by A. J. Pine
Jamie rubbed her back and rested his chin on her head.
“I’m sorry, B.” His voice still carried the hint of a chuckle, but he was no longer laughing. “I guess we’ve never really had good timing.”
She sniffled again. “What am I going to do?”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said. “Let’s get you cleaned up and back to the truck, and I’ll fix this.”
She nodded against him, but she had to ask.
“How?”
“I’ve already got the hotel in Tulsa booked. I’ll call Holly, have her overnight your glasses to the hotel, and you’ll have them before we head out tomorrow. Until then…”
He hesitated because they both knew what until then meant.
“I’m legally blind,” Brynn said.
He took in a deep breath, then sighed. Her head rose and fell with the action.
“Do you still trust me?” he asked, and she let out a bitter laugh.
“To not also take away my hearing? That would make this trip a double bummer.”
“To make sure you don’t miss a thing,” he said. “I’ll be your eyes for the rest of the evening and until the glasses arrive in the morning. And I’ll cover whatever it costs for Holly to get them here by then.”
Brynn righted herself and held a hand over her contact-free eye.
“I’m still mad at you.”
“As you should be.”
“But it’s a nice gesture. Very gentlemanly.”
A small smile formed on his lips.
“I’m glad you think I’m a gentleman.”
She shook her head. “The gesture was that of a gentleman, but you are still the pain in the ass who blinded me.”
He laughed. “Noted. Should we salvage the remaining lens and get you to the truck?”
“Lead the way,” she said, and gestured toward the sink. Of course she misinterpreted the depth of space and smacked her knuckles against the porcelain. “Dammit!”
Jamie grabbed her hand and placed a soft kiss against the throb of pain. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and she yanked her hand away, hastily removing the contact from her eye, dropping it in its case, and shoving both that and the solution into her bag.
Then she let her arms fall to her sides, lest she knock loose any more bone fragments from her most likely bruised hand.
Jamie linked his arm with hers and turned her toward the door. At least she thought they were facing the door.
“Shall we?” he asked.
“You’re not going to mess with me and put me in someone else’s car, are you?”
“I hadn’t thought of it until you mentioned it,” he said, amusement in his tone.
“Forget I said anything, then.”
“Forget what?” he asked.
“Exactly,” Brynn said, and bit back the beginning of a smile.
Chapter Eleven
Brynn’s phone made a tweeting sound on the nightstand, but she didn’t move. Jamie watched her from his bed as she lay across hers, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“Do you want me to answer that for you?” he asked, but she waved him off.
“That’s Holly texting even though she knows I can’t read it.” She didn’t turn to him when she spoke, just stared straight up. “I can see a crack in the paint ten feet above me,” she said, “but I can’t read a freaking text.”
She hadn’t told him to read the text, but then she hadn’t told him not to, so he made the decision for himself.
“Holly says that we’re lucky it’s a weekday because the courier doesn’t overnight on weekends. The courier takes payment on delivery only, but since I already gave her my debit card number, she’s going online shopping with it, and your glasses will be here before noon tomorrow.”
Jamie put the phone back down next to their stacked room-service plates. Brynn wasn’t much in the mood for sightseeing, especially since it was nearly dark when they arrived. Since she couldn’t really see the sights anyway, she’d insisted they just eat in the room in case she made a mess of herself, which she hadn’t.
Jamie carried the plates from the room, placing them on the floor in the hall of Oklahoma’s Campbell Hotel. His intent was to surprise Brynn on their first night away with a place well above motel standard. Instead he’d surprised her in a Kansas gas station bathroom and cost her the luxury of vision for the next eighteen hours.
When he stepped back through the door, Brynn was lying on her side facing him.
“Stop,” she said, so he halted just inside the room. Then Brynn smiled, and he realized he hadn’t seen this expression on her since they’d played Truth or Dare.
“Hi,” she said to him and offered a small wave.
Jamie slid down the door so he was sitting against it. He understood.
“You can see me,” he said, and she nodded.
“You’re a little fuzzy around the edges, but I can actually tell your nose from your chin now.”
He laughed. “I actually feel a little fuzzy around the edges. This is a good distance?”
Brynn nodded. “Far enough away for me to see you but close enough to know you’re still here.”
Jamie knew she was talking about her vision, but she may as well have been talking about them and the unspoken distance they’d created in the last ten years. Despite staying friends, there’d been so many times he’d wanted to address that summer, to tell her again how sorry he was. But she made him promise not to bring it up again, and the least he could do was keep his word, even if it meant this thing was always hanging between them.
But something felt different now, like being on the road suspended them in an alternate reality or a parallel universe. Maybe here he could break the rules and get away with it.
Now, Jamie. Tell her now. She just gave you an opening.
But he paused a second too long, and Brynn took the initiative to fill the silence.
“Think Spencer will like me in my specs?” she asked. “That was my last pair of contacts, or I’d have had Holly send those, too,” she said. “I don’t get it. I’m an excellent packer. For me to not only forget to order new contacts but also neglect to pack my glasses? It’s not like me.”
Jamie knew this was the place where he was supposed to say something comforting, reminding her that she’d be in great shape after her glasses arrived, but he was having trouble getting past her first question. Think Spencer will like me in my specs?
Spencer was human, and Brynn was Brynn, so of course he’d like her in her goddamn specs. Jamie loved Brynn in her glasses, because something akin to a transformation took place when the contacts came out and the glasses went on. Brynn morphed from her day-to-day, high-strung self to someone almost relaxed. Almost.
“Jamie? Did you hear anything I just said?”
His gaze met hers, and he realized he’d zoned for longer than he thought. He reminded himself this was about choice—Brynn’s choice. And so far, she hadn’t chosen him.
“Huh? I mean, yes. Of course he’ll love bespectacled Brynn. He writes books, right? You’ll look more…readerly.”
Readerly? Shit. Things were bad when he started making up his own vocabulary. It was either that or tell her that even though the lenses of her glasses were thicker than a Coke bottle, she looked more herself when she wore them, more comfortable in her skin. And when Brynn was comfortable in her skin, she was stunning.
But he wasn’t about to call his best friend stunning, not now that Spencer had used that word for her, and especially not when she was concerned with what some other guy thought of her looks.
“Readerly, huh?” she mused, then sat up. “I know I should be tired. I mean, it’s been a long day…”
“It’s only nine o’clock,” Jamie interrupted.
“Are you tired?” Brynn asked. “You did all the driving. I can drive some of the way tomorrow if you want. Once I’m bespectacled.”
While Jamie could appreciate the sincerity of the offer, he also knew that Brynn was confident he’d
never let her behind the wheel of the truck. Just because she somehow passed her driving exam didn’t mean anyone should willingly let her out on the open road. She wouldn’t argue this, either.
“You know I like to drive,” he said. “I’m good to keep going.”
“Oh, thank God,” she said, and they both laughed.
“And I’m not tired, either,” he lied. If he got back on that bed and put his head on the pillow, he’d be out until morning. The driving, the drama, the energy it took to keep everything he was really thinking and feeling bottled up—it all took its toll, and he wanted sleep, welcomed it even, but not at the price of losing time with Brynn.
“Well,” Brynn said. “Watching a movie is out. Although I could listen. We could play more Truth or Dare…”
She broke off in mid-thought. Jamie figured if he was going to stay awake, the only thing that would help was something cold and on tap.
“There’s a bar on the main floor. Buy me a beer?”
She swung her feet over the side of the bed and planted them on the floor.
“Only if you buy me one,” she said.
He strode to her side and helped her put on her boots.
“How do I look?” she asked.
Her hair was up in one of her messy buns, and the day had worn away any makeup she’d been wearing.
“Perfect,” he said, and felt something in his chest constrict at the word. “You look perfect.”
“Good answer, Mr. Kingston. Now let’s go have a pint.”
…
When they made it into the Campbell Lounge, Jamie uttered a low “Whoa” under his breath.
“What’s up, Keanu?” Brynn asked, her hand linked with his as he led her through the door.
“I’ve read about some nearby breweries, and it looks like the tap beers here are local brews.”
Well, Brynn thought. That settled it. Jamie was never going to leave this place.
“A kid in a candy shop,” she said. “Okay, expert. You get to pick what I drink.”
“I have a better idea,” he said, and he led her the rest of the way.
Brynn perched atop a stool at the bar. It was Jamie’s idea to sit up close because then Brynn couldn’t cheat, not that she would. But whatever. She’d humor him.
“A blind taste test, huh? I feel like you’re taking advantage of my situation, James. How do I know you won’t have our friend Tim here put Tabasco in my glass or make me drink some other patron’s leftovers?”
Tim was the bartender, and Jamie had introduced himself as a brewmaster the second they sat down. Now the two were practically besties, and Jamie was behind the bar with Tim instead of on a stool next to her.
“It’s not like this is a fraternity prank,” Jamie said. “But you have given me some good ideas, now, if I decide to go that route. And it’s not a taste test. It’s an experience. You can interact with the brews from a completely different perspective. A more sensual beer-tasting event.”
Brynn raised her brows, and Jamie and Tim both laughed, a duet of maleness that was maybe a little bit sensual.
“Head out of the gutter, Chandler,” Jamie said. “Sensual as in senses—as in using your other senses to enjoy the experience.”
She knew the definition of the word and was ready and willing to argue her point, but before she could, Jamie grabbed her hand and placed it on a cool pint glass. Brynn assumed she knew the rules and immediately raised the glass to her lips.
“No!” Both men yelled in chorus, and her hand stopped mid-tilt, beer dribbling over the rim and on to her hand.
She rolled her eyes and groaned. “Am I not supposed to drink it? Maybe I should have had you clarify sensual a little better.”
“She’s funny,” Tim said to Jamie.
“Difficult is more like it,” Jamie mumbled, but Brynn caught the words just fine. Maybe her sense of hearing was sharpening now that she was virtually without sight.
“I’m right here, guys. Hello?”
She set the glass back down, and one of them handed her a napkin. She couldn’t make out which.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome.” The voice definitely belonged to Jamie. Okay. She’d give him a point back for politeness, but she was going to file away difficult for the next time she wanted to throttle him.
“Can we try again?” he asked. “This time with clearer directions?”
She crossed her arms and waited.
“Just put your hand on the glass first. It’s dry, by the way.”
Brynn sighed but did as she was told, allowing Jamie to guide her hands so there were no depth perception incidents.
Jamie and Tim were silent, and she was a tad creeped out without anyone talking to her.
“Um…is there a chant or something I’m supposed to say before I sip? What happened to my clear directions?”
A curl fell free of her bun, landing over her left eye. She blew it out of the way more on ceremony than anything else. Not like it was blocking her vision. But it flopped down again. She wanted to reach for it, but something told her she wasn’t supposed to let go of the glass, not after Jamie had so carefully placed her hands on it.
And since Jamie could probably hear her inner monologue, she wasn’t surprised when his fingertips brushed her forehead and then her cheek, tucking the rogue curl behind her ear. At least, she hoped it was Jamie. Because if it was Tim, that would just be weird.
It was definitely Jamie. She could smell that just him scent on the sleeve of his hoodie as it, too, tickled her cheek.
“Sensual experience,” she muttered and cleared her throat. “Directions, please?”
“Just tell me about the glass,” Jamie said.
“Jamie,” she whined. She just wanted to drink the damn beer.
“Brynn?” He drew out her name, his tone reminding her she’d agreed to play along.
“It’s cold,” she offered, but Jamie didn’t respond. While his shape was unclear, she could tell he was close, leaning on the bar in front of her, that scent of his lingering. Fine. The faster she got through this, the faster she could drink and drown out the just him.
“The glass is perspiring,” she continued, “so that already rules out stout because you would never serve me a chilled stout.”
Someone whistled his approval, and then she heard Tim’s voice.
“Your girl knows her brews.”
Brynn smiled at this, and okay, maybe she even puffed up a bit with pride. Jamie had been putting his scientific brilliance to this kind of work for almost a decade now, and she hoped he was just as proud at how much she’d paid attention. Of course, there were times he’d gone on for far too long about the IPA he was trying in any given year, and Brynn would zone understandably. A girl doesn’t want to get attached to one ale only for him to never make it again. But the passion with which Jamie did his work—that was contagious. Mellow and even on all other counts, his spirit ignited when he talked about what he loved.
“She certainly does,” Jamie said, and Brynn beamed. Jamie didn’t correct Tim about the your girl comment, and she decided to let it go as well. No point in steering the conversation in that direction when they were just starting to have fun.
“Do I get to taste it now?” she asked, the moisture from the glass making her mouth water.
Jamie put his hands over hers, guiding her to lift the glass. Finally, she thought, but the motion stopped when her hands were just in front of her face.
“What do you smell?”
Brynn sighed. At least the glass was closer to her mouth. Baby steps, she supposed.
She sniffed and was transported to a memory. Barely more than a year ago, the Fourth of July. Brynn had just gotten out of a relationship—her doing—because after six months there weren’t any fireworks, so the last thing she wanted to do that night was see the evidence of what was missing from her life. She boycotted the Fourth and holed up in her apartment by herself until Holly, Annie, Jeremy, and Jamie brought the ant
i-party to her. With a half barrel filled from the ale house, the five of them drank their fill with the shades drawn and the Monkees blaring. Not one firework was seen or heard, and Brynn relived this scene simply from the scent of citrus.
“Orange,” she said, grounding herself back in the moment with the sound of her own voice. “With maybe a hint of grapefruit. Or lemon. Something tart.”
“Dude,” Tim said. “Do not let this one go.”
This time Brynn and Jamie responded in perfect unison.
“We’re not together.”
Brynn’s version was emphatic, Jamie’s hesitant, but their words were the same nonetheless.
“Then will you marry me, Brynn?” Tim asked in earnest.
Brynn flushed at the compliment, sure both men could see the evidence of it on her pale skin, but she didn’t care. It felt nice to have this part of her brain admired—the beer part. Maybe she’d call it her beer cortex.
“Haven’t tasted it yet, Tim,” she said. “A girl’s gotta drink her beer before she marries the guy who poured it.”
She stuck her tongue out, ready to lap up the fragrant liquid.
“You’re killing me,” Tim said.
“Dude, I poured it,” Jamie argued under his breath, and Brynn wondered if the remark was for Tim-the-bartender or her. This blindness thing was heightening her other senses all right, and she didn’t like it. Because heightened senses made her think. And overthink. Hell, she did that on a normal day. Right now she just wanted to forget thinking altogether and drink her beer.
“Can I taste it, now?” she asked, sure that as soon as the liquid passed her lips, she’d probably down the whole glass. It was turning into that kind of a night.
“One sip,” Jamie said. “One sip and then initial reaction.”
She stuck her tongue out again, partly because she liked the idea of Tim-the-bartender thinking it was hot. She didn’t do things like this, acting playful and sexy with a perfect stranger. But blind or not, Brynn felt sexy in this moment, and she dipped the tip of her tongue into the head of the beer.
“Jesus.”
The word was soft, under his breath, but Brynn’s sense of hearing was sharper this evening, because the word did not escape her, nor did the recognition that the voice belonged to Jamie and not to Tim. She reminded herself she was playing at sexy for the complimentary bartender and swallowed the bit of foam on her tongue. Then she laughed softly, the tickle of the carbonation lingering.
