In the Long Run

by Haley Cass

  Brooke shot her a dour look, “Yeah, because you can find your way around the world in cities you can’t speak a word of language in, but here? You just might get lost.”

  But, Taylor noted with a feeling of victory, she didn’t stop walking alongside her, arms brushing every so often and giving Taylor that little zing.

  “I’m glad you understand.” They walked in a companionable silence for a few moments, and she enjoyed the sounds of laughter and music from the games booths, before she slid her gaze to Brooke, the niggling thought on her mind. “So, what do you think?”

  “About you getting lost and needing me to walk you back to the booth? I think it’s insane.” Brooke shot her a look.

  Taylor’s mouth slid into a grin as she thought and yet, you’re still walking with me. “I meant, that I’m here. You’re here. We have the same social circle –”

  Brooke snorted in laughter, cutting her off. “Your brother and sister count as the same social circle?”

  “Well, what else would you call it?” She shot back, arching an eyebrow, a victorious smirk taking over when Brooke only narrowed her eyes. “Exactly. So. How about it? You said we weren’t friends because we didn’t know where each other was in the world. Well, now we know.”

  “I didn’t realize you’d thought about that,” Brooke muttered, shooting her a curious glance, before she pointed out. “And you always knew where I was.”

  Taylor blinked a few times, because, well, she hadn’t realized she had either. And she hadn’t, consciously, thought about it. But yeah, she supposed it did bother her. That Brooke didn’t think of her like that. As someone she could turn to, if the timing and the universes aligned for them to be in the same place.

  “I guess I have.” She tilted her head, gaze searching Brooke’s. “But I’m here, now. So, how about it?”

  Brooke heaved a sigh, drawing a hand through her hair, that little line appearing between her eyebrows as she thought. “Fine. Whatever. If it means that much to you.”

  Brightening, Taylor opened her mouth to answer before Brooke shot her arm out in front of her waist, both of them coming to a halt to avoid a collision with a kid, who zipped by them.

  He was shouting in excitement, holding up one of the stuffed animal prizes at his parents, as he ran. Taylor craned neck to see which booth, and when she did, a smile rooted in recognition took over.

  A game where the player had to give two tickets in exchange for a toy slingshot and three rubber balls, and then they had to knock down a certain amount of bottles to win the prize.

  Brooke had also turned to look, before she looked back at Taylor, an attractive defiance bright in her eyes. The mutinous heat in her voice didn’t disappoint. “That stupid game is rigged.”

  Taylor giggled at the exact memory Brooke had channeled. “You’re still going to die on that hill?”

  “It is!”

  “I know you thought so. I remember the Fall Fest when you were what, nine?” She narrowed her eyes in thought before letting it go. “And you got so pissed and all… well, you were never someone who pouted when you didn’t get your way. But you were so determined to win and you got more and more stubborn about winning that game. No other game mattered.” She remembered because she’d been in charge of keeping an eye on Brooke and Ben that night, and Brooke spent every last dime of the money she’d had on her at that booth.

  She remembered feeling both exasperated with that stubbornness and impressed.

  “And I still didn’t win!” Brooke gestured wildly in the direction of the booth. “It was totally rigged; there was no way I couldn’t knock them down. I saved for weeks so I could buy enough tickets to win that game and get that stuffed monkey.”

  “That’s because you don’t have the best aim in the world, not because it’s rigged.” Taylor corrected, still unable to keep a straight face, as they started walking again.

  Brooke shot her a dark, incredulous look. “And you have the best aim in the world?”

  Taylor flattened her lips in an attempt to flatten her smile. “I did once meet Pedro Martinez.”

  “After I lost, you won! After only, like, a minute,” Brooke muttered, eyes narrowing at the thought, as if she were still incensed by the injustice of Taylor’s – perceived – victorious tussle with the slingshot game.

  Taylor eyed Brooke, before slowing her gait and waiting for Brooke to do so as well before she leaned in. She lifted her hand without a second thought to softly slide Brooke’s hair out of the way, to whisper, “That’s because I gave the guy behind the counter all the money my dad gave me for tickets to pay him for the stuffed monkey.”

  She didn’t bother to attempt to hide her grin as she pulled back, the utter delight coursing through her as the thirty-year-long kept secret was revealed. Brooke’s eyebrows scrunched up taking in the words, and her mouth fell open in surprise. Then that scowling line appeared. Exactly as expected.

  “It always drove me fucking insane that you were able to win so easily after I tried for so long!”

  Taylor’s laugh bubbled out of her as she gave Brooke a warm look; as if younger Brooke had been hard to read. “I know.”

  “Then why’d you say that you won?!” The outrage was present in Brooke’s tone.

  “I didn’t; you assumed I won the game and I thought it was so cute and funny when you got all huffy.” Taylor explained as she tracked her gaze over Brooke’s face, taking in the fiery look in her eyes. “Little you was downright adorable when you got all huffy like that.”

  It wasn’t so different than adult Brooke looking all full of indignation, either. But Taylor held that comment back.

  “You knew I thought it, though,” Brooke muttered darkly.

  “I did,” she had no problem admitting.

  “Well. Thanks.” Brooke huffed out a breath after a long beat. “For spending your money for the festival on me.” She eyed Taylor curiously as they walked. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I know. And you thanked me then, too.” She reminded her, and – it was so strange, this moment of nostalgia. Taylor didn’t often feel nostalgic. Definitely not over random Faircombe events.

  She went with it, anyway.

  She remembered it clearly, even though it had been decades ago. The stilted way nine-year-old Brooke had kicked her shoe at the dirt and thanked her. As if she couldn’t decide if she was more shy over Taylor gifting her the stuffed animal or more annoyed that Taylor “won” the game. Likely an even mix of both.

  “You were generally very well-mannered, even when annoyed.” She allowed. “Even if I could tell you didn’t want to be. So maybe that ruins the whole point of being well-mannered…” she mused, before shrugging.

  “Fine, now I’m thanking you without being annoyed.”

  “You sure about that?” She teased.

  Brooke just shook her head, blowing out a breath through pursed lips, her forehead still crinkled in thought, as if she were still taking in the mystery of the stuffed monkey debacle.

  They only walked a few more steps before Brooke cleared her throat and asked, “So… how’s your list going?”

  Taylor’s mind had still been on past Faircombe Fall Festivals, and she blinked slowly as she took in the question. “My list?”

  “Your list,” Brooke repeated, “Of the Gems of the American South.” She tilted her head in a hellooo? sort of way, as if she weren’t being the confusing one here. “You said that’s why you were here.” Suspicion laced her words as she stared up at Taylor.

  Taylor barely was able to stop herself from slapping her hand to her forehead at the reminder. Because – holy shit, she didn’t even remember that.

  She hadn’t known what the hell to say at dinner when asked about why she’d be staying in Faircombe. But Savannah was anxious and didn’t want people to know, so… she’d just gone with the first thing on her mind. Really, she should thank Marjorie Lyle for the inspiration. Taylor had found her card, as well as two others she’d been given at the co
nference, still tucked into her bag when she’d flown into Faircombe. Those towns had been on her mind, thankfully, leading her to having an answer.

  “Right! My list,” she repeated, letting the word fall from her lips slowly, tasting it as she pondered.

  The list. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she thought about it; it would be hard to feel restless when working on a project. Besides, it had been a while since she’d done a feature set in the U.S. – and even longer since she’d done anything in the South.

  Yeah. This could actually be something really good.

  Her mind immediately shifted into the place it went for her projects; she pictured a map to reference, but honestly, her experiences in traveling through the American South were almost shamefully limited to her youth.

  She –

  “So?” Brooke prompted.

  “It’s – I actually have a lot more to do for it,” she skirted the truth. Well, it was the truth. As in, all of the work. But she could start by checking out the places she had from the conference.

  Brooke’s eyes narrowed at her and she couldn’t quite read everything in that look. But some of that suspicion that she didn’t quite totally understand was mixed with an annoyance. An annoyance that was explained when Brooke dubiously asked, “You came all the way here for a project you haven’t even planned out?”

  That incredible intensity that those eyes held, Taylor thought, as she stared back. She loved this look.

  It was entirely too easy to think of how much impossibly more intense Brooke had stared at her the night in San Diego. Taylor let herself fall into that thought for a few seconds because… why shouldn’t she?

  “What’s with that look?” Brooke asked, the edge in her voice moments ago faded into confusion.

  Taylor broke the stare, well aware she’d just been enjoying the moment and knowing Brooke had seen it. “No look being given here, you must be mistaken.”

  Because she was one hundred percent certain that if she told Brooke that the way she looked at Taylor when she was kind of exasperated, bordering on irritation reminded Taylor somewhat of the way Brooke looked at her while she’d fucked her, Brooke might actually explode.

  The thought only made her grin wider, as Savannah’s booth with a large, plastic cookie sculpture on top came into view.

  Brooke crossed her arms over her ample chest as she heaved a sigh, and Taylor only let her gaze linger for a few seconds. Commendable, really. Because… god, Brooke had a glorious chest.

  “Brooke, I hate to break it to you. But I don’t think this town is big enough for the both of us. You know, we’re at the first town event since I’m back and where do we end up…?” She looked slowly, deliberately between them.

  Because the thing was, she really was glad she’d run into Brooke tonight. She knew Brooke was one of the only parts of Faircombe that never fell into monotony, and this only confirmed it.

  But she was also right. Avoidance was difficult in Faircombe, and by the look on Brooke’s face, she knew Taylor was right.

  “You really are so…” Brooke trailed off, shaking her head as she narrowed her eyes in contemplation.

  “Charming? Funny? Irresistible?” She supplied, amused.

  “I’m not going to finish my sentence out of deference to the fact that children are running around,” Brooke retorted, her voice dry.

  It was only when Savannah called out, “Hey, you found Brooke!” that Taylor realized they’d actually arrived back at the booth.

  Savannah was grinning widely at them, while Ben regarded them with a look of confusion. “When did you two start hanging out?”

  “Don’t worry, Brooke already knows how much cooler than you I am, and she has still chosen to be your friend,” she joked, catching her brother’s eye roll as he took off the apron he’d donned behind the counter.

  “Don’t you look like a twin set of Betty Crockers back there,” Brooke shot to Ben, giving both him and Savannah a wide smile.

  It was a different one from the one Taylor usually got. Easier, she thought, there were no undertones that lived beneath the surface of it. Uncomplicated.

  “Ha-ha,” Ben mock-laughed, actual laughter brightening his gaze. “You want to go grab our annual Fall Fest dinner?”

  Which meant hotdogs, Taylor knew.

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t act like that was a question.” Brooke retorted.

  “Thank you for my safe escort through a rough area.” Taylor winked at Brooke, squeezing her arm in goodbye as she and Ben were about to swap places.

  Brooke’s eyes rolled as she reached forward and accepted the cookie Savannah handed her. “Yeah, your life was really on the line.”

  “Don’t I know it. Good thing I know you’re always around, guarding these mean streets during your day job.” She batted her eyelashes. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around after all.”

  “Why don’t you just focus on your own job?” Brooke’s eyes narrowed but her tone only had the barest bite to it. Just enough to make Taylor smile.

  “Don’t worry about that; it’ll be elementary, my dear Watson.”

  Brooke narrowed her eyes in a look as she turned to walk away, but Taylor caught how her lips quirked up in the smile that she definitely didn’t want Taylor to see.

  It wasn’t the easy, wide, uncomplicated smile Ben and Savannah got, no. However, there was something about the smile she got – where Brooke didn’t want to smile but just couldn’t stop herself from letting it take over, full of a multitude of undertones – that Taylor preferred.

  Chapter Seven

  Not to be rude, but if this goes on for much longer, I’m going to go INSANE.

  Marisa MacDonald, Brooke’s assistant, slid her notebook a few inches over for Brooke to see the note she’d written under the actual notes she’d taken at the city council meeting.

  And before you comment on the fact that I should be more professional because it’s work hours – it’s officially after five!

  She snorted quietly at the addendum, because she was going to say that. Even if there was no bite behind it. Marisa had been her assistant for seven years, moving with Brooke from when she’d been the Chief Financial Officer of Faircombe over with her when she’d become City Manager.

  She was ten years Brooke’s junior, and had come into her interview at twenty-three with her eyes steely and determined as she’d made a case for herself. She’d walked right into Brooke’s office one afternoon, after her previous assistant had initially taken Marisa out of the running to be her replacement for not having had a high school diploma, let alone a college degree, and sat in the chair opposite her desk, back ramrod straight.

  “All right, I know I don’t have a degree. But I had my son when I was sixteen and my mama kicked me out. I’ve been working two jobs ever since and worked my way up into assistant manager at both of them. I got my own apartment, my own car, I just started night classes to get my diploma, and I’m raising my boy all on my own without being late a single day. If you think I’ve done all of this without being the most organized person you’ve seen for this position, then with all due respect, Ms. Watson, you’re wrong. I know you have a reputation for being a stickler for the rules. But if you take a chance with me, I promise it won’t feel like taking a chance because you’ll never find a better assistant.”

  Brooke wasn’t a softie by any definition of the word. She wasn’t.

  But the fire in her words, coupled with the desperately-trying-to-be-hidden vulnerability hidden under them got to her. She’d hired Marisa on a month trial basis, and by the end of the first week, she knew she’d struck gold.

  And the thing was, if this meeting continued to go on for much longer, Brooke was also going to go insane.

  Her temples were pounding and her shoulders ached with the tension she’d been holding in them. This meeting convened just after lunch, almost four hours ago. A lunch Brooke hadn’t even been able to eat, because she’d been too busy getting ready for the meetin
g.

  It had gone fine in the beginning, discussing their overall docket for the final quarter of the year. Until an hour ago, when she’d had to open the discussion of what to do with the southeast lot, and had given the review of the proposals.

  Then, just as she’d predicted, all hell broke loose with the bickering. And the most annoying thing about her employment being determined by council vote? She constantly had to do her best to appease as many as she could.

  Brooke heaved a sigh, pounding her palm on the table. Three times, before it was quiet enough for her to grit out, “Enough.”

  Finally, all seven sets of eyes turned to her, all in various states of agitation.

  “You’ve had more than the allotted meeting time to review and debate the potential decisions for the southeast lot. And while it’s not yet build-ready, you will have to make the final choice right at the beginning of the new year. This gives us less than three months to really think this over to decide what’s best for Faircombe, before you’ll cast your final votes.” She arched her eyebrows at everyone, trying to make sure that was the sentiment they took from this.

  Everyone but Kevin Leland, that was. Because she knew it would be fruitless.

  “What is it that you think we should do, Brooke?” Maisy Peterson asked from the other side of the large conference table.

  “She doesn’t even get a vote, so what does it matter?” Kevin’s mutinous gaze held her own.

  Brooke set her jaw and breathed through the irritation, even though it was still clear and present in her veins and in her voice. “Seeing as though it’s my job to advise you, I guess that’s why it matters.” She cleared her throat before he said anything back, looking down at the proposals in front of her. “I think the proposal we’ve gotten that could have the biggest positive impact on our town is Minten University.”

  Anticipating Kevin’s outburst, she powered on before he could. “Minten is one of the biggest schools in our area, as well as one of the top ranked public colleges in the South. Working with them to build a satellite campus here in Faircombe will boost our tourism by thousands every year, it’ll help us continue our predicted growth with young professionals, and they’re willing to work in conjunction with Faircombe High to set up financial packages for our students who otherwise wouldn’t be able to afford to attend if they get in.”