by R. C. Martin
The funny thing about Brandon is, he doesn’t look like his personality at all. He’s twenty-five and stands at six-two. As far as build, I think it’s safe to say no woman would be disappointed with how he keeps himself. He’s got dark hazel eyes and and dark, honey-brown hair he keeps long. I’ve never seen it down, as he likes to keep it tied back in a slightly messy, yet definitely sexy knotted ponytail. A few months ago, he decided he was going to start sporting a beard. He keeps it trimmed close and, I swear, our female clientele has gone up a notch or two since he let it grow in. Despite all the hair, he’s actually a pretty clean-cut guy. Standing next to him most days makes me look completely uncoordinated in the realm of fashion.
But, hey, that’s just my style.
“It’s whole wheat,” he says, watching me take my first bite.
I close my eyes, moan, and shake my head. “No, it’s not,” I mumble around my delicious morsel. “Nothing this good can be made with whole wheat.”
“And that’s exactly what I was going for. I take it this recipe is a keeper?”
I open my eyes and nod enthusiastically. “Next time, I’ll take a dozen, thank you.” I wink at him before signaling that I’m going to step in the back office for a minute. He waves me off with a smile and I take another bite of my treat.
Since it’s Monday, I know that Lori is in today. She usually spends the morning here and then pops out after lunch. I used to think it was her caffeine intake that enabled her to get so much work done in just a span of a few hours, but she’s just a beast like that. She takes inventory, places orders, goes over financial statements—the whole shebang—between the hours of six and one. Then we’re lucky if we see her again until Thursday. When you’re the owner, you can do whatever the hell you want; especially when you’ve handpicked a staff you can trust as much as she trusts us. In all her spare time, she’s off galavanting around God knows where being the talented landscape photographer that she is. She’s an explorer at heart.
No—she’s a fucking badass, is what she is. Living the dream.
She’s on the phone when I peek my head in. She spots me and flashes me a grin. Even though she’s only forty-five, she’s got a head full of long, naturally silver hair. Right now, she’s got half of it twisted back and held in place with a pencil, the rest of it hanging just past her shoulders. She makes a gesture with her hand, mimicking the chatterbox on the other end of the phone, and rolls her eyes. I giggle as I grab an apron and nod back toward the front. I know she’ll find me when she’s not busy.
The first couple hours of my shift go by quickly. Lori comes out to chat when Brandon goes on a short break. She tells me about her weekend and I tell her about mine. Business is steady, but not overwhelming, and I’m pleasantly surprised to see my brother walk through the door just after eleven. He teaches yoga four days a week and I can tell by his attire that he must have just left the studio.
“Hey, Corny!”
He shakes his head and Brandon snickers, aware of how much Roman hates it when I use that nickname. Honestly, I can’t help myself. It’s too wonderfully horrible. Besides, he loves me too much to do anything about it.
“Hey, Brandon. Could I get an iced chai, please?” he orders, ignoring me.
“Sure thing, man.” He goes to make the drink while I take his place at the register to finish the transaction.
“How was yoga?”
“Good. I actually stayed behind to do the advanced session after my class.”
“And you plan on playing basketball later? Wow. Macho much?”
He smirks at me as he places his change in the tip jar. His order was three dollars and he paid with a ten. My brother spoils me. I lean across the counter and he offers me his cheek. For the second time this morning, my lips meet stubble.
Oh, how I love the rugged mountain men in my life.
“I was actually hoping I might have caught you before you had your break. Can you sit with me for a minute?” he asks.
“Brandon, are you okay?”
“Absolutely,” he insists, handing Rome his drink.
“Thanks,” my brother and I say in unison. I follow him to a table near the front window and we both have a seat. “So, what’s up?” I ask, propping my elbow on the table so I can rest my chin in the palm of my hand.
“Nothing. Just haven’t gotten the chance to catch up with you in a couple days. How was the wedding?”
Logan and my brother think that they are incredibly different people—and they are, to an extent. They also have a lot in common. This passive aggressive curiosity is sadly amusing. The people who last stole their hearts belong to each other; and all these months later, both Logan and Roman can’t help but hold onto what can’t be kept.
“She’s happy,” I say gently, referring to the bride’s sister, Addie.
“Who, Avery? I hope so.” He pops the lid off of his cup and sets it aside as he sips freely from the rim.
I pressed Logan yesterday, but I won’t press him today. He’s more sensitive than she is and I know that Addie was the first girl he cared about since Kathryn. I can’t blame him for wishing to avoid talking about her, even if I do think it’s time he moved on. “They’ll be moving to Chicago soon,” I segue, referring to the newlyweds. “I think they’re really excited for their next great adventure.”
“Good, that’s good,” he says, nodding absentmindedly. “Well, what about you? Did you have a good time?”
“I did,” I answer with a grin. I can’t help it—images of Trevor dancing still fill my head.
“Trevor was a decent date?”
“Always.” I slip his straw from the discarded lid and wipe the excess chai on my apron before I begin fidgeting with the plastic. For a moment, I get lost thinking of Trevor as my date. It reminds me of the wager between Logan and me.
I’m pretty sure I have nothing to worry about, as I don’t see her jumping into a relationship any time soon, but I can’t help but wonder what I’ll do when she does. I don’t see how I could back out of my side of the deal. If she’s going to put herself out there, it’s only fair that I do the same. But what if he doesn’t want me?
It’s a question that I ask myself every time I grow weak with desire and I think I’m not sure how long I can be his friend without begging for more. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night wrapped in his arms and all I want to do is kiss him. Then I stop myself, wondering…what if he doesn’t want me?
We love each other, but that might not be enough. He doesn’t trust himself. He made a single mistake, one time, and unknowingly broke the trust of someone that he loved. Worse than that, he broke his trust in himself. He beats himself up about it to this day. It doesn’t matter how much I trust him, how much I love him—he let himself down and his journey back into his own good graces seems to be never ending. I can’t fix that. My love can’t fix that.
We aren’t together because neither of us wants to pretend that we’re wrong; neither of us want to trick ourselves into believing that the pieces of me that are missing can be forgotten because he loves me—and the pieces of him that are broken can be pasted back together because I love him.
It’s complicated as fuck, but that is our bitch.
The hard part is, I don’t want anyone else. Being with someone else would mean putting boundaries around Trevor. I can’t do that and no man would understand. I wouldn’t blame him, either. It’s just like if Trevor started seriously dating someone else. I’d lose my shit. I can’t share him any more than I do—and his meaningless sex…well, I just try not to think about it.
“Maybe you’ll be next,” says Roman, interrupting my thoughts.
“Excuse me?” I ask, honestly confused.
“Maybe you’ll be the next bride.”
I cough out a humorless laugh. “You know, some days, I think I really want that. Then reality sets in and I realize that I’m willing to settle for less.” He starts to speak, but I shake my head, signaling him to remain silent. “I don’t need to h
ear any speeches about not settling. Maybe, for me, settling is better than marriage to a man who would always be second best to…well, never mind.” I shrug, aware that I’ve said too much. I’m quick on my feet and, like dear ole mom, I divert the conversation elsewhere. “Maybe you’ll be next—as a groom, that is. Hell, maybe even Logan.”
“Logan?” he scoffs.
“Yeah,” I beam. “You mean it wasn’t on the front page of the paper this morning? Miss Logan Elise Schwartz is officially on the market again. No more serial bar hook-ups. She’s ready for the real deal.”
I’m distracted from our conversation when I see a group of six come in. I smile, pleased to see the crowd of older women. They meet here for bookclub every week. I always tell them—now THAT’S my type of bookclub. A book a week? That’s how real readers do it. Sometimes I even read the book they’ve chosen with them and jump in on their conversation when I go to offer them refills.
“Sorry, Rome, I have to jet. Duty calls. I’ll see you tonight? Oh—wait, are we going out after? Strike that—we’re going out after. If there isn’t a plan, come up with one pronto. Text me the deets.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Love you.”
“Yeah,” he sighs as he stands. “I love you too, sis.”
He takes hold of my arm, which catches me off guard, and kisses the top of my head. I scrunch my eyebrows at him in amused confusion. He ignores me and parts with a wave.
Damn. Logan was right. I really hate it when Logan’s right.
As I walk out of Little Bird, I pause a moment and let the mid-morning sun wash over me. I close my eyes and tilt my head back, wondering if I can really go through with what I’m about to do. I think of the look that was on my sister’s face just a second ago and I suddenly feel as if I’ve been robbed of any choice.
I shake my head, shove my hands into my gym short pockets, and make my way back to the yoga studio where my car is parked. I love my sister more than anyone in the world. She’s been through a lot. We were close before she got pregnant—but after my parents gave her the cold shoulder, that just made us even closer. When she was at her lowest is when she needed the most love and I was graced with the opportunity to provide her with all that I could muster.
I know she loves me, too. I know she would do anything for me. Including this. Honestly, if the roles were reversed, I’m sure she would stop at nothing to help me get my heart’s deepest desire.
Trevor is her heart’s deepest desire. She doesn’t have to say it. It’s plain as day.
I don’t ask questions about Trevor and Daphne. All I need to know is that it’s complicated. On a whim, I decided to stop by this morning to see if there was any validity to what Logan said yesterday. I needed to see with my own eyes that Daphne is ready for more. Bringing up the wedding was the perfect opening. When she made that comment about settling…I knew. Trevor is it for her. To be in love is one thing. To forsake all others is another. That being said, it’s time they give their romance a real shot.
I’m not convinced that all they need is each other, though. I know Trevor well enough to see that what he seeks is bigger than a relationship with my sister; and I know my sister struggles with her choice to turn her back on God. She’d never admit it, probably not even to herself, but I know it’s there. She grew up in a home where we learned about God’s love and grace and redemption. He’s the only one that can fill in the gaps that life makes in our hearts. One false move by our parents and doubt was born. Her summer with me didn’t help either. People can be judgmental. I wish it wasn’t true, but it is. However, we’re not all like that and she knows it. Besides, it doesn’t really matter how hypocritical God’s people might be—what matters is that God will accept us however we are. Her and Trevor, included. That’s the kind of love that will heal them.
What they both need is a little faith.
Logan is right. They’ve been doing it their way for too long and it’s not working. But the extent to which their routine is not working has layers. If I’m going to do this, we’re going to have to try for more than simply getting the two of them to hump like bunnies. If I’m going to do this, we’re going to play by my rules. The Princess will just have to deal.
Good Lord—am I really going to do this?
I pull out my phone, scroll through my contacts, and place a call to Logan. She answers on the third ring.
“Hey. I’m going to be late to lunch. Can we push it to twelve-thirty?”
Eddalyn St. Michaels makes it easy for me to get up to go to work every day. She’s so good at what she does. If I can grow and become half of what she has built herself to be, I’d call myself accomplished.
She started her interior design career in New York City. Once she had gotten her feet wet, she decided that she didn’t want to stay in the city that never sleeps; so she brought her skills west, where home was. Eddalyn’s Interior came to life in Denver and, over the past twenty years, it has grown to be a company with a fantastic reputation for beautiful interior designs in the commercial industry. When she decided it was time to expand, she moved to Fort Collins and opened up an office here. That was ten years ago. She travels back and forth between offices, but she likes to stick around our quaint city. The way she boasts of her great team down in Denver all the time, I’m sure she has no reason to go down there more often than she does.
At fifty-three, she’s still just as spunky as I imagine she was when she started her business venture. She’s got a blonde pixie haircut that accentuates her timeless face and her wise blue eyes. She dresses like the powerhouse that she is, and her presence when she walks into any room demands attention in the most graceful sort of way. She’s definitely intimidating, but she’s also very kind. From the moment I walked into my interview, she assured me that her main goal in hiring anyone was to teach and share her knowledge and expertise so that we might all grow. I couldn’t ask for a better mentor.
Our office is a tight knit group of seven. I was lucky enough to come on board after one of the design associates got married and relocated. There’s Rick, the architect, Miranda and Kim, both senior design associates, Brittany and me, the junior design associates, Kent, our business affairs guy, and, of course, Edda. I’m the youngest, fresh out of college, but Brittany is only a couple years older than me and Kim isn’t even thirty yet. Miranda just turned thirty a few weeks ago, the same day that she got engaged to her longtime beau. Both Rick and Kent are in their forties and married with children.
Every Monday morning, we gather for our weekly meeting. It’s not super formal, just a chance for us to discuss our current projects and look ahead at what might be coming down the pipeline. For the past month, I’ve been working with Rick and Miranda on a renovation project for a software company that recently purchased an old club and wanted to turn it into an office space. The location is fantastic, so I can understand the appeal. We’re just about finished and, in my opinion, it looks amazing. I don’t think our client has had a single complaint. Not bad for my first big assignment.
In the meeting, Edda informs us that we have a new client. The owner of The Archibald—one of the oldest hotels in Fort Collins, located in the heart of downtown—is wanting to update the entire facility. The room is buzzing at the news. This job is huge! Edda says that she’s assigned the role of project lead to her most talented designer, a Judah St. Michaels out of the Denver office. I lift my eyebrows, surprised by the familiar last name, and look questioningly at Miranda, who sits to my right. She mouths “I’ll tell you later” and I nod before focusing back in on Edda. Apparently, Judah is going to pick who he wants from our team on the project. He’ll be in the office this afternoon to make his decision. This morning, he’s meeting with the client to find out what they envision for the future of the hotel.
As soon as our meeting is adjourned, Miranda takes me by the hand and tugs me into the office she and Kim share. When Brittany follows, I’m immediately anxious to hear whatever it is they have to tell me.
/> “Oh, my god, if Judah picks me to work on this hotel, I might have to break off my engagement,” Miranda gushes.
“What?” I ask with a laugh. “Who is this guy?” Edda never married, so I know this Judah can only be a brother or a—
“He’s Edda’s nephew,” answers Kim. “Her sister’s oldest.”
“Oh,” I reply with a nod. “And I take it he’s—”
“So damn hot he’ll set your panties on fire the moment he steps into the room,” declares Brittany. “I’ve only seen him a handful of times over the last couple of years, but there’s no way I could ever forget him.”
Seeing the lust-filled looks on all of their faces makes me laugh even more. He might be just as attractive as they proclaim but, currently, I’m more interested in my chances of getting in on his project. “Edda said he’s her most talented designer. How old is he?”
“Oh, he is wicked talented.”
“Good god, I’m sure that applies in more ways than one,” teases Brittany, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Half of the photos on the website are from projects that he designed,” adds Kim with a giggle. “He’s a genius. Edda had him working for her before he even graduated from college. It was mostly small things he could do remotely, since he went to school in Chicago, but still.”
“And he’s my age,” Miranda tells me. “Maybe a year older.”
“Just wait until you meet him. Hey, maybe he’ll wet your appetite enough to draw you out of your dry spell,” says Brittany with a wink.
“Dry spell?” I ask, scrunching my brow in confusion.
They all laugh before Kim speaks. “You haven’t been on a single date since you started working here. We never hear you talk about any special guys. It’s like you’re all work and no play.”
