“Who?”
“Jared. Call him now.”
“Uh, why?”
“Because I want to make sure someone can be there. It is probably gonna be a few hours before you feel normal again. I don’t want to drop you off and you pass out alone.”
My pussy tenses at the varying webs of blue that make up his eyes and the pout of his lips that says I’m not getting my way. Except he doesn’t know that I sure am! My eyes roll as I pull my phone from my purse and pray Jared doesn’t answer. But on the third ring, he does.
“Hello?”
“Speakerphone,” Brooks whispers.
Pressing the button to allow Brooks to listen, and hoping Jared doesn’t say anything that could paint me in a negative light, I ask him what he’s doing tonight. Tell him what’s going on. Ask if he can hang.
“Babe, I wish I could, but I’m three hours away. I tried to call you yesterday. I’m at my mom’s.”
I let my shoulders drop as I look at Brooks, lips puckering … regret for having to bring me?
Fighting a smile, I say, “Oh, that’s okay.” I take him off speaker just in case he asks about Brooks. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Tuesday!”
We hang up, and Brooks pulls to the gate. “So, will this be your first time going to Blue Ridge?”
He smiles at me. I do my best not to smile back, but a hint of one escapes. “Shouldn’t we not be doing this? By this, I mean associating with one another—friendly or otherwise. Won’t Deacon flip out when we get there? Or do you plan on dropping me off at the local dive bar while you tour the house, which will leave me just as unattended as I’d have been if you’d taken me home.”
“Deacon won’t be there. It’s Easter. He’s with his family.”
My lips press together as I give him a single nod. “Right.”
My eyes flutter open at the sound of his voice.
“Emily...” he says. “We’re here.”
I’d fallen asleep at some point shortly after we left the city. I didn’t sleep well last night, wrought with anticipation at how church would go, but destiny is going damn well.
“We’re here? Already?” We’re parked in front of a two-story cabin, not nearly as expansive as Eliza’s family estate in Colorado, but impressive nonetheless for its pristine condition. It’s surrounded by lush greenery, the slow rush of the river visible behind it. “Wow.”
“Only took two-and-a-half hours, which you slept through.” He smiles and unbuckles his seatbelt. Comes around, and opens the door for me.
I hesitate, pulling down the visor mirror again to inspect myself, and frowning at what I see. “Give me a minute to freshen up.” I search my purse for my powder.
“Come on. She’s here already. You look gorgeous. There’s no need.”
I cease my search for makeup, and take his outstretched hand. He helps me out of the car, and we walk to the front door, the smell of fresh pine in the breeze.
The door opens. “Welcome! You must be Brooks,” she says, shaking his hand. “I’m Nancy.”
Her smile is as annoyingly bright as Marcy’s.
“Good to meet you,” he says, his hand letting go of hers. “This is—”
“Lindsey,” I interrupt.
His eyes cut to mine as I shake her hand.
“Nice to meet you, Lindsey.”
I stay by Brooks’s side throughout most of the tour, but when they get into code regulations for an add-on, I wander back downstairs. It’s a nice place—something you’d see in a Lifetime Christmas movie. I stop at the large windows in the living room and stare out at the river. It’s easy to picture weekend getaways here with the children. Brooks could teach our son to fish from the large, smooth rocks that dot the water, while our daughter and I sunbathe on the bank.
Footsteps descend the stairs as they brainstorm the best ways to go about a potential offer. Her loud cackling annoys me. It distracts from my fantasy as much as her baby blue suit and pale yellow top. She’s looking particularly festive for an atheist.
My eyes fall on a blooming cherry blossom just beyond the deck. It’s mesmerizing how quickly things change. Only two weeks ago it was surely barren and brown. Now, it’s beautiful and alive—cotton-candy pink. I think of how it’s waited patiently for spring to join so it could be whole again, just as I have waited on Brooks. I’m the tree—he’s the spring sun, the warm air, the very nutrients I need to thrive. Like the tree, I’ve always been here—the support that allows us to go on, to exist when he could give me nothing in his absence. And the blooms—those are our love, the beauty to which we both once contributed, the beauty that died when his love lie dormant.
But spring is coming. I can feel it.
I draw a sharp breath of air as hands grip my shoulders, Brooks lightly massaging them before letting go.
“You ready, babe?” His question is organic, yet nothing more than a cunning lie to convince her we are real—ironic because he doesn’t know we are.
My head turns to his. “Of course.”
We follow Nancy onto the porch, hands not held like couples do, and the raw urge to reach out and grab for his fingers simmers to the point of near boiling.
She turns to us after securing the lockbox. “Be sure to let me know as soon as possible if you’d like to make an offer. It’s a hot listing.”
“Certainly,” Brooks says.
She smiles, hope in her eyes that she’s finally closing a deal.
The three of us walk toward the cars, Brooks keeping a safe distance from me, though not far enough to suggest a long winter for us.
“Any restaurants you would recommend around here?” he asks.
She shuts her door. Rolls down her window after cranking her car. “You know, everything is pretty good, but my favorite is a place called Copper Grill, right on the Georgia/Tennessee line. It’s about twenty minutes away, unless you two lovebirds want to take the scenic route on the Easter Eggspress.” She laughs after the last word, so loudly it echoes off the trees.
Brooks and I smile at each other. Daringly, I plant my free hand on his upper arm. Lean into him like we’re a couple. Like we’re married.
Like we will be.
Nancy had given us directions to the train. Said it would likely be packed with sugar-hyped kids and baskets galore.
She wasn’t exaggerating, I think. Except in my head, exaggerating sounded like eggsaggerating, and now I hate myself because she’s rubbed off on me.
We were lucky enough to get two of the last four open-air car tickets. It’s fairly warm out, but still chilly enough that I hug myself. Little girls in dresses, and boys in Polo shirts bounce, fidget, whine, and generally make it look like the Easter Bunny binged on Skittles and shit out 1,000 pastel pellets.
I’m nervous as the train begins moving. Anxiety over this being my first train ride takes over. I imagine it derailing, all the cars sliding off the hills, bloody bodies scattered about.
“You cold?” Brooks asks.
“A little,” I answer honestly.
Magically, oh so magically, his arm is on me, pulling me closer, caressing my forearm, however briefly. My nipples weren’t hard from the breeze, but they harden with his touch, and suddenly I feel wet.
“Good save back there, by the way,” he says.
“What?”
“Lindsey.”
“Oh. Yeah, I figured it would be good to play the part, since I’m a secret.” Unintentionally, I spit the last word out like a rusty nail.
“I know the closet situation was weird at best, but Deacon can’t know we have had any kind of contact with each other.”
Trees sway in a gust of wind as a fisherman waves at children on the train. The gentle tug back and forth along the rails is calming. Comforting, even, if it weren’t for the little girl next to me stomping her white Mary Janes on the train-car floor.
A heaviness fills my throat, but I breathe. Soften my tone. “Of course. It would be a disaster.”
The little gir
l’s stomping grows faster, louder, the heavy clang of her heels against the metal making me want to leap from the train, leap from this love. Her little face looks at me, milk-white teeth bared in a rose-cheeked smile. She thinks what she’s doing is special—that I’m enjoying the show. Her mother notices me staring, notices the connection between her daughter and me, and she smiles, as if I’m enjoying getting a headache. I glare at her, and she pulls her little angel closer, keeping her safe from the devil she thinks I am.
“Hey, how are y’all doin’ today?” a frizzy redhead asks. She’s holding a camera, invading our personal space. “If I could get you both to stand up right there, I’m going to take your photo.”
Brooks holds his hand up in a halt gesture. “Oh, we don’t need—”
But I stand up before he can finish his sentence, so he stands, too.
She steadies the camera. “Okay, now get a liiiiittle closer together.”
Great. I would be wearing no makeup for this.
Brooks pulls me in close. An unfortunate side hug, but still special. Our first photo together as an adult couple! Melt.
“Smile!” Picture Girl says, then checks the back of the camera. “Fabulous! You’ll get your picture on your return trip.” She moves along to the next passenger group.
“Well, that was awkward,” he says as we sit.
We don’t talk the rest of the way. His hands stay in his lap, and we both stare at our phones. When we unload from the train, he buys a shot glass from a bare-bones gift shop and asks the elderly man behind the counter if Copper Grill is any good.
The old man bags the glass. “Oh, we aren’t supposed to recommend restaurants. Everywhere is good here.”
“Oh … okay,” Brooks says, taking his bag and receipt. “Thanks.”
Outside, a policeman is directing tourist traffic, but what these people are touring, I have no clue. As we cross, Brooks stops short and makes eye contact with the officer.
“Hey, is Copper Grill the best restaurant around here?”
The officer shrugs, his mustache contorting. “They’re all good.”
So odd. What is there, a law in this town that you can’t review a restaurant?
I struggle to keep up with him in my heels, his legs longer, and his shoes flatter. But he’s a gentleman and slows his pace.
The restaurant is very unassuming. From the outside, it appears it may be more upscale for a town like this, with its decorative railing and iron patio tables. But on the inside, it looks like any other random place.
We take a booth in the back corner. I order the only thing that interests me, which is their grilled chicken with cheese and peppers. Brooks orders a Philly.
As we wait for our food, I feel increasingly dismal. I want this to be a date, but I know it isn’t … not for him, anyway … not yet. But I wonder if we’re both thinking the same thing, both pining for each other, him unwilling to do anything about it because of loyalty.
“You look bothered,” he says.
“I’m not.”
“Liar.”
My eyes squint at him. I want to be impulsive. Want to scream at him that I love him, that I know he loves me back if he’d just pull it from his heart and dust it off. But I remember the book. I remember how my plans weren’t working, and how after using it, I’ve ended up here, so I give him a little dose of bitchiness. “I told you I’m fine. What do you want me to say?”
The plates are brought. His lip pulls under his teeth. “Nothing. Never mind.”
His sandwich is gone in less than five minutes, but I savor my food. No wonder Nancy recommended it. It’s unexpectedly exceptional.
“How is it?” he asks.
“Perfect. Juicy.”
I feel like I see a grin hiding behind his eyes—men and their dirty minds.
After chewing the last bite, I push my plate to the side. “So, what do you think of the house? Think you’ll buy it?”
He shrugs. “I loved it, but of course Deacon will need to see it first.”
“You should have dropped me off at home and made him to go with you.”
His head shakes. “I’m glad I brought you.”
A flutter of my heart. “You are?”
“Yeah. Deacon is indecisive with these things.” Heart. Sink. “What did you think?”
I lift a shoulder. “I thought it was really nice. The view is beautiful. It would be a great place to take your kids one day, but then again, the river would make me nervous.”
His head juts back. “Well, I’m not worried about kids. That’s far in the future.”
Far in the future? The man was almost just married a few months ago. “What do you mean? Eliza said before she thought you’d have kids within two years of getting married.” Lie, but whatevs.
“Well, yeah, had we gotten married, that would have been accurate. But we didn’t, and I’m not getting married.”
What. The. Fuck. “Never?”
His head tilts as his eyes drop to the table. “I can’t say never, but at this point in time, I don’t see myself proposing to anyone again.”
It’s in this moment that I’m fully presented with what I’m up against. A man severely damaged, glued to the wrongdoing of his ex. I wish I’d punished Eliza to the extent she deserves, but I’m glad I didn’t. Brooks would have only seen me as vindictive and evil.
“I’m sure you’ll get over that. It was only a few months ago, after all.”
“Unlikely.”
The waitress puts the check on the table without asking us if we’d like dessert, which I’d really like because I want to eat my disappointment until it turns to hope, and smear it all over Brooks until he changes his damn mind.
Oh, yeah. And lick it off.
“Only about a half hour left now,” he says, pulling out his phone. “Stand right there. I’ll get a pic.”
I look to where his hand points—a blue line extending from the corner of a building, the sign above stamped with, “GA/TN Line.”
I oblige, my feet planted on either side while he composes his shot. A couple stroll by, the woman offering to take our picture together. Brooks lingers on hesitation, but then steps behind me. Gosh, two people in one day taking our picture as a couple. It must be fucking with the brain between his ears so good, just like I will fuck with the one between his legs.
The woman laughs. “For goodness sake, put your arms around her or something—look in love!”
My cheeks flush as his arms connect across my chest, the stubble of his jaw resting against my cheek as she snaps several photos. She hands his phone back to him, and he immediately pulls from me as he thanks her.
He leads us around a corner away from the square and toward a bridge. “Saw a sign for coffee on the river.”
“I could use some.”
We enter the indoor strip mall and step into the small coffee shop with an outdoor deck overlooking the water. It’s very tiny, and—like the gift shop—appears to be run by an older couple. They are friendly and cheerful as they help a customer in front of me. Brooks gets a phone call, tells me to order for him, and stands off to the side while I decide what I’d like. Or … try. My eyes dance over the menu, but I’m too focused on trying to figure out what’s on Brooks’s mind that I draw a blank. I tell the woman behind the counter to surprise me, and shift nervously as I wait for Brooks to get off the phone. When our coffee is ready, I step up to get it as an attractive man appears next to me.
“You with her?” the older man behind the counter asks, his hand motioning to me.
Attractive Man gives me a once-over. “Oh … no, we’re separate.”
“Well, she’s very nice,” the older man says, a smile on his face—his words an advertisement tempting the man to buy.
Attractive Man laughs. I laugh, too. “Well, I am single,” he says.
“You never know where you’ll meet The One,” the older man says, handing Attractive Man his change.
Taking full advantage of the situation, I say, “That�
�s true. You never know,” and smile at Attractive Man.
Brooks is suddenly beside me, closing the space between our bodies. “She’s with me.”
His hand finds its way to the small of my back. My chin lifts slightly at the pleasure of his touch, but the light scratching of his nails over my shirt leaves me questioning … is he using this as an excuse to touch me because he wants to?
“Great looking couple,” older man says.
Embarrassed, I don’t make eye contact with him or Attractive Man again.
Brooks pulls me through the doors and onto the deck. Our arms rest on the railing as we look out at the river. Ducks paddle and splash, strutting across the water in perfect gliding motions. It’s cooler than it was when we were on the train, but not unbearably so, as there isn’t much of a breeze now. We seem to sip our coffee in synchrony, mini sips followed by setting the cups on the railing.
“I’m surprised you aren’t sick of coffee by now,” I tell him.
“Oh, trust me, some days I can’t stand it. Probably about as much as you can’t stand people thinking we’re a couple today.”
I smile, and decide to dig at him. “The old man didn’t think we were until you let him know otherwise.”
He rolls his eyes. Leans over the rail to look at a duck below. “Yeah, well, the guy he thought you were with seemed like a creep. Didn’t want him getting any ideas.”
A smirk spreads on my face. “He was hot. You sure you weren’t just jealous?”
He laughs, his cheeks reddening. “Well, you are gorgeous, but I don’t get jealous.”
Swoon. “Sure you don’t.”
His eyes narrow at me. “What’s that mean?”
Oh, God, I’m cracking. Dangling over a cliff, my grip slipping as I watch in terror. But as much as I need to backtrack, I can’t find the words or the will. “I don’t know...”
Suddenly, his face slackens. He’s peering closely at my eyes like they’re familiar.
“What?”
His mouth drops a bit as he leans closer. Suspicion? “It’s your eyes...”
Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I should have gone for contacts. Without thinking, I’ve backed away from him. Turn my cursed blues to the river. “What about them?”
The Evolution of Ivy: Antidote (The Evolution of Ivy, Volume 2) Page 8
