A soft cough behind her made her spin around, her hand on her chest.
“Sorry,” Brooke mumbled. Curled up on a floral-cushioned chaise, an e-reader on her lap, her rosy cheeks radiated her embarrassment. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t.” Sabrina smiled. “I didn’t know anyone was out here. I can leave—”
“No, that’s okay. I was thinking about going back inside, anyway.”
“Really?”
A tiny smile flickered across the girl’s mouth. “No.”
“Your dad know where you are?”
She nodded. “He knows I have trouble dealing with a lot of people at once. He said he was like that, when he was a kid.”
“I remember.”
“You do?”
“Oh, yeah,” Sabrina said on a soft laugh. “I was exactly the opposite. I always wanted to be doing something, be out with other kids. In fact, I hated being by myself back then. Your dad, though...” Smiling, she sat on the edge of a nearby chair. “He at least was adaptable. He could hang at my house—which was always noisy and crazy—for hours. Then he’d go home and hide out in his basement, playing video games to decompress.”
“He still does that,” Brooke said. “But not usually until we’re in bed.” The girl gave Sabrina one of those hard stares, like her father, her brother. Except her eyes were more green. “Juliette says you help people pick out clothes?”
Juliette, her brother Ethan’s talented, beautiful sixteen-year-old daughter, the oldest of this generation of Noble cousins and a self-appointed mother hen to them all. “I do. That’s my job, in fact, in New York.”
“She says you’re really good.”
Sabrina felt her lips curve. “Sounds like I need to put that girl on the payroll.”
Brooke’s eyes lowered, her cheeks reddening again. “Do you...ever help kids?”
The question caught Bree off guard. “Not usually. But I don’t see why I couldn’t. Why? Do you know someone who could use my services?”
Now the blush ratcheted up to blazing. “Me?”
So not what she’d expected. Especially after that little confab with her brother. Although, judging from the girl’s apparent inability to meet Sabrina’s eyes, she suspected there was more than a little conflict going on here. What with Sabrina being the enemy and all.
“Oh, yeah?”
Still not looking at her, Brooke plucked at her dress. Pink. Busy. All wrong for her. “The thing is, everybody thinks I don’t care about clothes, but I do. Well, I do now, I didn’t a few years ago. You know, when I was a little kid?” Her eyes lifted, only to immediately skitter away again. “Anyway, we wore uniforms at school, so it was no big deal. But then I started seeing all these girls wearing stuff I liked, but I’m not sure it would look good on me?”
“What about your mom?”
The girl’s mouth screwed to one side. “Not to sound mean or anything, but she dresses, well, kind of crazy. Not that I care how she dresses. Well, not too much. But she’d always pick out these things for me that...just, no.”
Bree swallowed her chuckle. “Trust me, you sound like every kid on the planet. My mother—and I adored her—had no clue about current styles. We used to have screaming matches in Macy’s. No lie,” she said, smiling when, this time, the startled gaze held fast.
“But did she eventually let you choose your own stuff?”
“Let’s say we learned to compromise. And sometimes she’d actually suggest something that didn’t make me gag. Not that I’d ever give her the satisfaction, of course,” she said, and Brooke smiled, only to then sigh.
“At least you guys went shopping together. With Mom...she’d simply come home with stuff. And if I said anything, about not liking it or whatever, she’d get all hurt.”
Bree’s heart cracked. Because nothing was worse when you were trying to figure out who you are than being forced to dress like someone you’re not. “So you’d wear clothes you hated?”
“Pretty much. I tried to make them look cooler, but it never worked. And now that we’re with Dad...” Her mouth pulled flat. “When we go to a store? He looks like he’s gonna be sick or something.”
At that, Sabrina released the laugh she’d been holding in. “Oh, sweetie—you should have seen some of the things your father put on his body when we were in school.”
“I’ve seen pictures,” the girl said, her mouth pulled to one side. “So sad.”
Sabrina laughed again. “So whose idea was that dress?”
“Some saleslady in Bloomie’s,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“You don’t like it?”
“It’s a dress. Ergo, it sucks.”
Ergo? Really? “What about your aunt? Couldn’t she take you?”
“Um...she has boys? Why would she know anything about shopping for girls?”
“Because she is one?”
“Hello? She’s ten years older than dad?” And hence, a throwback to the Paleolithic age. Got it. “So...would you take me?”
Moment of truth. Sabrina crossed her arms. “And does your brother know about this?”
The girl’s forehead crumpled. “Huh?”
“Not an hour ago,” she said gently, “Wesley made it very clear he wasn’t comfortable with the idea of me—or anyone, really—coming between you guys and your dad. Not that I wouldn’t love to take you shopping, but I do not want there to be any misunderstandings. And I definitely don’t want your brother on my case,” she added with a smile.
“Oh.” Another blush stole across the girl’s cheeks. “He, um, might have gone to talk to you because of me, actually.”
Not as much as you might think, Sabrina thought, then said, “But then Juliette told you what I did, and you need to upgrade your wardrobe, so suddenly I’m not the enemy anymore.”
Again, eyes lowered. Again, cheeks turned a lovely shade of crimson. “I guess that sounds sort of cruddy, huh?”
“Sort of, yeah.”
Silence. Then, in a very, very small voice, she asked, “So you won’t do it?”
“Didn’t say that,” Sabrina said, and Brooke’s head popped up, expression all hopeful. “But, there are conditions. One, that your dad is okay with this. Two, that he coughs up sufficient cash to make the trip worthwhile.” That got a grin and a giggle, and Sabrina’s chest cramped. “And three,” she said over the cramping, “that everyone is crystal clear that this is a one-shot deal and has nothing to do with your father and me. That work for you?”
In answer, the girl untangled herself from the chaise and launched into Sabrina’s arms. Which she took as a yes.
Not to mention a challenge, she thought as she hugged the girl back.
One she fervently hoped her poor mangled heart was up to.
Chapter Five
Two days later, the engine to her father’s SUV clicking as it cooled, Sabrina sat in the driveway to Cole’s childhood home, letting her brain adjust to the intense déjà vu. Although they’d usually ended up at her house—because that’s where the food was, he’d once said—she and Kelly had spent a fair amount of their waking hours here, too. And now those days came flooding back.
Because everything about the redbrick Colonial, a few blocks from the Colonel’s, was exactly the same, down to the French-blue trim and white-paneled door, still flanked by a pair of neatly trimmed topiaries in sturdy stone planters. Unlike the Nobles’ yard, which had always borne signs of the many children who lived inside—balls and scooters and bikes and such—no such detritus had ever dared litter the Rayburns’ lawn. Then, as now, the grass was neatly mowed, all bushes painstakingly trimmed, the only flowers one small bed of white impatiens huddled against the mailbox post near the sidewalk.
Accompanied by a trio of wriggling pugs, Cole opened the front door. Reluctan
tly, Sabrina faced the muggy, midday Jersey heat. Not to mention much the same expression Cole had worn when Brooke had asked him if Sabrina could take her shopping. Because clearly immense relief at having someone else assume an obviously painful task was at war with...something.
“Your dad still does all this?” she asked, shutting the door—to the car, on that thought, whatever—as the pugs surged down the walk to swarm her calves, suspicion glinting in buggy eyes. Smiling, Sabrina knelt to let the dogs sniff her, their huffed breaths tickling her fingers.
“Oh, hell, no,” Cole said. “Yard service, twice a month. Trim gets repainted every two years, same color.” He hesitated, his hands plugged in his shorts’ pockets as he watched the dogs, then finally lifted his gaze to hers. “I’m still not sure why you’re doing this.”
“Because I’m good at it and Brooke asked. And, yes, it really is that simple.”
His gaze was unblinking. “You might find yourself reconsidering that statement after an afternoon with my daughter.” When she laughed, the muscles around his mouth eased a little. “Well. You might as well come in. The kids aren’t here yet. They spent the night with my sister—cripes, guys,” he said to the dogs. “Give the woman room to move.”
There’d always been pugs here, Sabrina remembered. Although clearly not these. “What are their names?”
“Larry, Curly and Moe.”
Choking on her laugh, she looked up at Cole. Who hadn’t gotten uglier since the wedding. Pity.
“You can thank my nephews for that. Mom was appalled, but Dad thought it was hysterical, so she gave in.”
“Which one’s which?”
“I have no idea. The kids swear there are differences, but damned if I can see them. Not that it matters—call one, you get all three, anyway.”
Sabrina eventually reached the front door, which Cole held open for her for a moment before heading toward the kitchen, the pugs prancing after him. “Am I hallucinating,” she said, her heels catching slightly in the living room’s silvery blue carpet as she followed, “or has absolutely nothing changed since we were teenagers?”
“Forget teenagers,” Cole said from the other side of the mauve laminate breakfast bar. “Since way before that. I was too little, but my sister remembers... Um, can I get you something to drink?”
“No, I’m good, thanks.”
“Anyway, Diana remembers how ‘fresh’ the pinks and blues felt after the rusts and putrid greens. She also remembers Mom’s unequivocal declaration that she would never go through that again.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Apparently my parents nearly came to blows during the remodel. So now she refuses to change the colors, since if she did, she’d have to change everything else, and that ain’t happening. In fact, I recently repainted the whole house. Well, maybe a couple of years ago now. The one and only summer the kids went to camp.” At her raised brows, he sighed. “Erin’s idea. They hated it. Not surprising, considering the one time I went I thought I’d been consigned to hell.”
“But you let them go, anyway.”
“Made them go is more accurate. Insisted they stay the whole month, too. Never mind that the tears nearly did me in. God, I felt like crap.”
“Softie,” Sabrina said, smiling, and Cole shrugged. But the love in his eyes...
She wrenched her gaze away from his, pretending a sudden and profound interest in the living room walls. “So. You actually painted this whole place by yourself?”
“I did. Kinda liked it, actually. You remember Kelly and you and me painting your room when we were...what? Fourteen? That retina-searing bright pink?”
“It was called Cactus Flower,” she said, meeting his grin with one of her own. “And you thought it was cool at the time.”
“No, you did. Is it still that color?”
“Yes, believe it or not.” She snorted. “Might be one reason why the house hasn’t sold.”
“Might be,” Cole said, then crossed his arms. “Anyway...I like painting. Not a bad workout, and it leaves my mind free to come up with story ideas.”
“For?”
“Video games.”
“You’re still doing that?”
“Now and then.” The dogs click-clicked to the patio door, where they sat as one and gave Cole baleful glances over their shoulders. “Again? You just went.” Somebody barked. “Fine,” he said, unlocking, then tugging back the sliding glass door. “Go, pee. Live.”
Much frantic shoving and pushing later, the dogs were outside. Cole lifted one hand. “Wanna join them?”
Sabrina’s mouth twitched. “I’m good with the powder room, thanks.”
“Oh, jeez—”
“Sorry, that was too good to pass up. And sure. Might as well wait outside as in here.”
The backyard was exactly as she’d remembered, too—the sedate, verdigris iron furniture on the flagstone patio, the dogs snuffling around tidy flower beds with their regimented clusters of petunias and marigolds and dahlias, grouped by color. An engineer’s garden, Cole had often said. Not flashy, but neat and orderly. The trees in the woods beyond the back wall were bigger, though, the heavy shade underneath their encroaching branches making the heat almost tolerable. She chuckled at two of the dogs playing tug-of-war with a rubber toy, while the third one pranced around them, yipping, wanting in on the action.
Sabrina and Cole stood a few feet apart, both watching the pugs, him with his hands low on his hips, her with her fingers slipped into the back pockets of her white cropped jeans. It was so strange: one moment it was as if no time had passed at all, the next they were strangers, the silences stiff and awkward.
“So when are the kids coming back...?”
“My sister texted me, they’re running a little late. Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” She paused. “It must feel strange, being here again. I mean, it does for me, whenever I’m at my dad’s. Like I’ve time-warped.”
“Tell me about it. Although I’m grateful for the option, that we didn’t have to rush into buying something right away.”
“Have you started looking?”
“Soon. Not another apartment, though. Someplace with a yard. That’s really our own.” He hesitated again, then said, “Until the kids came to live with me full-time I hadn’t fully realized that I’d been in some kind of holding pattern. That we had. Not that I haven’t been a hundred and ten percent committed to them, because I have, absolutely, but...it’s hard to explain.”
“It’s okay, I get what you’re saying.”
His gaze touched hers. “Do you?”
“Enough.” Then, sweeping her hair out of her face, she heard herself say, “You think you’ll ever marry again?”
Because clearly the heat had melted her brain.
* * *
If it’d been anybody else asking the question—like, say, anyone related to him—Cole would have cringed. But this was simply Bree being Bree, spewing out whatever popped into her head. He sincerely doubted there was anything more to the question than idle curiosity.
“Right now? I doubt it. Especially since this is the first chance we’ve ever had to be a full-time family, for the kids to have all my attention...” His shoulders bumped.
“What Wes said, in other words.”
This stated as though fitting together the pieces in her head. His eyes grazed the side of her face. “I made a mess of my first marriage, Bree. Of all my relationships, frankly. In fact...” He looked away again. “The only relationships I haven’t screwed up—at least not yet,” he said with a wry smile, “are the ones with my kids. So might as well stick with what works, right?”
“At least you have that.” Sabrina sighed out, then met Cole’s puzzled frown with a slight smile. “Your kids, I mean. For years, all I wanted was a family of my own. And, not gonna lie, the ache’s still there. But.
..” She pressed her lips together, shaking her head, before releasing a harsh sigh. “I used to think the only thing that really scared me was the idea of ending up alone. Now, though...”
“What?”
“Now I think what scares me most is feeling vulnerable. Weak. That if I’m not careful I’ll end up like my mother. My birth mother, I mean.”
Bree had never talked about her father’s abuse until that summer before their senior year, of how—even though he’d apparently left Bree alone—he’d constantly ragged on her mother, on her brother Matt. Which is when it finally clicked why she hated bullies so much, what had prompted her to stand up for him on the playground when they were kids.
“Like that’ll happen,” he now said, and she smiled. “God, you were such a tough little thing in school. Like some warrior chick who wasn’t about to take crap from anybody. In fact...” He weighed whether or not to tell her, decided what the hell? “You were the inspiration for more than one character in my games.”
Her eyes bugged. “You serious?”
“Yep. Although—” he let his gaze flick to her chest, then back up to her eyes “—I might have, ah, embellished things a little.”
“Of course you did,” she muttered, and he laughed. Then Sabrina sighed. “You do realize it was all fake, right? The tough chick act, not the boobs.”
“Maybe,” he said, and she pushed out another breath.
“Why on earth did you put up with me for so long?”
The regret in her voice sliced him in two. After a moment, he said, “Because I was blinded by the light glinting off the tough chick armor?” When she laughed, he added, not looking at her, “And then that armor would slip, and I’d see you were no different than me, really. And that was....comforting, I suppose.”
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