WHILE EATING DINNER, my friend Danny, who’s second-in-command at his father’s chimney repair company, stops by to check out the fireplace. Danny and I have known each other for years, and as we walk into the kitchen, his eyes widen at the sight of Bryan in my home, whereas Bryan’s sharpen and slightly narrow.
“Wow, you’re Bryan Brennen,” he says, a little awestruck. “It’s nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand, and Bryan slowly stands from his seat at the island to return the greeting. He towers over him with his long, lean, athletic body, and I can’t help but appreciate him from the top of his messy blond hair down to his bare feet. It clearly looks like he’s been here for a while and doesn’t plan on leaving any time soon.
“You too,” he says. Shifting to stand closer to me, he crosses his arms over his chest, never breaking his stare on Danny. His biceps bulge, and I want to drool. “We appreciate you coming out on such short notice.”
We.
Be still, my heart.
Danny’s gaze flips back and forth between the two of us, and a tiny knowing grin crawls onto his face.
“No problem. Schedule’s open with the holiday tomorrow, and my mother would skin me alive if I didn’t come out to see what’s going on.” His eyes stop on me and he smiles kindly. “She thanks you for the birthday pie, by the way.”
“Of course. You know I love her.” And I do. She and GiGi were friends since childhood.
“Well, let me climb up there and take a look before it gets dark.” He hooks his thumb over his shoulder and points it back toward the door. “I’ll let you know here in a little bit.”
“Sounds good. Thank you,” Bryan says before I get the chance.
With that, Danny nods, looks at both of us one more time, and heads outside.
Turning to face Bryan, I ask, “Why are you glaring at him?”
“I’m not.” All emotions on his face loosen and fade as his arms fall by his sides.
I call him out. “You were.”
His blue eyes drift over my face, and he reaches up to push a stray piece of hair behind my ear. Saying nothing, he shrugs one shoulder and then sits back down to finish eating. Excitement blooms in my chest, not just at the simple touch, but because Bryan was jealous. He was jealous over me, and it takes everything in me not to grin like a lunatic.
Of course, that is short-lived as Danny gives me the worst news possible. Yes, the chimney is clogged with what looked like a bird’s nest, the flue is cracked in several places, and due to the age of the fireplace, the outside is in the process of deteriorating and breaking down. Chunks of brick are missing, there are cracks in the mortar, and all in all it looks like I’m going to have to replace/rebuild the whole thing.
As the estimate is dropped on the counter, my heart sinks. I can never ever get ahead. Two steps forward, one step back.
After Danny leaves, Bryan heads outside to give me some space. I don’t know what he saw on my face, but I’m glad he did. I clean up our dishes—there are no leftovers because I forgot how much grown men eat—and I let my mind wander. I can’t get off the fact that things would be so different for me if just one of these repairs happened. The roof, the water leak, the well pump, the fireplace—and those are just the recent ones. It’s so disappointing. Thank goodness for the Food Network article. Without the extra income coming in, I don’t know what I would do. As it is, the money I had in savings is almost gone. It’s so hard to save money, yet it so easily disappears.
“Penny for your thoughts?” I ask Bryan as I slip out the sliding glass door off the living room. I’ve found him standing on the back porch staring out, lost in thought.
“I can’t believe the tree house is still there,” he says, gazing past the garden on the back lawn to the old oak tree. His shoulders are squared and his hands are shoved into his pockets to stay warm.
“I love that tree house. I could never take it down,” I scoff like he’s offended me.
He turns to look at me and chuckles. “I’m surprised it hasn’t fallen down.”
“What? Never. These days, it’s been more reliable than this house.” There’s a bitterness to my tone, and I can’t help it; it’s how I feel.
“What do you mean?” he asks, turning to face me.
“Nothing.” I shake my head. I’m not unloading my sorrows on him. It isn’t any of his business, and I certainly wouldn’t accept any help from him, which he would offer because he’s a nice guy. I need to do this on my own. “Just normal problems for the homeowner of a very old home.” They are normal problems, but they’re ones that normally happen individually once a year or so, not all at the same time.
“I’m sorry.” He frowns, but I ignore the look of pity on his face and shift the conversation.
“The new property manager checks it out every now and then. He has a daughter, and she sometimes comes with him when school is out. I find her playing up there.”
“That’s good. I’m glad it’s still getting used,” he says quietly, looking back out.
After the first night I met Bryan when we slept in the tree house together, it slowly became our thing. Yes, he was James’s friend way more than mine, but he was still mine too. During the day, although they were nice to me, they mostly pretended I didn’t exist, but at night, if one of us put the light on in the tree house, the other would come. Sometimes we would meet several days in a row, and other times we would go months without. Every night before bed though, without fail, I would look out the window. Occasionally, I still find myself looking out there.
“What about . . . what about the house—is it still there?” he asks.
“No. A few years ago, when GiGi got sick and I started taking over the property, I didn’t feel like it was needed anymore. I fired Cole, broke it down, sold everything in it, and used the frame for firewood.”
I know he didn’t get along with his stepfather. He never said much, but then he was never one for words. Sometimes, though, with his silence and his expressions, we heard him loud and clear. To me, that house represented loneliness and sadness, and even if he never knew about it, I got rid of it for him.
He turns to look at me, his gaze one of tenderness and reverence. “James mentioned in passing once that he was no longer here. I didn’t realize it was because of you.”
I press my lips together. There’s nothing to say, so I just shrug my shoulders.
A breeze blows over us, and I shiver. It feels colder now than it did this morning. Moving closer to me, Bryan wraps his arm over my shoulders and snuggles me into his side. The movement is simple, natural, but as we stand here, I focus on his warmth, because it’s hard to reconcile with my heart that he’s really here. I’ve dreamed about moments like this with him for so long, and I’m almost afraid to blink for fear that it will disappear.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come for GiGi’s funeral. I should have, and I know it.” I glance up at him as he says this. His gaze is still locked on the tree house, but his face is solemn, his mouth turned down.
“It’s okay. Really, it is. James wasn’t here either, so I kept it small and just had a few of her friends over.”
The truth is, I didn’t want him here. At first I was angry he didn’t come—after all, she loved him, too—but I quickly realized it was for the best.
I was inconsolably grieving for her, and mourning the loss of my loved one, one who represented all of my parental love, was hard enough. To include the boy I’d loved my whole life, the one who hadn’t bothered to visit once after he left, would have been too much. I couldn’t add one more burden on my emotional wellbeing. I needed to make peace with the loss, and I needed to learn how to be alone.
“I’m still sorry . . . more sorry than you’ll ever know.”
Part of me is hoping he’s apologizing for so much more than just the missed funeral.
Bending over, his head comes to rest on top of mine. The gesture is small, but it’s enough.
“Wanna make s’mores?” I ask, hoping to lighten the mood an
d change the subject.
He lifts his head and looks over at the patio furniture I’ve arranged in the shape of an L with a propane fire pit filled with lava rocks in the middle. I love that fire pit. It was on clearance at Home Depot last summer and it’s kind of ugly, but I had to have it.
“Do you have Reese’s Cups?” His tone is so serious and so hopeful at the same time.
“You know I do.” I smirk.
He perks up. “Then hell yeah.”
I squeeze his waist and then release it.
Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup S’mores
MUTED SUNLIGHT WARMS my skin as the scent of Thanksgiving wakes me. The house is quiet except for Lexi moving around the kitchen, and I’m shocked to realize I slept so late. She offered me the guest bedroom, but after the s’mores, we ended up watching a movie, and I chose to stay on the couch instead. I would be lying if I said I woke up completely happy to be here; instead I feel weighted in melancholy. Yes, without a doubt I am happy I chose to come, but by being here, I’m forced to face the choices I’ve made over the years that didn’t include this, didn’t include her.
Turning my head, I stare at the fireplace. The look on her face after the repairman left last night . . . it was hard not to see the utter disappointment. Fortunately, I haven’t had any problems with my home, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time, and the price tag he quoted her was high enough to make even me flinch.
A long wooden mantle hangs over the fireplace. On it there are pictures ranging all through the years, and I’m in five of them. Five. This adds to the guilt I already carry. She kept me present in her life, whereas I tried my hardest to tuck this place into the past.
“You’re awake,” I hear from the doorway.
Sitting up, I rub my hand over my face to wipe off the sadness and find Lexi smiling at me.
“Yep, just woke up. How long have you been awake?” I ask, taking her in from head to toe: sleep pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, slippers that look like boots, and a small apron with fireflies on it tied around her waist. Her hair is back up on top of her head, and I can’t help but think she looks so good. She isn’t trying to be anyone but herself, and I love that about her.
“Maybe an hour. There’s fresh coffee and breakfast is almost done, so come on in when you’re ready.” She smiles, turns around, and practically skips back to the kitchen.
“Someone is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning,” I call after her as I make my way to the bathroom.
“I’m usually a morning person anyway, and I’m definitely happy today.”
Happy—she’s happy because I’m here, and that guilt hits me again. Why did I think staying away for so long was a good idea? Suddenly, I find myself mourning all the missed holidays I could have spent with her. Waking up with her, celebrating with her, creating our own traditions—I could have had this. We could have had this, but we didn’t because of me. Today, staring at the truth, it hurts.
Making my way into the kitchen, I don’t know what compels me to wrap her in my arms, but I do. The memory of holding her close outside last night isn’t enough, and I need more—a lot more. She’s standing at the stove, and I walk up right behind her and hug her. She leans into me, clasping my arms where they rest on her chest, and I want to stay in this spot forever. Instead, after the stolen moment, I let out a deep breath and release her.
“So, what’s on your agenda today?” I ask, walking over to the coffee pot to pour myself a cup. Typical Lexi, she’s set out everything I might want: a mug, two types of sugar, flavored creamer, half and half, and a spoon.
“Food and football,” she says, looking over and smiling at me as if there is no other possible answer.
“Music to my ears.” I flash her a tiny grin.
“I figured it would be.” She moves to the oven and pulls out what she told me last night is an overnight breakfast pie. “And I’ll get ready for Black Friday orders. If I can get ahead of some of it, that would be great.”
“What do you mean?” I should be drinking this coffee black, but the Italian sweet cream creamer looks too good.
“I’ll prebubble-wrap some of the jars, tape up the bottom of some boxes—things like that so all I have to do is print the order and package it up.”
“Are you running a sale tomorrow?” I take my first sip and want to groan with delight.
“We are. Marie sent out a mass newsletter email this morning, and we’re offering twenty-five percent off two or more jars.” She slices the pie and dishes up two pieces.
“You two are always working, aren’t you?” I take my usual seat at the island.
“If we don’t, who will?” She shrugs and slides one of the plates across to me.
“All right, then I’ll help.”
And that’s how our day goes. It’s very easy and comfortable, just like yesterday. She does cook a lot, but she seems to enjoy it, and I have no problem eating it all, including the pie. I swear, every pie of hers I taste is better than the last.
“What do you normally do for Thanksgiving and Christmas?” she asks as we’re curled up under a blanket together on the couch after dinner. The sun has set, and although it’s dark outside, there’s just enough light in here to see her. Touching her has become easier, too, and I can’t seem to keep my hands off her. She doesn’t seem to mind; if anything, as the day’s worn on, she’s gravitated to me more and more.
“Nothing. Sometimes I get invited to another player’s house or one of the coaches will plan something, but usually nothing. Holidays aren’t that big of a deal to me. What about you?” I trail my fingers across her forehead and tuck a loose piece of hair behind her ear. Her head tilts a little and her eyes flutter at the touch.
“Up until two years ago, I celebrated them with GiGi. Occasionally, James would come home, but not since he joined the Air Force. Last year, I spent Christmas with Marie and her family. Finley was six months old, and she was just the cutest.” She takes my hand between hers and slowly runs a fingertip over each line and crease. It tickles, but it feels incredible, too.
“I bet. I was happy to hear from James how well things have turned out for her.”
“Yeah, I was just happy she got over her infatuation with him. Jacob is good to her, and they seem very happy. Personally, I’d be lost without her. She takes care of all the things I don’t want to, so this feels less like a job and more like fun.”
“I’m glad you have her.”
She looks over at me, her gaze falling to my lips as she says, “Me too.”
My lips.
Her lips.
Just the thought has me staring at them. My stomach clenches at the sudden need to feel her mouth on mine, but instead of leaning in like I desperately want to, I shift away and just watch her.
She switches to my other hand, and a silence falls over us as I soak up the attention she’s giving me.
I am glad she has Marie, and now I just need to figure out how to reassure her she’s got me too. I don’t want her thinking I’m just here for a few days. I need her to understand it’s going to be for a lot longer, an indefinite longer if I have anything to say about it.
Sometime after the next movie, Lexi heads off to bed, and I’m left staring at the ceiling. This isn’t where I want to be. I want to be with her, and I want her to know that. So, I make the decision and head upstairs. What’s the worst that can happen? She tells me no? I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.
With my heart pounding in anticipation, I’m certain she must hear me coming up the stairs. I’m not sneaking, but I’m not walking heavy-footed either. I just don’t want to startle her.
Creaking the door open, I’m instantly taken by the changes she’s made to the space. Even in the dark, with just the moonlight, I can see it’s so her with the patterned wallpaper, the shape of the furniture, and the thick rug in the middle of the room, which extends under the bed.
The bed.
My eyes seek her out. She looks so small curled up under the cover
s, and as I walk toward her, she sits up. Her hair, which has been pulled back for the last two days, tumbles down past her shoulders as she stares at me, half her face cast in shadows.
Damn, she’s beautiful.
“You okay?” she asks.
As I walk forward, she scoots over and pulls back the covers on my side, the side I always lie on. Sliding in, I lie on my side to face her, tucking my arm under my head. Big eyes stare at me through the darkness.
“I am now. Is this okay with you?” Although, now that I’m here, I’m not sure I could leave her. She’d have to beg, or maybe I would.
Her eyes again drift to my lips and she whispers, “Yes.”
Unfolding my arm, I slip it under her neck and pull her closer. The sheets are warm where she was lying, and they smell clean, sweet. She scoots closer, and her hand falls to my waist. She plays with the hem of my shirt, and I roll her hair through my fingertips.
“Why? Why did you leave and never come back?” she asks, so quietly. I know it was hard for her to voice the words.
“Because . . .” I let out a sigh. I knew this question was eventually coming. How could she not ask it? In my head, I know it’s going to sound more logical when out in the open, but it’s still hard to explain. “There were things I needed to get away from, things I needed to do—things I still need to do, need to accomplish. It’s not that being here would have prevented that. It’s just . . . I needed to compartmentalize, focus. I needed time.”
“You needed to be away from me,” she states.
“No. Yes.” I let out a deep, unforgiving sigh. “One day, I promise we’ll talk it all through.” I just can’t do it today. “But, Lex, I’m here now, and I’m not leaving again.”
“You’ll never understand how you’ve made me feel.” She shakes her head, and it moves back and forth against my arm.
“I know, and you’ll probably never understand why I did what I had to do.”
She frowns and, in the moonlight, I watch her study my face. Pulling her hand from under the covers, she runs a finger over my brow, around my eye, until the backs of her fingers slide down my cheek, over my jawline, and then they drop between us. The feeling was so tender, every muscle in my chest tightened.
Last Slice of Pie (Starving for Southern Book 2) Page 10
