In the Long Run

by Haley Cass

  Scratch that – especially because of how annoyingly charming it was when Taylor had winked at her like that.

  The beginning of November arriving meant that it was review week, and Brooke enjoyed doing the budget reviews for each of the city’s departments. The numbers spoke to her, and she enjoyed getting her hands on them. Of course, doing the meetings afterwards with each department head – not a favorite thing.

  Only, by noon on Monday, she found herself damningly distracted. And not for the first time that day, either, which was not the norm for her. Brooke had excellent focus, especially on work. Extra especially, on work she enjoyed doing.

  All her mind kept circling back to was this list. Maybe that’s where her focus had gone. It had been stolen from the budget reports because Taylor’s list was occupying the space, there.

  Because, also, what the hell had she been thinking, opening up about her mom like that? About that moment between her and Ben Sr., a moment that had sat with her, that had changed her life?

  She didn’t discuss that with anyone. Not even Ben.

  And she hadn’t meant to share it with Taylor, either. It hadn’t been anywhere near what she’d had listed on her clipboard to discuss that day.

  She’d made a plan; Brooke was great at making plans. She’d detailed exactly where she was going to show Taylor, the intricate loop around the city, that would lead them right into Town Square and to Thistle Drive in the end. And even though she knew all of the facts about Faircombe off of the top of her head, she’d sat in bed with Spoon and Dolly laying at her feet – Gremlin running around the house like a bat out of hell – for hours the night before, making sure she didn’t forget a thing.

  If Faircombe had a shot of getting on the list, she wasn’t going to miss a step. She’d even done research, compounding the things she already knew, to make sure. No matter how ludicrous it felt, giving a “tour” to someone who knew the town just as Brooke did.

  And of course, in a matter of minutes once Taylor had spoken to her with her big brown eyes all soft and searching, that she wanted Brooke’s personal take on Faircombe, that plan had gone to crap.

  As so many plans seemed to do, when Taylor was involved.

  Instead of the tour wrapping up, neat and tidy and informative, she’d wound up taking Taylor to the place she went to unwind at the end of a long week – where she went to unwind alone – because…

  Because she did understand what Taylor wanted that afternoon. To see Faircombe the way Brooke saw it, to be able to understand why Brooke loved it.

  The irritating thing was, that Brooke wanted it, too. Especially after Taylor had helped out at the food drive, her normal relaxed attitude firmly in place, until they’d run into Mrs. Andrews at the very end.

  She wanted Taylor to be able to understand why their home meant so much to her.

  Which was – fine. Brooke could admit that to herself in the light of day. She believed in this place. She believed in the people. She believed that if just about anyone gave it a shot… well, how could they resist it?

  What she hated to admit, was that she wanted Taylor, not just anyone but Taylor in specific, to believe in Faircombe the way she did.

  She just had that way – that Taylor way – of getting to Brooke.

  She couldn’t get the look in those big, dark eyes out of her mind, the look Taylor had given her up at Turner’s Ridge Saturday night. Soft. Understanding. Sweet. Just – a whole mix of things she didn’t want Taylor to be looking at her with.

  She’d given that same look to Brooke again last night at Sunday dinner, which Brooke had aptly turned away from, especially with the way it made her stomach feel all… not the way her stomach should feel from a look, like she was fourteen instead of forty.

  All of this, just for Faircombe to get on the potentials list!

  “Fuck me,” she muttered, frustrated with herself.

  Blowing out a deep breath, she stood from her chair and grabbed her blazer. She’d take a short – very short – lunch break, during which she may or may not run into Taylor because she may or may not know that Taylor spent much of her days at Savannah’s bakery, and set the record straight about those looks.

  As well as slip her the notes she’d taken down for the list. And then she could come back to work. Distraction free.

  Easy as that.

  “I’m going to grab something for lunch, you want the Monday usual?” she asked Marisa as she pulled the door to her office closed behind her.

  Marisa spun slowly in her chair to give Brooke a questioning glance. “It’s the first day of budget review week?”

  She stared at Marisa. “Was there a real question in there?”

  Her assistant tilted her head, giving Brooke a look as if she were insane. “But – I basically have to force you to go home and take care of your cats on budget review week.”

  “And you’ll likely still have to. I’m just going out to grab the scones, and I’ll be back in the office after.” And far more focused, she silently added, shifting on her feet with the ridiculous feeling in her stomach.

  Those big, soft, dark eyes.

  Ugh.

  Marisa’s look of shock turned to one of poorly put-on nonchalance, as she reached out to adjust her stapler. “Oh? But I always run out and grab our scones from the bakery on Mondays. I was planning to in about a half hour or so.”

  Mondays meant scones at Savannah’s Sweet Tooth – the most delicious scones Brooke could ever conceive of having, really. While just about everything Savannah baked was perfection, the scones were… Brooke knew she wouldn’t be able to find these anywhere else likely in the tri-state area.

  “Ah, so you’re not really concerned about me; you’re concerned that you won’t get to go see Savannah,” she surmised, more than grateful for an actual distraction from her thoughts, as she saw the tips of Marisa’s ears turn red. She huffed out a laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ll only pick up for myself. You can still go and get yours from her when I get back.”

  Marisa flipped her the middle finger as Brooke started backwards down the hall, already feeling remarkably lighter. “I could fire you for that.”

  “Yeah, right, and where would you find someone else who could deal with your anally retentive micro-managed organizing system?” Marisa shot back. A second beat by, Brooke continuing to walk down the hall as she heard Marisa call out, “But, for real, I’ll go pick up my own scones after you’re back!”

  She laughed as she left the building. Okay, yeah, she needed that.

  The walk to Savannah’s bakery took less than ten minutes, as it was on one of the side streets right off from town square. Brooke nodded to herself as she approached, pushing her hands deep into her pockets as she pushed open the door.

  Savannah saw her, first, as she stood behind the counter, her blonde hair swishing in its high ponytail as she gave Brooke an inquisitive smile. “Brooke! I wasn’t expecting you today? No Marisa?”

  She pushed her hands into her pockets and shrugged. “Well, I figure she doesn’t need to wait on me hand and foot today for once. Just came to get my own scones.”

  Savannah nodded slowly, her forehead crinkling in thought as she flicked her gaze over to the corner of the seating area. “Ah. Interesting…” she drew the word out for several beats. Long enough that Brooke narrowed her eyes, as Savannah looked back over to the corner of the store again.

  She couldn’t resist following Savannah’s gaze – to where Taylor sat.

  Just as Brooke may or may not have known.

  Soft, dark locks were scooped into a messy bun atop her head, a slouchy white cable knit sweater over light jeans completed the look that read… well, perfection without a care in the world.

  And her eyes were focused right on Brooke, her lips tugging into one of her soft smiles. With soft eyes to match.

  Clenching her jaw, she turned to Savannah. “I’m just here for a quick lunch break.”

  Blue eyes narrowed far too speculatively for her liking as
Savannah hummed, before her voice took on a far-too-light tone. There was no tone she had that Brooke didn’t know; she’d known Savannah since before she could talk. “Well, I’ll go grab your scones, then.”

  She waited until Savannah disappeared into the back before she took a deep breath and turned back to look at Taylor. Whose eyes and smile were still directed at her.

  “How are you getting scones? I’ve heard her tell multiple customers she’s out.”

  Brooke crossed her arms and walked closer; the bakery was typically fairly empty around lunch time – busy early in the morning and then again in the later afternoon just before it closed – but there was no reason to be shouting across the floor.

  Taylor shifted back in her chair as Brooke approached, in order to look up at her. The action made her sweater ride up just a bit. Just enough to see a sliver of tanned, toned stomach –

  Brooke quickly looked back up to Taylor’s eyes, which, she could tell, hadn’t missed a beat. Damn.

  “She keeps some set aside for me and Marisa since she knows we come for them during lunch. Perks of knowing the owner.” She rolled her eyes, fondly, at the phrase Savannah often used when she saved her goodies for Brooke to grab later in the day.

  Taylor’s eyes sparked with amusement. “I think the same thing about knowing the owner could be said for just about anyone in Faircombe, no?”

  “It’s not the same,” Brooke insisted, narrowing her eyes.

  It wasn’t the same, when she and Savannah were… well, friends, kind of. But also, family.

  And that gaze went soft, easily, the teasing glint shifting so quickly. “I know.”

  Stupid sharing time. Letting Taylor see more into her vulnerabilities than she should have, and…

  “Well, now that I have you here – or should I say you have me here?” Taylor slowly tilted her head as if working out the logistics, before she shrugged. “I think I’m narrowing down criteria for the list, and I wanted to run some categories by you, get some thoughts.”

  She took in the table for the first time, reminded of the similar situation when she’d seen Taylor in the kitchen the other week. That somehow, she only saw Taylor first, before taking in the whole of the area.

  And the whole of this area was… Brooke sucked in a breath, the need to be organized crashing through her as she stared down in abject horror.

  The tables in the bakery were small and round, designed for parties of two to share desserts. They were not designed for paperwork to be laid out on them or for any serious work to get done. Taylor had two tables pulled side-by-side, littered in different papers, her map spread out, but the top half was falling off of the edge of a table, and…

  What she meant to say was something along the lines of, “About the list – we are professionals and we are working on a business matter together, so stop looking at me like you want to hug me in one of those full-bodied, softly rocking hugs you are ridiculously good at giving, which I know you likely want to do.”

  But what came out was, “How in the hell do you get any work done like this?”

  She expected some… quip. Some flippant Taylor remark or joke, but what she got was a light chuckle as Taylor admitted, “Not very well.”

  Dark eyes left hers and looked over the documents, a clear look of strain weighing on her as she sighed over the state of what she was working on. A weighted look that was so – so not Taylor, and she didn’t like it.

  “The conference table in my office is at least five times the size of this set-up,” the words left her without thought.

  Taylor turned to look up at her, eyebrow arching in disbelief, even as a clearly pleased smile replaced that somewhat distressed look from moments ago. “You inviting me to work with you?”

  “No, I just…” She trailed off helplessly, rolling her eyes at herself as she crossed her arms. “I mean, you wanted to work there, right?”

  “Right. And you always give me just what I want,” she murmured, the incredulous humor lacing through her words not detracting at all from the way they slid heavily through Brooke.

  “Look, do you want to work there or not? I’m not using the conference table or anything on that side of my office, really, since I don’t really have any meetings this week. You can do this and I’ll do my budget reviews, and at the end of the day, we can –” she gestured to the papers on the table.

  And Taylor absolutely beamed up at her in a smile so crazily warm, Brooke wasn’t entirely certain that the sun hadn’t loaned Taylor a ray or two. How did she always do that?

  “I’ll be there. And I’ll even let you touch my research and organize it the way you clearly desperately, achingly want to.” Taylor’s voice rasped low and twisted Brooke’s stomach into knots.

  She scowled back at the unrepentant grin. “That won’t be necessary.”

  Savannah cleared her throat from behind them – fucking Christ, how long had she been there? Not that they’d said anything… inappropriate, but somehow almost everything Taylor said to her felt inappropriate.

  “Scones to go.” Savannah offered the bag on the counter, measuring eyes swinging back and forth between her and Taylor, amusement written all over her face. “Unless you’d rather have them for here?”

  “No. To go,” her voice was clipped as she backed away from Taylor and grabbed the bag and headed for the door.

  It was like she would never learn that nothing, when it came to Taylor, ever went according to plan.

  ***

  Shockingly, Brooke realized, Taylor was not an obtrusive office partner. She’d really thought, given Taylor’s love of talking and laughing and joking and whatnot, that would be what she was dealing with.

  She’d braced herself for it, dreading it, and ready to have to snap when her focus on her budget reviews would be broken.

  But no.

  She arrived Tuesday with coffees for the both of them, just after eleven.

  “I didn’t want to face morning Brooke unarmed.” She winked and slid the cup onto Brooke’s desk.

  “Ha-ha,” Brooke deadpanned, leaning back in her chair, stretching her back. She’d been in the office since seven, since she’d gotten a bit behind the day before. Well, she’d been able to focus a bit better in the afternoon, but still. The large coffee she’d brought from home was empty, and she reached for the cup. “And it’s barely morning, anymore.”

  Taylor shrugged, wiggling her eyebrows. “Technically, I think I have the win here. Ask any clock.”

  Brooke shook her head and refused to grin as she took a tentative sip, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

  Apparently not well-hidden, as Taylor laughed. “You’ve taken your coffee the same way since you were thirteen.” She sipped her own cup. “As the person who snuck you your first cup, I would know.”

  “Oh.” It was a pleasant surprise, an unexpected warmth that settled in her stomach at that, as she blinked up at Taylor. “Right.”

  “You don’t remember? You asked my parents for a cup when you’d come over for breakfast and they both gave you the spiel about stunting your growth or whatever, and –”

  “You waited until they left and you gave me a mug,” she finished, slowly spinning the cup on her desk. The memory had been forgotten but not lost, as so many were.

  At thirteen, she’d certainly felt like she was exhausted enough to be an adult. When she’d left her house early on a Saturday morning, after having stayed up most of the night listening to her parents fight and then crept around the house at dawn to clean up the remnants of their argument, she’d been dragging by the time the Vandenberg family had sat down to eat breakfast at eight.

  She never quite told Ben Sr. or Amy – certainly not Taylor – about all of the details of her home life. She hadn’t wanted them to know everything, not more than they already knew. But she’d enviously watched Taylor down two cups of coffee as she’d sat next to her at the table. Taylor had sleep-heavy eyes and wore tiny shorts to sleep in, which were likely the biggest shot of adrenaline
that had kept Brooke alert. And then Taylor had casually slid her a mug from a fresh pot of coffee. “Our secret, from one exhausted girl to another.”

  She settled into the memory as she watched Taylor.

  Brooke really didn’t often have people just in her office. She had meetings here. Ben sometimes came in for lunch. Marisa would sit in here at the end of the day while they had a bitch session about work.

  But Taylor, standing in her boat shoes and fraying skinny jeans and black long-sleeved shirt all casual, as she observed Brooke’s space – her degrees on the wall behind her, notable mementos from events in town on the walls and on the shelves, a picture of Brooke with Ben Sr. on the steps of city hall on the first day of her job – felt off-kilter.

  “Such a woman of importance. Look how big this office is,” Taylor’s voice took on that teasing tone and Brooke narrowed her eyes at it – which was kind of nice.

  Familiar territory.

  “Yeah, I’m a regular Queen of England.”

  “Of Faircombe, for sure.”

  Brooke rolled her eyes, but other than a grin, Taylor quietly set her stuff up on the conference table and just… went to work.

  She didn’t sit. That was the first thing Brooke noticed only forty-five minutes in, when she should have been working on her reports.

  Taylor didn’t sit. Instead, she arranged everything on the table – her laptop, spread out a map, the various pieces of paper she liked to write on, and stood there. She’d lean over and tap out something on her laptop and read. Or she’d take some notes. She’d slowly maneuver around, focused, but not sitting.

  “What’s the criteria?” She cursed herself for asking, but she was curious as to what Taylor was scribbling down on a piece of paper, leaning over just so, her ass looking unfairly good as she did so.

  Taylor turned around, a pen being twirled between her fingers, full lips pursed into a small pout. “Huh?”

  Brooke gestured at her. “The criteria. For the list. You said yesterday –”

  “Right!” An excited gleam sparked in dark eyes as Taylor turned to select a paper from her pile, walking it to Brooke in a saunter, before she hitched her hip against the side of Brooke’s desk – the side she sat on, immediately too close and too comfortable being on this side of the desk, as she placed the paper in front of Brooke. “I’m thinking we rank every city in six major categories, and we can put them on a sliding scale, to narrow down the top.”