I get caught in looking at her, my pulse speeding, and then we’re at the door. I take a few quick steps and open it for her—I can take the friendship thing only so far. Besides, I hold the door for any lady, including my sisters-in-law and my mom. Brooke glances at me but doesn’t seem displeased.
I follow Brooke into a dark interior with bare wood tables and a polished wooden bar across the far wall. I enjoy a good wine, and Brooke does too. It’s one of the things we bonded over when we first went out.
“Good evening.” A chipper maître d’ in a suit greets us. “Welcome. I haven’t seen you here before.”
“First time for everything,” I say lightly.
“I’m sorry—do we need a reservation?” Brooke glances around. The tables are mostly full, with couples or groups of friends talking, relaxing.
“Not at all,” the maître d’ says quickly. “Friday and Saturday, yes, but other nights we can accommodate walk-in guests. Is this table all right?” He pauses by one near the door. “The sommelier will be with you, or you can order at the bar.”
“Thank you—the table is fine.” Brooke turns on her smile for the maître d’, who is floored. That smile melts all before her, including me.
I hold out the chair for Brooke. Again, nothing I wouldn’t do for my sisters-in-law. Brooke says not a word as she sinks gracefully into it, sliding her purse under the table. I take the seat across from her, and my backside barely touches the chair before the sommelier is beside us with an open bottle and two tasting glasses.
“This is the recommended vintage tonight.” He trickles wine into the glasses. “But of course, peruse the menu and ask me any questions. I want to pair you with the right wine.”
I lift the glass and hold it to my chin and then just under my nose. It’s a red with a deep color, good legs, and a mellow, berry scent. Brooke does the same, sipping before I do.
Her eyes glow with pleasure. “Very nice,” she says.
I sip. The wine is dark and fruity, quite smooth. It was a French wine, I guessed, a Syrah, possibly a blend. “Agree. How about a bottle of this?”
Brooke nods, and the sommelier, pleased, glides away to fetch one for us.
“It’s lovely.” Brooke rolls the last drops of wine around her glass. “I never realized this place was here. I like the coffee house and never turned my head to see what was nearby.”
“You’re focused.” I lean back in my chair. “One thing I always liked about you.”
“Right. I remember us yelling about that.”
“Only when you got too focused.” I flex my shoulders and set down my glass, lounging in the chair. I want to keep this relaxed. “Bygones.”
Brooke is about to answer when the sommelier returns. The wine is indeed a Syrah from the northern Rhone Valley, and I’m pleased with myself for guessing that. Brooke and I had taken a wine course together in Napa—I still had part of the case of wine from that sojourn. The wine lasted longer than our relationship.
The sommelier lets me taste first, to make sure the bottle is all right, then when I give him a nod, he fills both glasses and leaves the bottle on a stand next to the table. A waiter brings us snacks—crackers, fruit, and cheese—along with plates, cutlery, and napkins.
By the time this flurry settles and the servers withdraw, Brooke has loosened, the lines around her mouth smoothing out.
I lift my glass. “To great cars.”
“I’ll drink to that.” She clicks her glass to mine, and we take a moment to truly enjoy the wine.
“Have you heard from Abby and Zach at all?” Brooke asks. She leans back in her seat, one hand resting loosely on the table, the other fingering her glass.
“The honeymooners?” The wedding last weekend passed off without a hitch. I’d managed to avoid Brooke, and she’d managed to avoid me. My brother Zach shoved aside his bachelorhood and looked happy as hell about it. “No. Are you kidding? They’re enjoying the cool weather of Santa Fe, hiking and shit like that.” When they remember to leave the bedroom, that is, I add silently.
“I’m glad for Abby. I remember Zach coming downstairs the day after Calandra and Ryan’s wedding, pretending so hard he wasn’t looking for Abby. Failed miserably.” Brooke laughs, the silken sound I’ve missed so much. “I gave him her number. I felt sorry for him.”
“Yeah? I didn’t hear you’d done that.” Zach had mentioned he’d seen Brooke that morning, but not that she’d given him Abby’s number. Zach had been pining, that was for sure. “Good for you.”
“They needed to get together. Same with Calandra and Ryan.”
I grimace. “Don’t remind me. Ryan was a serious headache. Ben, I’m happy to say, is much more sensible. He’s madly in love with Erin and is rolling with it.”
“I really like Erin.” Brooke nods her approval. “Just the woman Ben needs.”
“Yep. Everyone’s paired off. I’m the only one left.”
“That’s true.” Brooke takes a sip of wine. “I wonder why that is? Oh, I remember. You’re a pain in the ass.”
I pretend her comment doesn’t sting. “I like to think of myself as quirky. I’ll be the crazy bachelor uncle who lets the kids get away with shit their parents don’t, and take them for drives in my awesome Maserati.”
“Sounds like you’re interested in the car.”
“Amazing how quick you’re back on topic. Of course I’m interested in the car. Who wouldn’t be?” I fold my arms on the table. “What can you offer me?”
I mean about financing the vehicle, of course, but Brooke’s eyes narrow a tad. I watch her decide to let the possible double-meaning go.
“I can write it up for you tomorrow. Down payment, credit checks, that sort of thing. Get the paperwork ready.”
Down payment. For a car like that it will be a huge amount in order for a bank to finance little old me and not make the monthly payments more than my salary. “Let me check my accounts, and I’ll see what I can come up with.”
I don’t need to check, actually. I know exactly how much I have in my bank accounts—checking, savings, retirement account Mom insisted on setting up for each of us.
“You can always lease,” Brooke suggests.
“I don’t know. A car like that.” I shake my head. “I’d hate to give it back at the end of the term.” The statement makes me remember how I’d had to give up Brooke, and regret touches me.
She shrugs, oblivious to my thoughts. “It’s an option.”
While I’d driven the Ghibli, I’d visualized it as mine, but now I’m wondering if I can afford the damned thing at all. I already have a perfectly good car—a Mercedes C-class 300, which I’ve paid off, and it’s a nice ride. I’m dreaming.
But if I say no and walk away, I won’t have this precious time with Brooke. She’ll finish her glass of wine, tell me to call a taxi or ride-share, and leave.
“Why don’t you write it up either way?” I say. “I can look at all the numbers and decide which way to go.” I wonder if her dealership takes trade-ins, but I’ll broach that subject later.
“Sure, I can do that.”
“Meanwhile …” I lift the bottle and top off her glass. “Tell me more about the car and why I need it.”
I’m sure she’ll catch on to what I’m doing and tell me she has to go, but Brooke sits back, sips, and starts to talk about the Ghibli. What it can do, what I’ll like about it.
She knows a lot about cars, more than anyone I’ve ever met. When she runs out of information about the Maserati, I ask her about the others I’d seen in her showroom—the Lamborghini and the Aston Martin. More incredible vehicles I’d love to drive.
Brooke knows all about engine specs, and not only that, she understands how the cars feel when they’re on the road. Anyone can quote numbers from a book, but she describes how the motor sounds and its smoothness, how different cars handle in their own way, on a track versus the streets.
She’s good. By the time the bottle is half empty—most of it drunk by me—I’m convinced I need to ow
n the Maserati.
Brooke and I have so much in common—we appreciate good wine, classy automobiles, fun clubs, and great restaurants. My guy friends like cars and clubs too, but wine to most of them is bad grape juice and no substitution for a good beer. I enjoy beer as well, but many of them pour a keg down their throats for the buzz, not caring what the brew tastes like.
Then again, most of my guy friends, including my brothers, have now ceased partying. They caught the woman of their dreams and are married, some of them with little kids now. They no longer spend money on fast cars and tons of beer, instead going for the diapers on sale at the big discount stores. They’re proud dads, and I’m happy for them, but my friends have a different focus now. My brothers are quickly moving in their direction.
Brooke is single, no guy in her life right now. I know this because Calandra and Abby talk about Brooke all the time in front of me. If Brooke was going out with someone, I’d know.
I’m single too, another thing we have in common. I dated a couple of women a year after Brooke and I ended things, but the relationships fizzled before they started. It’s always been Brooke for me.
The evening meanders. I finish the bottle, and the good sommelier brings us another.
Brooke keeps herself to another half-glass, as she’s driving, but she’s loosened up, talking easily. Not as intimately as we used to, but enough to remind me why I always loved spending time with her.
We discuss my brothers marrying her friends and how things are going at McLaughlin Renovations. She tells me how she bought a half share in her business.
“You remember that Raymond didn’t think I had anything inside my head,” she says with a laugh. Raymond Bromley is the original owner of the dealership. “He wanted me to smile and flatter and talk men into putting huge amounts of money down for our cars. Took him a while to realize I had a knack for the business. You know, the reason I graduated top of my class with an MBA.”
“I don’t know—you’ve smiled, flattered, and talked me into saying yes to this Maserati.” I lift my glass. “Plus have me half sauced.”
“You did the half-sauced thing yourself, and I haven’t flattered you into wanting the car. You’re convinced because you know it’s good.”
“Yep.” I toast her and drink. “You’re one hell of a sales manager. Glad your idiot boss finally realized that. I knew he would.”
I close my mouth quickly. It’s a touchy subject, but Brooke continues as though I didn’t bring up bad memories.
“Oh, Raymond’s not so bad. Just grew up in a different era. When he started talking about selling the business, he was thrilled when I stepped up and made an offer. He loves that dealership and didn’t want to see it in the hands of someone who wouldn’t treasure it.”
“You’ll be awesome.” I’m mellow and happy. “Just as you are at everything else.”
Brooke regards me quizzically. “You told me today I had an ego. Why are you feeding it?”
“Because it’s true that you’re awesome. You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. No lie.”
Her eyes tighten. “Stop.”
“Why? Can’t I give you compliments? I’m obviously not trying to get you into bed. That’s over for us.”
A profound sadness floods me as I say this, and I strive to keep it from showing on my face.
Do her lips twitch downward, as though she’s sad too? Or is it wishful thinking?
I make my voice light. “Amazing and beautiful. Yeah, more compliments. Deal with it.”
Her smile briefly flashes over her face and is gone. Brooke has always been dedicated to her work, but I see an emptiness in her, which I know can’t be because of losing me.
Not that she lost me. I’m still around.
The second bottle is empty, and now I’m woozy. “I have to work in the morning. Mom will not be happy if I come in hungover.”
“This is an excellent wine.” Brooke turns the bottle in its stand and studies the label. “A very good wine won’t give you a hangover, as long as you drink no other alcohol tonight.”
“And do drink lots and lots of water. Not a problem. I want water in this heat anyway.” I flag down a waiter and ask for the bill. He slides away to fetch it.
Brooke lifts her purse, and I put my hand on hers.
What previously jumped between us through business cards and keys is nothing to what ignites during our hand-to-hand touch. The contact fires up my body, burning away most of the alcohol.
Brooke’s eyes widen, and she yanks her hand back.
“This is my treat,” I say.
She’s already shaking her head. “This is a business thing. You’re a client. I pay.”
“Old friends reconnecting,” I counter. “My way of saying thank you for talking to me again.”
“Bygones …” Brooke ceases rummaging in her purse and fixes me with worried brown eyes. “Isn’t that what you said?”
“Yeah, but we had some intense bygones.” I have my card out by the time the waiter returns and I toss it to the tray without looking at the bill.
Brooke contemplates me a moment, her fingers tense. Then she releases her purse and sits back. “Okay. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” I try to make the words polite, neutral, but it’s so hard to be neutral with her. My emotions are jumping around all over the place.
The waiter returns and I sign the bill. It’s high, but worth it to have this time with Brooke.
The sun has gone down when we emerge from the wine bar, and it’s marginally cooler.
“I’ve had way too much to drink to drive home,” I say as we approach her car. “Would you mind dropping me at my house? I’ll pick up my car tomorrow, and you can show me how much money I’m handing you for the Ghibli.”
Brooke moves hesitantly to the driver’s side, keys in hand. I stand at the passenger door, holding my breath.
She’s going to tell me to get a cab, and she’ll see me later. She’ll drive away, leaving me standing in the parking lot like a huge loser. I see the idea go through her head as she avoids looking at me directly.
Then Brooke heaves a sigh. “Get in.”
Not the most promising invitation, but it’s a start.
Too bad I live so close to this place. All of us brothers like Central Phoenix, and we work in a home renovation business, so we each purchased a house in the area and went to work rebuilding it. Zach has an old craftsman bungalow, Ben took a very plain cinderblock home and transformed it, and Ryan bought his bride a Mission Revival cottage with a deep front porch.
I like a challenge, so I found a house up for auction that no one wanted—I was the only one who bothered to show up to bid on it. A small mid-century brick house, with two floors, in a historic neighborhood just north of Camelback. I couldn’t change it too much because the district wants to keep the historic flavor, but the guys who work for McLaughlin Renovations know how to blend old and new to make it livable and retain the house’s intrinsic beauty.
The only drawback is that it’s about ten minutes from where we are now. Not enough time for me to continue our conversation and convince Brooke we should see each other again. You know, as friends.
Too soon, Brooke is pulling up in front of my house. We were together when I bought the place, and she remembers my struggles to make it perfect.
Does Brooke glance at the house in regret? Longing to see it one more time? She’s always liked my home. Or is this wishful thinking again?
Brooke sets the brake. “Well, good night,” she says. “See you tomorrow to go over paperwork. Say on your lunch hour?”
I’d planned to wait until six and come up with an excuse to maybe take her back to the wine bar or out to dinner. A quick drop-by during working hours is not what I have in mind.
“Sure,” I make myself say. I open the door and climb out, then find myself against the car, my legs wobbling. “Hmm. Might need a little help here.”
Brooke is already out and at my side. She slides her arm around
me in exasperation. “I’m dumping you on your doorstep. Not putting you to bed.”
“That’s what you always say.” I allow the teasing note, the grin. She’s tucked me in before, lying down beside me to make all the pain go away.
“Nope. Front door.” Brooke helps me hobble up the walk.
I have a nice yard with old growth trees lending shade, benches here and there to take advantage of said shade. The porch runs the length of the house, with chairs placed so my brothers can come over and drink beer when they want.
I drag out my keys and try to climb the porch steps at the same time. Bad idea.
I sag against Brooke. She half lifts me up the stairs and pushes me to lean against the door while she takes the keys and unlocks it for me.
“Hey.” My voice is quiet as she starts to turn away. “Thank you.”
The porch light is off, because I hadn’t planned to stay out after dark. Moonlight touches Brooke’s face, sculpting her in beauty.
I brush her cheek with the backs of my fingers. I expect her to jerk away, but she takes a breath, stilling. Encouraged, I caress her again.
We’ve stood like this so many times, on this very porch, touching, kissing, and then I’d ask her in. I’d been ready to give her her own key, right before we broke up.
“A shame,” I whisper.
She remains close to me. “What is?”
“So many things.” I give up on constraint. I lean to Brooke, my beautiful lady, and gently press a kiss to her lips.
Her mouth goes still under my touch. Not rejecting me, but not welcoming either. The pain in my heart increases.
Then Brooke grabs the lapels of my shirt, drags me against her, and deepens the kiss into a passionate and yearning one.
Chapter Three
Brooke
Oh, shit, what the hell am I doing? I’m kissing Austin McLaughlin and loving every second of it.
I should tear myself away and run like hell, but Austin’s arms come around me, and my treacherous body relaxes against him.
He tastes of fine wine and a darkness that’s all his own. His lips are firm and gentle at the same time, his kiss caressing even as it opens my mouth.
Never Say Never: McLaughlin Brothers, Book 3 Page 2
