Here With Me: A Best Friend's Brother stand-alone romance.

by Tia Louise

  “And?”

  My stomach squirms. This is the part I hate. “I’m not sure he wants people to know about us.”

  Her lips press into a thin line, and her eyes blink down. It’s impossible for Mrs. Irene to keep her feelings from appearing on her face.

  “What’s wrong?” I’m violating my first excuse, but I want her opinion.

  “I’ve known Sawyer LaGrange since he was a little boy. He has a lot of very good qualities. Good character.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “I feel a big but coming.”

  She inhales slowly. “If he’s ashamed of being with you, he’s not the fellow I thought he was.”

  “I don’t think he’s ashamed. He asked me to the Peach Ball…”

  “Oh!” Her expression brightens. “You didn’t tell me that!”

  “But something happened…” My hand instinctively rubs the pain in my chest. “He won’t talk to me about it. I’ve barely heard from him all week.”

  “Well, it is harvest time.”

  “I know! And you’re right. He’s so busy, and I’m being pathetic and clingy.”

  “Melinda Claire Ray. I have known you your entire life. You are a smart, intelligent young woman. You are neither pathetic nor clingy.” Her expression is so firm, I actually feel better about myself. “But something is making you worry. What is it?”

  This is why I love Mrs. Irene. She just gets me, even if she is sixty years older than I am.

  “He’s struggling with something. I can see it in his eyes, but he won’t talk to me about it.” Our hands are still clasped, and I study her slim ones. “I feel so shut out when he does that.”

  “Have you told him how you feel?”

  “No.”

  “Then this one’s on you, my love. That boy was given a life no person should ever have to live, but he did. I imagine it created some not so healthy habits.” She grins, cupping my cheek in her cool palm. “The angels know what they’re doing. You’re the perfect person to help him open up.”

  “I hope so.” I love him so much.

  “Give me a hug.”

  I scoot forward, happy to comply with her request. Her warm embrace makes me feel so accepted.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “Now you need to get going! Andre Caron is waiting for that watercolor.”

  “How did you know that?” I slide off the bed laughing.

  “I’m not deaf.” She winks. “I heard you talking to yourself.”

  “I’m officially crazy.” Stepping forward, I kiss her cheek. “Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  In my bedroom after dinner is put away and Ma has gone to bed, I put the tip of the paintbrush against the thick paper. I’ve sketched out an image of a girl with flowing curls sitting in the lap of a boy with strong arms, a square jaw, and dark hair, messy over his forehead.

  Another day without a text or a call, but Mrs. Irene’s words give me hope. I sent him a brief text before I sat down to paint. I hope you’re having a good week. Miss you.

  It’s what I hope for him, how I feel. Perhaps not every single thing I’m feeling, but we’ll get there. For now I have to get here. I have to finish this painting, and I’ll be up all night doing it.

  My phone buzzes, and my heart jumps. I put the thick pad down and rush to my nightstand, scooping it up to see…

  My shoulders drop.

  A text from Deacon. No more stalling. Lunch tomorrow. Your plan is being made.

  Deacon is an arrogant, rich, bossy man.

  He’s also right.

  It helps I no longer think I’m ready to throw in the towel and start a new life in the big city.

  I quickly tap back. When and where?

  Gray dots precede his reply. Burgers n Suds, noon thirty.

  Done.

  A deep inhale, and I’m back to my art. Having a plan is a good thing. Oprah says you get in life what you have the courage to ask for. Know your value.

  Holding my brush above the paper, I know the most important thing is keeping my commitments, which means tonight I’ve got to finish this painting.

  “If you follow this, Dallas is optional.” Deacon hands me the stack of papers, and my stomach squirms when I see Melinda Ray Five-Year Plan across the top. “Actually, everything in here is optional. It’s just a plan.”

  “Jeez, it looks so official.” I hold the document, not opening it. “It makes me nervous.”

  Today he’s in a short-sleeved button-down shirt with navy slacks. He’s so casual. We’re sitting at the Burgers n Suds over hamburgers and French fries, holding my future in our hands.

  “What are you nervous about?” He takes a sip of his drink and watches me.

  “I guess…” I lower the sheets the table. “It’s like, if I don’t do this, I’ll be a massive failure, and it’ll be right here in writing for anyone to see.”

  He pops a fry in his mouth. “It’s what you said you want to do. It’s not a government document. You won’t be a failure if you change your mind.”

  “What if we pretend like this never happened?” I pick up a fry and bite off the end.

  “You’ve been telling me you want to do this for years. Haven’t you?”

  I stir the fry in my ketchup, nodding.

  “Then whether it’s written down or not, if you don’t do it, you’ll be a failure.”

  “You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

  He breaks into a laugh. “I’m just messing with you. But studies show if you write down your goals, you’re a hundred times more likely to accomplish them.”

  “A hundred times?” I arch an eyebrow, and he grins.

  “You’re way more likely to follow a written plan.”

  Inhaling deeply, I turn the front page. “So written as opposed to typed up on a computer?”

  “Yeah,” he nods, taking a bite of burger. “It’s weird. Something about the physical act of writing.”

  “But I didn’t write it. You did.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He exhales a groan, shaking his head. “Still the best burger in town.”

  I’m not feeling so hungry anymore. “You should write a plan for them.”

  “I wish.” He swipes a napkin across his mouth. “Can you imagine if they franchised this place? It would blow away the competition.”

  I hold my drink, sipping as I read what he’s written for me. “I’d only go to Dallas to meet clients?”

  He nods, finishing his burger. “You’d make an appointment with a business there, put a responsible-looking face with the name…”

  “Responsible looking,” I laugh under my breath.

  “Everyone’s used to remote contractors now. As long as they know you’re real, you’ll be fine.”

  “What do I do now?”

  “Follow the plan. Take the first step.” He pops a fry in his mouth. “Instagram is a natural fit for you, since your work is so visual.”

  He finishes his lunch while I read over the basics. It’s not as daunting once I start going through the list. Building an online store was my final project in my college design class. I just have to set it to live. I have photographs of my work from school, and Andre sends me digital images of all the posters he’s used.

  “I can do this.” I nod, setting down my cup.

  “Of course, you can.” He grins. “Now you just have to tell people about it.”

  I know what he’s talking about. I pick up another fry, lifting my chin. “I told Sawyer about my plans, about Dallas.”

  “What did he say?”

  The fry is in my mouth, and I press my lips into a frown, remembering. “He almost sounded like he wanted me to go. He said he didn’t want me to feel trapped here.”

  “He loves you.”

  “He’s never said it before.”

  “That guy?” Deacon laughs as he gathers his trash. “You’re expecting him to tell you his feelings?”

  “Yes.” An edge is in my voice, and Deacon gives me a nod.


  “Good for you.” He tosses his stuff into the metal barrel and walks back. “Show some backbone; get what you want.”

  I push a fry around my tray. It’s embarrassing, but still… “What if I said in five years, I want to be married to Sawyer?”

  I glance up at him, and to his credit, he’s thinking about my question. “I’d say you are the only thing you can control. I want you to be financially secure.”

  “That’s not very romantic.”

  “Neither is starving.”

  I laugh, tossing the fry on my plate and gathering my trash. “Ma would never let me starve.”

  “And you’re very lucky to have her.”

  “I’m lucky to have you. Thanks for this.”

  I gather my own trash, slipping my plan and the still-wrapped and uneaten hamburger in my bag. “I really just want him to talk to me.”

  Deacon puts his arm around my shoulders as we walk slowly to where our cars are parked. “Tell him that, too.”

  I give him a brief hug, and he steps to his car. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  Need anything… I need a notebook and a pen for starters. I need to deliver this watercolor, and then I need to have some facetime with a certain stubborn man.

  18

  Sawyer

  “Three more days.” I’m in the kitchen, bone tired, and Noel is sautéing thick steaks in a cast iron skillet before putting them in the oven.

  “Do you wonder how we do it every year?” She glances up at me.

  “Ask me again in ten years.”

  I wonder a lot how the older guys must feel approaching a new harvest season. It’s the hardest thing I’ve done. Harder than Marine boot camp, harder than leaving service and coming back here…

  Patton, Marley, and Taron would tease me that I never seemed to mind basic training, getting up early, busting my tail. Only Taron came to the orchard with me to find out why. Patton and Marley went back to Nashville.

  “Oh, sure, Min!” Noel shouts at the window, startling me. “Don’t come in the house and speak. I’m just your best friend.”

  “What the heck?” I lean closer, looking through the glass.

  Noel mutters something about some friend and returns to cooking. “Mindy just took the three-wheeler and didn’t even bother to come inside.”

  Tension moves through my chest. I can guess why she wouldn’t come inside, and it has nothing to do with my sister. “Maybe I should check on her.” I clear my throat. “Make sure everything’s okay.”

  “Be sure and tell her I saw that.” Noel opens the oven and bends down, using both hands to load the massive skillet.

  “Can I go, too?” Dove looks up at me, her blue eyes wide.

  She’s standing in a chair at the table folding our napkins into swans, something she started after her art teacher taught them simple origami.

  Akela perks up from where she’s lying under the table. Her ears move forward and she studies me with those mis-matched eyes.

  “Ahh…” I look around, trying to think of an excuse.

  It’s hard to tell her no, but my sister saves my ass.

  “Dove, I need you to help me make the mousse. Uncle Sawyer needs to hurry so he can be back for supper.”

  “Okay!” She hops off the chair. “I’ve never made a moose before!”

  “It’s actually a dessert, and you have to be very careful…”

  I leave them talking about egg whites as I charge into the yard, not even looking back. It’s been a long-assed week, and the glimpse I caught of Mindy reminded me how great last weekend was. Missing her is like not realizing you’re hungry until you catch the scent of food. Suddenly, I’m ravenous.

  The three-wheeler is parked in the brush beside the pond, as I hustle up to the pier, I see her dress, cowboy boots, and bag of art supplies in a neat pile in the corner. Dashing to the end, I stop to watch her, mesmerized.

  The noise of the fountain eclipses the sound of her swimming, but her tan skin cuts through the water. Her hair is piled on her head in a messy bun, and I think this must be how the sailors felt when they spotted a Mermaid swimming in the ocean… Weary fishermen, who’d been out to sea too long, horny as fuck, seeing a beautiful woman in the water, clearly loving it.

  “Hey,” I call out, and she turns slowly to face me.

  “Hey, yourself.”

  I exhale a laugh at her usual greeting. “What’s going on?”

  She shrugs. “It’s hot. Thought I’d take a swim.”

  Putting my hands on my hips, I watch a few minutes as she turns onto her stomach again, spreading her arms in front of her in sweeping motions as she crosses the pond. The water glazes over her body, and I can see she’s wearing dark underwear.

  She circles around, looking up at me. “You coming in?”

  “You want me to?”

  Another shrug, and she arches back, letting the water slide down her body. “I want you to do what makes you happy.”

  Words I said to her not so long ago. I get it. She’s ticked, still I toe off my boots and shove my jeans down, whip off my tee and do a shallow dive into the pool in my boxer briefs. It’s cooler than the air surrounding us but warm from the sun beating down all day.

  Like a magnet to steel, I’m drawn to her. I slice through the water like a knife, coming up for air at her side. Water swirls around us, and it feels good. I wonder why we don’t do this more often at the end of the day.

  “Nice to see you’re still alive.”

  I swear. This girl. She looks at me like I did exactly what she expected, spotted her through the kitchen window and came running like a dog after a bone.

  Reaching out, I slide my hands around her waist, pulling her to me. “I’m alive.”

  She exhales a little noise, putting her hands on my shoulders. Her breasts are soft against my chest, and my dick stands at attention.

  “I hope you don’t mind…” I lean closer, kissing the side of her jaw, right at the base of her ear. The scent of lilac is faint on her skin.

  “I don’t mind a kiss.” Her fingers tighten on me.

  She’s in my arms as I swim us to the shelter of the pier. I want to slide her panties to the side and sink into her depths. “Just a kiss?”

  “Just a kiss.” She reaches overhead for the pier, turning and pulling her whole body out of the water.

  I move back, out of her wake, sweeping my arms beneath the surface. I won’t lie and say I’m not disappointed.

  “My bad.” Lifting my chin, I look up to where she’s sitting on the pier. “So you’re just here for a friendly swim?”

  Her cute little nose lifts as she looks toward the fountain. “And I was curious.”

  “About what?”

  “I haven’t heard from you since Saturday.”

  I’m treading water, wondering what she’s up to. “I sent you a text.”

  “And I sent you one.”

  Diving forward, I catch the end of the pier and pull myself up to sit beside her. Water splashes around us, running down my arms. Our thighs touch, and I really want to kiss her again. “How can I satisfy your curiosity?”

  “You already have.”

  I place my palms on the pier behind me, leaning back. “You came to see if I was alive?”

  “I also wanted to see if you were still interested.”

  Cocking my head to the side, I grin. “I’m interested.”

  “Good.” She reaches for her dress, dropping it over her black lace bra and panties.

  I reach out before it falls, sliding my palm across her bare stomach. “Why don’t you tell me what all of this is about?”

  “I had lunch with Deacon today.”

  My jaw tightens, and I sit back. “Is that why you’re out here? Fishing?”

  She doesn’t answer immediately. The fountain creates a backdrop of noise, and she looks down at our toes tracing lines in the surface. “Yes.”

  “Why did having lunch with Deacon make you want to find me?”

  “Someth
ing happened last weekend when you left the nursing home. We were moving forward, but I felt you pull back again… Will you tell me why?”

  “No.”

  “You won’t?”

  My chest is tight, and I want to dive into the pond again. I want to swim away, across to the other side. “It’s not something I want to talk about.”

  Her lips press together briefly. “What do you see me as? How do you feel about us?” Clear green eyes pierce mine, and I want to stand. I’m not trying to hurt her.

  The sun is still hot even though it’s after six, and it dries our bodies quickly. Clearing my throat, I go to where I left my pants, scooping them up and shoving my feet in them one at a time.

  “You ask hard questions.”

  Her chin drops, and she studies her hands in her lap. “I don’t think they’re hard.”

  I finish dressing and storm back to where she sits. Taking a beat, I do my best to calm the frustration in my chest. “I want to be with you.”

  She tilts her head and looks up at me. “For a few days? For longer?”

  Yes… I think so?

  “Do we have to decide that right now? Right here?”

  Her eyes return to her lap, and she shakes her dark head. “I want to be more than a booty call.” Her voice is soft, like a heartbreak, and anger flares in my chest, giving my tone a bit of an edge.

  “I’ve never thought of you that way.”

  She stands quickly, gathering up her bag and slipping her feet into her boots. “I have to get home now.”

  I’m on my feet as well, wishing I could fix this. Wishing I didn’t have secrets that could hurt her. I just want to hold her. “Will you give me a lift back to the house?”

  “I guess.”

  We walk to the waiting ATV in silence, and she tosses her bag into the rack on the front.

  I search for something safe to say. “Did you finish the poster?”

  “Yes. I came here right after I gave it to Andre.” She pushes down on the starter.

  “Was it the one you showed me?”

  “No.” She pushes on the starter again, and the engine roars to life. “It was something new.”

  I’m not sure how to take that answer. I sit on the back of the three-wheeler, holding her body against my chest as she drives us across the bumpy fields to the house. She feels so good in my arms. I want to hold her this way forever. I want to change the way I am, but I don’t know how.