“It was fun. I had lunch with some of my bridge club. I intended to go to Annelle’s shop, but I forgot to take Lucy’s casserole dish with me when I left this morning.”
“You mean to tell me that all that kerosene fruit got eaten?” He had eaten a small bit yesterday and he’d put on a happy face about it, but it was clear that whoever married Lucy was going to have to be able to cook—or hire a cook. That was the worst stuff in the history of food.
“Brantley!” Big Mama said. “I believe the word you are looking for is curried, not kerosene. And there was a little left. Evelyn put it in a smaller container. I plan to eat it later. It was delicious.”
“It was noxious.” He continued to build his sandwich.
Big Mama set the dish on the table and sat down across from him. “You are making a sandwich from turkey, dressing, cranberry sauce, and mayonnaise and you have the nerve to call that lovely fruit noxious. I hope you didn’t say that to her.”
“I’ve got some sense. I just wish y’all hadn’t bragged on it so much. She might bring it Christmas.” And she had to come for Christmas. It was the only way he’d get through it.
Big Mama looked extremely pleased and he suspected it had nothing to do with that fruit. “Have you considered that perhaps it could have been a very high quality dish, but you just don’t happen to like curried fruit?”
“You’re supposed to be on my side. I cannot believe you are defending my own girlfriend against me.”
“Oh, is that what she is?”
“Maybe,” he said. He had never considered anyone a girlfriend he hadn’t slept with, at least not since he was twenty. But if she wasn’t, she would be soon.
“I am on your side, darling.” She plucked the sunglasses from where she had pushed them to the top of her head. “Completely and eternally.” She rose. “I’m going now. I’ve heard Annelle has outdone herself this year with her decorations.”
Yeah, and robbed me of Lucy’s company. He hadn’t been in that shop since the summer everything went bad, when he and Missy would go in to see Lucy when she was working.
“Big Mama,” he said. “If you can wait until I finish my sandwich, I’ll go with you.”
Chapter Seventeen
It was three o’clock before the crowd thinned—just in time for Brantley and Miss Caroline to walk in the door.
Miss Caroline clapped her hands in front of her and looked from Annelle to Lucy. “Gorgeous! I had heard, but it’s even better than I imagined.” She picked up one of the small wicker shopping baskets. “I’m going to have to have some of this!”
Brantley smiled and sauntered toward Lucy. “She’s going to have to have some of this. Because, you know, she hasn’t got any stuff.”
“A woman can’t have too much stuff.” Lord, her feet hurt but seeing him soothed everything else.
“I am beginning to think Lucy Mead doesn’t have a cell phone anymore.”
She patted her pocket. “I must have left it in my office. Sorry. I guess you called?”
“A few times,” he said. “I brought back your basket, your leaf thing, and your orange pot. It’s in my car. I could just bring it over tonight.”
“Maybe,” she said. Truth was, even as tired as she was, as much as she needed to go to bed as soon as she got home, she wanted him to come over. It scared her how much she wanted that. “I had a late night and early morning. I will definitely need a nap. I can’t promise I won’t sleep straight through.”
“You could come do that at my house.” He leered at her just a little. “Will finished the cabinets and you could see them. Then—” he looked at the ceiling “—we could see what happens. Whatever.”
She couldn’t think about that bed right now. “Did you talk to Will about the Brantley Building?”
He nodded. “I did. He’s interested. We’ll meet with him at the building sometime in the next couple of weeks. He’s a good guy. I invited him to Missy’s Iron Bowl party.”
“Brantley! Why do you think you can invite people to other people’s parties?”
“Because clearly I can. I can do most anything I want. There’s only one thing that I can think of that’s not coming my way right now.” He licked his bottom lip just in case there was any question about what it was he wanted.
“Oh?” She widened her eyes. They were just dancing the dance of when not if now. They both knew it. “What is it that you could want? We have many things here.” She walked over to the candle display. “Could I interest you in one of these lovely candles? One hundred percent natural ingredients.” She turned around and reached into a basket. “How about some of this exquisite ribbon? Or some of this sweet baby’s breath? With some lights and a few pieces of crystal you could have a fabulous tablescape.”
“Would this tablecloth go with it?” He picked up one of the antique wedding veils from the chair.
Dismay washed over her as she saw him realize it was not a tablecloth.
“Oh.” Then he grinned like a devil had gotten hold of him. And before she could stop him, he whipped it around and put it on her head.
Heat washed over her face. “Brantley, no!” She reached to remove it, but he laughed, caught her hands, and kissed her. It was a playful kiss that she did not participate in, but it was enough. When she finally broke away from him and looked up, Aunt Annelle and Miss Caroline were beaming at them like they were passing out keys to all that could be good in the world.
She replaced the veil on the chair and said, “I’ve got to go call a fabric order in. I’ll text you after I have a nap—if I wake up.”
He was still smiling when she fled to her office.
Chapter Eighteen
Lucy dragged herself up the porch steps. If she had not been so tired, the wedding veil joke would not have gotten away with her as badly as it had. That’s what it was—a joke. And that was fine because, no matter how she felt, her relationship with Brantley was based on nothing more than fun, flirtation, and chemistry. Laughter and jokes were what held them together.
She locked the door behind her and caught sight of the sofa, with its soft pillows and the luxurious cashmere throw that Annelle had given her for her birthday. She wanted to be there more than anywhere in the world.
Except Brantley’s arms. No. Stop it. Don’t think like that. Enjoy the relationship but take it for what it is. Above all else, do not long for him. Longing for him is what got you Savannah.
She rubbed the place between her eyes. She was only having these thoughts because she was so tired. Hungry too. She hadn’t eaten since the apple and yogurt she’d had that morning while decorating a Christmas tree with dried orange blossoms and lacey linen handkerchiefs. Next year she was going to talk Aunt Annelle into hiring a couple of extra hands to decorate.
Of course, next year she would not have been up until all hours with Brantley Kincaid watching football, and then spent another hour on her sofa kissing and shedding just a few more clothes than the last time.
She looked longingly at that sofa. What she ought to do was have a snack and go upstairs and get in her bed.
But she could not take another step. And the bed wouldn’t smell like him like the sofa pillow would. Stupidly, she removed her shoes and settled in under the cashmere throw. Immediately, her nipples tightened and desire shot through her.
Hell and double hell. Apparently, she had taught her body to think that if she was on this sofa, she had a good time coming.
Coming. That was funny. She still hadn’t with Brantley, but only because she had willed it not to happen, would stop him just in time. She’d been so close, but she didn’t want it to happen like it did for teenagers in the back of a car. It seemed that they should save something for when they had real sex—and the time for that was fast approaching.
It was only the thought of Savannah that made her hesitate.
Savannah. She banished the particulars of that memory every time they threatened to creep up, but now she didn’t have the energy to fight. It was fatigue a
nd a half dream state that took her back.
Fourteen years ago. Campus of the Savannah College of Art and Design. Mid April. Lucy had been nearing the end of her freshman year. It had been almost four years since her date with Brantley that wasn’t a date—and almost four years since she had seen him. Since then, she had spent every summer in Merritt working for Annelle, but Brantley didn’t come home summers. According to Missy, who remained in constant touch with both Lucy and Brantley, he went to summer school or interned with architectural firms. One summer, he had gone to Virginia and actually did manual labor on a property that was being restored. Missy had visited him there one weekend and she’d tried to get Lucy to make the trip with her, but that had been absolutely out of the question.
Missy still had no idea how Lucy felt. Correction. Had felt. That was in the past. But to say she never thought of him, surrounded by warm happiness, would have been a lie. After that night, Lucy had embarked on a plan to whip her body into shape and she thought of Brantley every time she reached for a piece of chocolate or was tempted to skip the gym. Since, she had learned how to balance an occasional treat and a lazy day, but not back then. In those days, she never deviated from her eating and exercise plan. After all, the scale and size labels in her clothes told her she had been successful, even if her heart and head did not believe it.
She had just come out of her mid-morning class—Form, Space, and Order—when she checked her phone and found she had a voicemail from a number she did not recognize.
Nothing could have prepared her for that message. His voice was still like warm caramel. “Lucy, this is Brantley Kincaid. I got your number from Missy. I’m in Savannah for a few days for an architectural restoration seminar that the college is having here. Anyway. Haven’t seen you in a long time. Give me a call back, if you would. I thought we could have lunch and catch up. Bye.”
She stood outside her classroom door stunned. Ha. More like Missy thought they could have lunch and catch up. Missy wanted all of the parts of her life to move together like clockwork, and that included her friends. Lucy could just hear her now. “Oh, good. You can call Lucy while you’re there! Here’s the number. Brantley! Are you listening to me? Put Lucy’s number in your phone!”
As far as Lucy knew, Brantley hadn’t even known where she was in school. If he had thought of it at all, he would have probably assumed she was at Ole Miss, where her parents taught—if he even remembered that.
She almost didn’t call him back. He wouldn’t try again. He’d only been acting on Missy’s directive and he would have fulfilled that now, whether they actually spoke or not. But she talked to Missy almost daily and she knew Missy talked to Brantley nearly as often. Likely, she’d get a call later demanding to know why Lucy had not called Brantley back and insisting that she do so, posthaste.
Besides, why shouldn’t she return the call? She reminded herself that her humiliation of four years ago was her secret and hers alone. And it had happened when she was fifteen, for goodness sake. At nineteen, she was a different person—different body and different attitude.
She would meet him for lunch tomorrow or the next day, and that would be that. Missy would be satisfied, and Lucy just might bury some demons in the process.
No time like the present. He answered on the first ring.
“Lucy Mead!” he said like she had made his day—the way he used to make hers when he waltzed into Annelle’s shop to lean on the counter and talk to her.
“Hello, Brantley.” She could think of nothing else to say.
“So are you free? I know it’s barely eleven o’clock but I am about to starve.”
Now? He wanted to have lunch now? She looked down at her clothes. Khaki knee shorts, Keds, and—since it was still cool mornings—a Hilton Head sweatshirt. Not exactly what she would have chosen to wear for a reunion with the boy who had broken her fifteen-year-old heart. It would have been easy to say she had class. He’d probably be relieved. But that wasn’t true; she was free until two o’clock. Besides, what did it matter? She’d dressed up for him once. She wouldn’t do it again.
“I could do that. Where are you?”
“Uh. Just a second.” He took the phone away from his mouth, but she heard him say, “Where am I?” Then he came back to her. “Eichberg Hall. With one of my professors in his friend’s office.”
She should have known. The school was scattered all over the city but she and Brantley Kincaid happened to be in the same building. No time to even collect herself, unless she lied, but why should she?
“How about that?” she said. “Exactly where I am. Architecture and interior design are in the same building. I’ll meet you out front.”
Though she took a detour into the restroom to comb her hair and touch up her makeup, she found herself waiting for him. Some things never changed.
But he had. For the better. The planes of his face were sharper and his formerly lanky frame was now a man’s body that had seen some gym time. He was tan and, though it was a little shorter and sleeker, he still had enough moonbeam-kissed hair to toss.
Dressed like a college senior at a professional seminar should dress, he made her feel even more childlike and sloppy in her attire.
He came toward her with his arms outstretched. The last time she’d seen him, they had hugged but he’d been despondent. Now he laughed.
“You are gorgeous,” he said. “Not that you weren’t always.”
Former fat people got that a lot.
“And you aren’t in your seminar,” she said.
“Starts tomorrow, though there’s some early stuff that I’m going to do with my professor and a couple of other Vandy students.”
“I’d heard a little about the seminar,” she said. “Our majors are first cousins.”
“Kissing cousins?” he said and gave her a little peck on the cheek, entirely brotherly. “Lucy, you just look so good.” And he gave her another little squeeze.
Did he have to sound so amazed?
“So you said you were hungry.”
“Yes, and I am entirely at your mercy. I know nothing.” He knew how to flirt and smile. He was proving that right now.
“There’s a deli not far from here,” she said, “if you don’t mind walking a few blocks. It’s been around forever. It’s in a great old building and they bake their own bread.” More importantly, while the place had character, there was nothing about it that said date place. She’d made that mistake once.
“I’d love to walk,” he said. “The buildings here are incredible and there’s no better way to see them. This whole city is a seminar.”
They walked the four blocks, stopping every so often to admire the architecture. He showed her things she’d walked by a hundred times and never noticed. The conversation was easy and it got easier as they ate. They talked about Missy, their classes, and what was going on in Merritt.
“So what are you up to next year?” she asked as he finished his cheesecake.
“Grad school. You?”
She laughed. “Right back here, if they’ll have me. And the next, and the next, and the next.”
“Right,” he said. “I forget you aren’t the same age as Missy and me.”
“No. I can’t quite catch up.” She looked at her cell. “I’ve got to go. I’ve got class.” And she thought that would be it. Duty done. They could report in to Missy. Move on. But it had been pleasant.
He laid his hand on hers. “Listen, Lucy. This was great. This afternoon, they’ve fixed it up for us to tour some historic houses around town. Tonight my professor has invited my classmates and me to dinner with a couple of the presenters. But would you like to get a drink later? I think I’ll be done by nine at the latest.”
She froze. Was he asking her for a date? Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, this was not at Missy’s behest. She never even considered saying no.
For someone who had promised herself that she wouldn’t dress up for Brantley, Lucy spent an extraordinary amount of time shaving, plucking, blow
drying, and applying makeup. She would have gotten her hair cut, but she was afraid he’d notice and think she did it for him.
The question of what to wear was a hard one. Having a drink meant a bar, but what kind of bar? She had not been to a lot of bars and she had done no drinking. In fact, she had been to exactly one Savannah bar to celebrate a classmate’s birthday and that had been months ago. Being underage didn’t slow many SCAD students down, but calories were a precious commodity that she preferred to spend on healthy food, not liquor. Plus, she hadn’t clicked with that many people, so there hadn’t been a lot of invitations. Brantley was probably staying at one of the nice historic hotels. What if he wanted her to come there? The bar there would be sophisticated, unlike the college hangouts.
It made sense that he would expect her to drive. He’d flown here. Or maybe he’d have someone drop him off and expect her to know about a place within walking distance, which just brought her back to that whole bar ignorance thing.
Oh, Lord. What if he did want her to pick a place, like he had at lunch? She supposed she could take him to that one waterfront bar, if she could remember where it was. Damn. Might as well say, Brantley, I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t go out much. I don’t have many friends. Correction. I have no friends here; I have acquaintances who I study with. We don’t do that in bars. We go to the studio and the library. Hey! Want to go to the library? They have a water fountain.
Maybe she could suggest coffee. She knew of some coffee shops. It wasn’t against the law for her to drink coffee and there were no calories.
Well, she’d worry about that when the time came. If the time came. He might not even call.
She opened her closet. The trick was to pick something that wasn’t too much or too little. Black linen pants and that pink top would be all right, but she wanted something more festive. She wanted to burst like spring, like the night around her. She shuffled through outfit after outfit, but there was nothing. Most of it was out of season and the rest of it wasn’t quite right. She should have gone shopping. Brantley might notice a fresh haircut, but he would not have known if her clothes were new.
Simple Gone South gs-3 Page 15
