jess. Hit up one of these fancy holiday parties.”

  She shrugged and rubbed her eyes, weary from staring at the screen for so long. “It’s all corporate stuff. Just another form of work.”

  “But it would get you out and into a nice dress and drinking some pink champagne and—” He froze mid-shuffle and held up a brightly colored invitation, turning it around to face her. “Bingo. I think we just found what you’re doing tonight.”

  She stared at the green-and-red invite, the one she’d studied once an hour since it had arrived two days prior. “No way.”

  “Why not? It’s not a corporate party. In fact, it looks entirely social.”

  She met his eyes. “She wouldn’t want me there, Bent.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  She stared at the wall as the lump she’d become all too familiar with presented itself in her throat. “She couldn’t have been any clearer when she told me good-bye. It’s not worth it to her. Correction, I wasn’t worth it to her. End of story. We all move on now.” It hadn’t been as simple as she’d made it sound. The past few weeks had been disastrous.

  “And yet her friends have taken it upon themselves to invite you to their Christmas party. Interesting.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Three names are signed there. Take a look. Not four. That’s kind of telling, don’t you think?”

  “Then don’t go for Brooklyn.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Go for you. Enjoy yourself. Wear designer jeans and a sexy top and get to know some people. You might make a new friend. And if in the midst of it all, you happen to get the chance to wish Brooklyn a Merry Christmas, well, what’s so wrong with that?”

  Jessica blew out a breath and weighed her options. She’d considered going to the party on and off since the invitation had presented itself so surprisingly. An actual Christmas party where friends mingled and music played and no one wanted to talk to you for purposes of upward mobility. How long had it been since she’d been to one of those?

  And let’s be honest, she’d get to see Brooklyn.

  It would hurt like hell and feel entirely strange, but it was a big draw just to see her face again. To at least give herself that. Self-inflicted torture was apparently her new thing.

  She snatched the invitation from Bentley’s hand and stared down at the handwritten note at the bottom. “Hope you can make it!—Mallory, Hunter, and Samantha.” Maybe Bent had a point. This was an opportunity. What was so wrong with taking it?

  *

  Brooklyn looked around the winter wonderland that used to be their office, sipped her blue martini, and bopped her head in time to the music. The place was packed with their friends, acquaintances, neighbors from various floors, and quite a few people she’d never seen in her life. But you know what? The more the merrier. The room was in a collective good mood and partaking in a variety of activities one would partake in at a party. Dancing, eating, carousing, and okay, even some holiday smooching were all in full effect. She glanced away, not needing to see the romantic bliss play out in front of her and her martini.

  They’d chosen to have the party downstairs at Savvy so they could comfortably accommodate more people. The annual shindig just seemed to grow bigger each year. They’d cleared the floor of desks and pulled together some makeshift seating areas. Samantha had handled the majority of the food. Hunter and Brooklyn had worked together on the decorations, and Mallory had compiled a guest list from their combined friends and sent out the invites.

  “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” played loudly from built-in speakers as the awesome hors d’oeuvres Sam had cooked, ordered, and plated were consumed in large quantities to rave reviews.

  “Where do you get these?” a girl asked Sam, holding up a round piece of chocolate.

  Sam glanced up from the fruitcake she was slicing, though her hips never stopped sashaying to the music. “Oh, those are truffles from this cute little bakery I visited in Illinois. Have you ever tasted anything more amazing?” The girl shook her head in awe through her next bite. “They’re called Mollydollys, and you can order them online from the bakery’s website. I’ll write down the information for you if you want.”

  “Definitely,” the girl said. “Because I’d sell my five-year-old for a box of these things.”

  “Right?”

  As Sam scurried off, Hunter took her place and bumped Brooklyn’s hip with her own. “You don’t look like Good-Time-Brooklyn, and she happens to be my favorite. How do we get her here? Does someone need some mistletoe to get the party started? Because I could find you some.”

  Brooklyn sent her friend an easy smile. “Not necessary. I’m taking a laid-back approach to the party this year. Laid-Back-Brooklyn, an interested observer.”

  “Not in the Christmas spirit?”

  “I’m working on it.” Something was missing, and she knew exactly what it was. Who it was. She was just going to have to wait for enough time to go by—that was all.

  “Can I just say that these people love Christmas,” Mallory said, emerging from a group a few feet away. “And the old Christmas cocktail. Miniature candy cane?” She held up the small offering to Brooklyn.

  “I’m good,” Brooklyn said. She turned in time to see Hunter communicating something silently to Mallory, who, when she swiveled to look, seemed to be shaking her head subtly.

  “Okay, superspies. What am I missing?”

  Mallory’s eyes widened slightly. “Hunter was trying to hit on the woman in the corner, but she’s taken. Can you believe that? I’ve told her ten times already.”

  Brooklyn squinted at the extra-older woman in the corner—and she did mean extra. “Mrs. Mayo from 2B? Wow. I didn’t know she was your typ
e, Hunter.”

  Hunter stared at Mallory blandly. “I’m branching out.”

  Interesting, Brooklyn thought, and straightened. “Well, you two have fun. Off to mingle like the hard-core partier I am,” and with that she left her two entirely weird friends. She located Sam at one of the food tables, refreshing the sugar cookies. She picked up a stalk of broccoli and examined it. “Nobody ever eats the vegetables. So what’s the point?”

  Sam tossed her a glance. “Vegetables make us classy.”

  “They do?”

  “Proven fact. Without the tray of untouched vegetables, we’re just a bunch of animals.”

  “I feel bad for the veggies, almost like—” But the words died in her throat. She blinked to clear her vision, but it did no good. Jessica was still standing in front of the door, taking off her coat, looking drop-dead beautiful. So against rule number one that it wasn’t even funny. She wore dark blue jeans and a black cashmere sweater. And at the sight of her, Brooklyn’s heart began to kick right on cue. Sam must have followed her gaze.

  “Whoa. She looks nice.”

  “I don’t understand.” She turned to Sam. “Did you invite Jess?”

  She held up her hands. “Not guilty.” And then came the very telling double blink. “But maybe talk to Mallory.”

  Brooklyn blew out a breath. “I can’t believe she did this. She should have talked to me first.” She had an urgent need to rearrange the broccoli so that all the stems faced inward. But in between arranging, she stole glances at Jessica, who’d been handed a glass of wine by that crazy girl Serena who lived down the hall and drooled over Hunter whenever she came over.

  It was whatever.

  Oh, look. The celery should probably go from green to greener. She could take care of that. Who was Serena introducing Jessica to now? What were they laughing about? A twinge of irritation shot through her. Too many carrots in the carrot compartment. Some of these should definitely go on another tray. She’d find one in the kitchen. She also found Mallory there.

  “You invited Jessica to the Christmas party? Isn’t that something you might have checked with me about first?”