Without You: A Friends-to-Lovers Small Town Romance

by Jennifer Van Wyk

  “I gathered that.” She squeezes my fingers. “I think about you, too.”

  “Do you?”

  “I do. And yes, I’d love to do all the things despite our busy schedules.”

  Relief washes over me because for as much as we’ve tiptoed around it, she’s never just come out and said the words that I needed to hear. “Maybe this new living situation will work out then.”

  “Is that why you wanted me to live above your garage? For an easy booty call?” she asks, and I can’t tell if she’s serious or not. And because I can’t tell, my next words come out carefully. If I’ve offended her, I don’t want to make it worse and I’m definitely not okay with her thinking that’s all I want.

  “Do you really think that’s why I offered up my apartment?”

  “Well, you’ve talked a lot about the things you want to do with me.”

  She was serious. Or, at the very least, partially serious. That niggle of doubt is obviously there. “And that holds true. But that’s not why I offered it. You need a place to live. I have a place you can live. I also want us to go on dates and learn more about each other. Yes, I want to explore the attraction between us, of course I do, but don’t think for a second that’s all I want.”

  Her shoulders drop. “I’m sorry for doubting you.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “When do you want me to stop over to look at the apartment?”

  “Tonight okay?”

  She nods. “It’s perfect.”

  “Good.” I lean down and kiss her on the cheek because I can’t help myself then murmur, “I’ll text you the address. I’ll make us some dinner, too. No fighting me on that.”

  “Okay,” she whispers.

  “Okay,” I whisper in return then kiss her on the temple and get in my pickup before I decide against what’s right and continue to be the respectful man that I am and instead make out with her for everyone to see. Right here on the side of the street in the morning while everyone in Benton is going to work and dropping their kids off at school.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” I say through my now rolled-down window.

  “You will.”

  By the time I’ve arrived at the shop, my smile is still planted on my face and stays there for the rest of the day.

  Chapter Seven

  Katie

  “It’s perfect.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It is.” I turn to face Brody who’s leaning against the counter in my — yes, my — kitchen. The apartment he has above his garage is exactly what I need and want. Aside from not having a bathtub to soak in, it has everything. Even the furniture is great. Comfortable and clean, neutral enough that I can decorate to add in my own touch and not be restricted.

  “So you’ll take it?”

  “Absolutely. I can’t believe you only want two hundred fifty dollars a month for rent for this place. It’s actually pretty big.”

  He shrugs one shoulder. “It’s still an apartment above a garage. It’s built pretty solid, but you’ll still hear me pull in and park my truck.”

  I wave him off. “That’s not a big deal. It won’t bother me.”

  He pulls out a rental agreement from his back pocket that’s been folded in half the long way and puts it on the kitchen table. I read through it and sign at the bottom. He does the same. There’s nothing about first and last month’s rent. No deposit. It’s a steal. Quite literally.

  “I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

  “Nah. This is the same contract I gave to the guy who lived here before you.”

  “So I’m nothing special, huh?”

  “Nope. Not a bit,” he says, his eyes twinkling.

  My stomach growls, embarrassingly loudly, in fact, and he chuckles.

  “Time to eat?”

  “Sounds that way, doesn’t it?”

  “It sure does. I have a couple of steaks marinating. That work for you?”

  “Oh, I didn’t tell you I’m a vegetarian?”

  “Oh. You are?” he asks, barely covering his disappointment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I do have baked potatoes and Caesar salad, too. Oh, do you eat Caesar dressing? It has anchovies, right? And eggs?”

  My lip twitches as he carries on. “I do eat Caesar dressing.”

  He blows out a breath. “Oh, good. I think I have some beans maybe. Or peanut butter? Do you need protein?”

  “Yeah. Protein is always good.”

  “Okay, so…”

  “How about if I just eat a steak since I was just joking anyway?”

  “Are you joking right now? I felt like such an asshole!”

  Laughing hard, I admit, “Yeah, I was completely joking around with you. Of course I’m not a vegetarian.”

  He shakes his head and says, “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with it. I just hadn’t pegged you as not eating meat.”

  “Now I kind of wish that I was so that I could have surprised you.”

  “You’ll surprise me one day, I’m sure.”

  “One can only hope. Now, you told me you’re going to grill me a perfect steak.”

  “You’re correct, I did. Before we head down to my place, here are your keys. You’re welcome to move your stuff in whenever it works for you.”

  “Most of it is still boxed up so it won’t be too hard. We’d already put the furniture in a storage pod and since I don’t need that, it’ll go quickly.”

  “I can help,” he tells me as we go down the stairs that leads to the apartment. “I’ll call Johnny and Chad, too.”

  Guiding me to his back door, he reaches around me to twist the knob, hand on my lower back.

  “Honestly, Brody, y’all don’t have to do that.”

  Entering through the door, we walk into the kitchen. The ugliest kitchen I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s so ugly, in fact, that it halts me in my steps. Brody looks over at me with a knowing grin. “What’s wrong?”

  “Noth… nothing.”

  Leaning down, so close I can feel his chest against my back, his lips graze my ear and he says, “Mm hmm. You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

  I resist the urge to lean against him. “Nothing’s wrong. What would be wrong?”

  The kitchen. That’s what’s wrong. The appliances are pea green. With the exception of the microwave which is technically white but has yellowed over time. The linoleum is chipped, cracked, and dingy. It appears it was white with pale blue flowers in the corner at one point in time, but now it’s just… not. The cupboards are metal. And the countertops? Well, they’ve definitely seen better days. I’m not even sure if it’s sanitary to be standing in here right now.

  Though, to be fair, it doesn’t feel dirty so much as just… blech.

  He moves about the hideous kitchen as if nothing is wrong. Like I claimed. However, he knows. There’s no way he doesn’t.

  “Love what you’ve done with the place,” I say, turning to him with wide eyes. He’s right. I’m a terrible liar. But I don’t want to offend him, either.

  “Do ya now?”

  He looks at me over his shoulder as he reaches a hand into the refrigerator that’s likely one of the first to ever be invented and pulls out a container of steaks.

  “Feel free to walk around, see the rest of the house. I’ll just get the potatoes started.”

  I hesitate because I’m not sure what to expect. The apartment is updated nicely. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s modern and definitely not from the sixties.

  “Go on. My house won’t bite.” He grins and winks like he does and my stomach flutters like it always does whenever he winks at me.

  I take one more look around the kitchen and then turn, walking forward and through the open doorway.

  I stop short again.

  I look back and see Brody grinning at the counter as he wraps foil around two potatoes.

  The living room is fantastic. It’s masculine and sexy and exactly how I pictured Brody’s living room to look. A large deep chocolate brown leather couch w
ith brass buttons on the arms. Two oversized chairs with matching ottomans on either side of the couch, simple wooden end tables stained in a walnut color beside the chairs on the couch side, all facing a stone wall with a fireplace, a large TV hanging above the fireplace.

  Hanging on the wall behind the couch is a large black and white canvas photo of a man. I step closer and look a little harder and realize it’s a picture of Johnny Cash.

  I study it for a few moments then move through the rest of the space. It’s average size and he has it decorated very simple. There’s a wall with some family pictures, also in black and white. One that makes me smile is of him with his parents when he was probably about eight years old. He looks like a mess, missing a couple teeth and dirty, proudly holding a fish in the air. His mom’s expression is hilarious — a cross between happy and disgusted — but his dad is smiling big, looking down at Brody rather than at the camera, his hand on his shoulder.

  There are a few other pictures of people I don’t recognize. One of Brody, Johnny, and Chad together. Their arms around each other’s shoulders, ball caps on and looking every bit the country small town boys that they are.

  Once I’ve inspected the living room as best as I can, I move down the hallway and peek in the bathroom. It’s also nicely done and updated. Simple and understated.

  Across from the bathroom is what looks like a spare bedroom. I assume this because in the small room is a bed, nightstand, weight set, and rowing machine.

  The wooden floor is stained, no surprise here, dark, and the comforter is bright white and navy blue stripes. Simple. Stylish. Classic.

  I haven’t even made my way through the rest of the house and I am questioning his kitchen — more so than I already was, that is. It doesn’t fall in line with anything else I’m seeing and as hideous as it is — sorry, but it’s true — I would think he would have fixed it up right after he moved in here. If not before.

  Another room is across the hall from the spare bedroom, this one clearly an office. And a very neat and tidy office, at that. There’s a laptop on the desk, lid closed. A black container with a handful of pens sitting next to it. There are a few pictures in frames on a credenza behind his desk. Of course I look closer. And of course, they’re of his own vehicles. Or… maybe just the vehicles he’s made all fancy like he does? I’m not sure, but they’re incredible. I pick up a picture of a deep burgundy pickup that I’m confident did not look the way it does here when it came off the factory line.

  “Wow,” I whisper to myself. “He’s definitely talented.”

  Throughout my inspection of Brody’s house, there’s one thing that’s consistent. The masculine, woodsy, smoky scent. It’s permeated the walls, it seems. It’s so perfectly Brody it causes a sigh to escape me after I inhale deeply.

  Leaving the office, I walk into the last room on the main floor. I noticed a staircase leading to a basement earlier, too, and assume that’s where his laundry room is because I haven’t spotted that yet.

  And this room.

  This, is his master bedroom.

  Where he sleeps at night.

  And it’s perfect.

  Decorated in blues and grays, his bed is enormous and so inviting I want to sprawl out on it. He made his bed today, even though it would not pass an inspection in the military.

  The dark wooden dresser appears to be sturdy and well-made. The nightstands on both sides of his bed match the dresser but he doesn’t have a headboard. It looks like his mattress is just on a platform of some kind.

  “Oh my,” I whisper when noticing what’s on his nightstand. “He reads.”

  And not just car magazines. A novel. An actual, thick, heavy, hardback novel. I have no idea why that’s so sexy to me but dang, it is. Maybe it’s the glasses that are folded neatly and set next to the book.

  I trail a finger over the raised letters on the slick cover then pick it up. Texas Outlaw by James Patterson.

  He likes suspense novels that are a little country, maybe.

  I turn it over and read the back and am not surprised in the least that, by the placement of his bookmark, he is loving it. Even though I’m a little surprised to see that he’s a reader, the type of book that he seems to gravitate toward isn’t part of the shock. Small town. Country singer. Lawman. Mystery.

  I return the book to where I found it and snoop a bit more. His bathroom. It’s… magazine worthy. How in the heck does he have a kitchen that looks like it does when the rest of the house is pretty much a walking HGTV renovation show advertisement?

  Enormous rectangle bathtub in the corner that looks large enough to fit at least two grown adults. That thought alone makes me warm and tingly at the same time irritated because it makes me wonder who has been lucky enough to sit in the bathtub with him. The shower, also big enough for two, is tiled on three sides with two shower heads positioned in a way that it would rain down water on whoever is standing below them. I notice only a single bottle of two-in-one shampoo and conditioner, a bottle of generic brand body wash, and one body puff. Generic brand or not, whatever Brody’s washing his body with makes him smell amazing.

  I turn around when I hear a quiet mewl and see a dark gray and black kitten sitting on the floor, licking her… well, private area. Completely unashamed. I suppose it could be a male kitten, too. I don’t really know. What I do know, is that it’s adorable. Its spotting resembles that of a leopard’s, and her eyes are bright blue.

  “Well, hello,” I coo, slowly lowering so I’m on one knee in front of the little darling. “Aren’t you just the cutest thing there ever was?”

  She looks at me as though trying to figure out whether or not to trust me so I extend a hand and let her sniff my fingers. Taking a chance, I reach out and lift her into my arms, tucking her close to my chest as I scratch around her ears. She immediately begins purring and turns her tiny little head into my ministrations. One ear twitches and the purring deepens.

  “Okay. You’re precious. Will Brody notice if I steal you?”

  “Yes, Brody would notice.”

  I gasp and look up as I stand quickly, the adorable little kitten jumping out of my arms and darting to Brody’s feet. He bends down and picks her up as if he’s saving her from the dangerous kitten-napper. And then she nestles into his arms, crawling up his chest to rub her body against his.

  Never in my life have I felt jealousy with another being as much as I do right now with that kitten. Because I get her. A cat. I’m jealous of a cat.

  I feel kinship with a cat because she’s rubbing along Brody’s no doubt solid and muscly chest and damn it, I understand why she’s dropped me for him.

  He smiles down at her and rubs his face on hers.

  “This is Sabrina.”

  No.

  It is not.

  He didn’t name his kitten after a teenage witch.

  Or name his darling cat something as precious as Sabrina. He’s a manly man. Sabrina seems so…

  “Are you serious?”

  He looks up at me with a question in his eyes. “Yes. Why?”

  “It’s just…” Laughter bubbles up out of my chest and I quickly cover my mouth with my hand. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

  “Oh, it’s something. What are you laughing at?”

  “Sabrina. The name is cute. Charming, even.”

  “Okay? And that’s a bad thing?”

  “Nope.” Not even going to touch this. If he’s happy with the name he gave his kitten, who am I to judge.

  This man is definitely a mystery. Ugly kitchen and all. I have a feeling, if he’ll allow me, I’ll have a great time unfolding the clues that make up Brody Redding.

  Taking the few steps to stand in front of him, I reach out and pet the little fur ball.

  “Sabrina,” I murmur and look up into Brody’s eyes. He’s watching me intently, and if the expression on his face is anything to go by, he likes something that’s happening.

  I look around and my eyes land on his bed. The very one we’re standing next
to. Quite closely, I might add. It makes my mouth go dry and when my eyes move back to connect with his, I see the heat there that I wondered if I was imagining earlier.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  What do I think? I think he’s sexier now than he was when I first laid eyes on him when we were sixteen years old and that’s saying a lot because I had a lot of fantasies about Brody when I was younger. I also think his house is amazing, sans the kitchen, obviously. And he has an adorable kitten and he reads and I can’t express deeply enough how badly I hope that he wants me as much as I want him. At the same time, I’m afraid I’m jumping ahead about ten steps because we just got reacquainted. He’s now my landlord, and I was recently a bridesmaid in his ex-girlfriend’s wedding. Oh! And let’s not forget that I’m about to go back to school and he’s getting ready to begin the biggest change in his career, and will probably be meeting a ton of people that I have no way of competing with. If that isn’t a lot to think about, I don’t know what is. Obviously, I’m not a crazy person so I don’t say any of this out loud. Instead, I cock my head to the side and ask, “About?”

  “The house.”

  “Oh! Right. It’s great.”

  “Yeah?”

  “For sure. You’ve done a great job with it.”

  He sets the kitten down and she moves to a tiny bed in the corner that I somehow missed during my earlier inspection. Sabrina turns around a few times and paws at her bed then curls up and lies down.

  “You like it, huh?”

  “I do.”

  “All of it?” he asks, a twinkle in his eye and teasing glint to the tone of his voice.

  I give him an annoyed look because I don’t want to lie to him but I absolutely don’t want to offend him and call him out on having one of the ugliest kitchens I’ve ever seen in my life. In fact, it would have been ugly in the 60s. It’s definitely not gotten better over time and none of it is appealing in a vintage way.