Let's Do It

by Ann Christopher

  Edward snorted a laugh. “Yeah, but why not just give the hound a flag bandana?”

  “There are some questions you don’t ask a woman,” James told him. Dropping the boxes on the floor, he began sorting them onto the display shelves according to size. “And it’s beneath my dignity to discuss any pet apparel other than a collar, so I just nod and smile.”

  Well, James was doing a lot of that these days, Edward thought. Smiling. After his wife died in a car accident a couple years back, James spiraled into a depression that’d only fully lifted this past winter, when he hooked up with Miranda, the divorced single mother of twin boys who ran the upscale coffeehouse down the street, Java Nectar. They were now engaged, which was great. Edward actually liked Miranda better than he’d liked Joy, James’s first wife, who’d been a bit too tightly wound for Edward’s tastes, not that he’d ever tell James that. The bottom line was that this new version of James was talkative, agreeable and so filled with buoyant happiness that he pretty much floated from one spot to the next.

  “Does that explain the shit-eating grin you wear morning, noon and night?” Edward asked, ducking as James lobbed a kid’s pool shoe directly at his head. “I’ve been wondering.”

  “The love of a good woman explains it.” James, whose perpetual bliss meant that he could no longer be rattled, irritated or bothered about anything Edward could detect, held up a hand and neatly caught the shoe as Edward tossed it back to him.

  “I thought it was the sex on demand of a good woman.”

  Shit-eating grin widened. “That, too. Speaking of…How’d it go this morning?”

  Edward, who wasn’t ready to get into it just yet, dropped his head and rubbed his nape. James, now finished shelving boxes, nailed him with a weighty look of brotherly concern.

  “I don’t know, man,” Edward said. “Now’s not a good time.”

  James frowned. “Why not?”

  Edward shrugged uncomfortably and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. There were times, like now, when James saw so far into his head it was like he’d set up an X-ray machine around his brain. As the oldest of the five Harper brothers, James, at thirty-eight, was eight years older than Edward, the youngest. Growing up, this age spread had meant that James didn’t want to be bothered with a worshipful younger brother, and this dynamic, in turn, made Edward worship him all the more.

  Case in point? The year in fifth grade, when Edward had been too cool for school, and his grades—two Cs, two Ds, an F and a single A, in band—had reflected it. Lectures, threats, bribes and recriminations had followed from their parents, none of which had bothered Edward in the least. What had bothered him? The night James quietly told him how disappointed he was in his performance and how embarrassed he was to have such a dumbshit brother. And how he wasn’t about to be seen driving him to school again unless he got his act together, a dire fate that would’ve led to Edward being the only Harper brother relegated to riding the neighborhood’s yellow bus of shame.

  The upshot? Edward had barely made it through James’s departure at the end of his come-to-Jesus lecture before he pressed his face into a pillow and bawled his little eleven-year-old eyes out.

  The following day began Edward’s career as a straight-A student.

  “I don’t know,” Edward said, shuffling on his feet. “Where’re all your customers?”

  “Probably all down at Java Nectar getting lunch. Which is where I hope to be soon. So what the hell happened?”

  “I didn’t do it,” Edward told him.

  Blank stare from James. He cocked his head, squinting at him. “Didn’t do it, as in, you had to postpone it, or didn’t do it, as in, you’re not going to do it?”

  Shooting a quick glance at the door to make sure no customers were about to make an untimely entrance in search of sleeping bags or some such, Edward withdrew a hand from his pocket and held out the diamond engagement ring sitting on his palm. Which meant that it was not now—and never would be—sitting on Amber’s ring finger.

  “As in, I felt nauseous when I picked the ring up from the jeweler. As in, I had dry heaves when I was driving to her house to do the deed. Had to pull over. If I’d eaten breakfast this morning, I’d’ve puked my guts out all over the McDonald’s parking lot.” Edward smiled grimly. “I figured those were clues I had no business proposing.”

  “Clues, eh?” James rubbed his chin, a speculative gleam in his eye. “That you’re not ready to get married, or you’re not ready to get married to her?”

  All questions Edward had asked himself while splashing his face and rinsing his mouth in the McDonald’s bathroom. He’d thought about how he and Amber had been together off and on since high school and all they’d been through in the years since. All they’d built. He’d thought about all the obvious reasons marriage was the next logical step, and how she’d made it perfectly and painfully clear on more than one memorable occasion that she was ready for him to put a ring on it.

  Those considerations went on one side of the scale.

  On the other side of the scale was the fact that arriving at Amber’s place to spend time with her had felt, for some months (years?) like arriving for another shift at a job as a plumber, when what he really wanted—what he’d trained all his life to be—was an electrician. There was nothing wrong with plumbing. He liked plumbing just fine. He could fill his days with it if he had to. But did plumbing make his heart sing? Did he want to spend the rest of his life doing something that wasn’t his natural fit?

  The answer was clear: hell, no.

  Which meant both that the scale had tipped in favor of him returning the ring to the jeweler whence it had come and that it was way past time for him to stop burning Amber’s daylight. It had taken his grandmother’s death last month, holding the engagement ring in his hand and the retching moment of clarity at McDonald’s to crystallize his thoughts and make everything simple, as things usually were as long as you didn’t mess them up by overthinking.

  “I cut her loose,” he told James, shrugging. “She wasn’t the one.”

  James’s jaw dropped like an overloaded freight elevator. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “How do you feel?”

  The answer came to Edward without the slightest hesitation.

  “Relieved,” he said. “Like I dodged a hollow-point bullet.”

  But there was more than that. He remembered all the times in the last several weeks when Amber had asked him what was wrong, why he was so withdrawn or why he wasn’t touching her, and he’d mumbled answers that hadn’t fooled either of them. He thought about the look of dread and dawning horror on her face earlier this morning, when he ended things. He thought about how a single conversation had transferred all his mixed-up bullshit to her, leaving him relieved and her furious and devastated.

  “And guilty,” he added quietly.

  Some of his turmoil must have shown on his face because James, in the kind of show of brotherly affection they usually went to great lengths to avoid, hooked him around the neck, hauled him in for a kiss to the top of his head and turned him loose with a hair rumple.

  “Don’t beat yourself up, kid. You made the right decision.”

  Scowling, Edward straightened and tried to smooth his hair. “What the—? Weren’t you part of the hallelujah chorus demanding my head on a platter if I didn’t do the right thing?”

  “Nope. I was part of the quiet and sensible minority that knew you and Amber have as much business getting married as I have using a weed whacker to trim my eyebrows,” James said flatly.

  Hold up.

  “Are you telling me you were planning to stand by and let me marry the wrong damn woman?” Edward barked, incredulous.

  “No. I had a feeling common sense would prevail. I just had to stand by while you got there. And we both know no one can tell you anything, anyway, so don’t act like you’d’ve listened. Knowing you, one dissenting vote would’ve made you elope on the next flight to Vegas.”

&
nbsp; “Fuck you, man.”

  “The truth hurts, my young brother,” James said implacably.

  Edward glared at him, wondering why James hadn’t taken the time to clue him in days or weeks ago, thereby sparing him from some of the confusion and misery he’d been going through.

  James waited, brows raised.

  “So what was your issue with Amber?” Edward demanded. “Just for kicks and giggles.”

  “Let me ask you something.” Leaning back against the display counter full of utility knives, James crossed his arms and ankles. “Does Amber have any hobbies? Forget about sharing any of your hobbies. What does she do for fun?”

  The first thing that came to Edward’s mind, other than all the times she’d refused to golf, hike, fish, travel or cook dinner with him, was all the times he’d refused to go shopping with her. That being the case, he kept his mouth shut.

  James’ eyes gleamed with the infinite knowledge of the older brother. “Does she read?”

  Thinking of the teetering stack of tabloids Amber kept on the floor next to the wicker basket overflowing with celebrity fashion magazines, Edward continued his silence policy.

  “Never mind,” James said, waving a hand. “Those were tough questions. Here’s an easy one: when was the last time the two of you made each other laugh or had fun together? Just the two of you.”

  There was no point thinking about that one, Edward decided. A chorus of crickets was already chirping in his brain.

  “Thank you for pointing out what a dumbass I am,” he told James, galled to discover how much more insight someone else had into his personal life than he had.

  James pressed a hand to his heart and looked solemn. “It’s what I’m here for.”

  “Did you go screw yourself yet? Because you really need to.”

  James’s eyes widened into the picture of angelic innocence. “Why’re you pissed at me? You did the right thing in the end. You got it figured out. No harm, no foul.”

  “Not sure Amber sees it that way.”

  “She will in the long run. In the meantime, you’d better brace yourself. I have the feeling Miranda’s going to start fixing you up with every woman she knows. Mama, too.”

  As far as Edward was concerned, there was only one appropriate answer when people started talking about blind dates: “Not interested.”

  “You already got your eye on someone?” James wondered.

  Without warning, Reeve’s face popped into Edward’s mind.

  Correction: popped back into his mind. Where it’d been almost continuously since he’d left her.

  “Not really,” he said quickly.

  This was a complete lie.

  He’d already been kicking himself for not getting her number before he drove off and left her by the side of the road with her friend. Journey’s End was a small town, sure, but it’d be a minor miracle if he ran into her again anytime soon, and the idea of not seeing Reeve again soon was, to his surprise, much more worrisome than the fact that he’d just broken up with his longtime girlfriend.

  Did that say more about the kind of person he was, or the kind of person Reeve was?

  Reeve’s image flashed through his mind again, in all its considerable glory.

  Her body? Sick. Athletically toned and slim, with shapely arms and legs as richly brown as melting milk chocolate. But she still had plenty of distracting curves, as Edward had noticed on two noteworthy occasions. First, when he thoroughly checked out her ass in his rearview mirror while she’d obligingly bent, stooped and squatted to work on the lug nuts. What a view! What a show! Her ass was big and round, two of his favorite qualities, and he shouldn’t’ve stared quite so hard at her flexing thighs as she stooped by the flat tire, but, really, where was the harm? It wasn’t like she’d caught him. And the second time he’d noticed her curves was when they’d talked in the rain, and her soaking wet tank top had put her titties on dizzying display.

  Yeah, he’d noticed.

  Hard not to when the soaked white cotton of her top had clung to the soaked white satin of her filmy bra, thereby highlighting the perfect ovals dotted with nipples that were beaded and dark.

  Her heart-shaped face was every bit as amazing. Maybe more so.

  Brown eyes, bright and intelligent, sweetly tipped up at the corners, took up way more than their fair share of her face. They’d been shadowed by dark brows lowered with suspicion at first, true, but then she’d smiled with those pouty lips and...

  Her smile. Her smile. Her smile.

  It was a wide flash of white, completely disarming, utterly breathtaking.

  Thinking of it now filled him with a sweet ache of longing that had, thus far, proven impossible to shake off.

  Standing on the side of the road with Reeve, seeing those eyes, that smile and that body, smelling the delicious fragrances of rain and grass, damp earth and the wet, rose-scented warmth of a beautiful woman, he’d wanted in a way he hadn’t wanted Amber since...

  Since...

  Ever?

  Or was it just too long ago to remember?

  Best not to think about it too much. Nor would he consider how he’d let Reeve go without getting her number. That way lay madness. He frowned, thinking that his powerful reaction to Reeve proved, beyond the shadow of any lingering doubt, that he’d absolutely done the right thing by cutting Amber loose. If things between him and Amber were what they should’ve been, Reeve Banks wouldn’t be haunting him like this.

  He stared at his shoes, frowning.

  Low whistle from James, who was studying his face with keen interest and vague shock. “Wow. It’s like that, huh? Who is she?”

  With great difficulty, Edward shook it off, blinked himself back into the here and now with his brother and forced a smile. “Nobody,” he said. “Let’s go down to Java Nectar. Get some lunch.”

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  As he and James waded down the sidewalk and through the throng of chattering tourists on their way to Java Nectar for lunch, Edward had his mind on a big slab of quiche Lorraine, maybe followed up with a toasted cream cheese bagel and, just in case he hadn’t had enough carbs by then, an oatmeal cookie or two. He was just trying to decide whether a slice of glazed lemon pound cake made more sense than the cookies when the wrought iron gate between Java Nectar’s outdoor seating area and the sidewalk clanged open. An eight-year-old-ish boy—brown-skinned, gap-toothed, bespectacled and sporting board shorts in a lurid orange topped with a white T-shirt—zoomed through on his bike.

  Edward and James stopped dead while the boy hopped off the bike.

  “Which one is he?” Edward asked James out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Noah, dumbass.” James shot Edward a withering sidelong look that was, Edward supposed, well deserved. He’d met Noah and his twin several times during the course of various family events over the past few months. “It’s not that hard. He’s the one with the mole. And the glasses.”

  “Ta-da!” Noah, who was mercifully oblivious to this discussion about his identity, gestured to his bike with a flourish. “What’s up, Edward? How you like me now, James?”

  “Hey, little man,” Edward said.

  Nodding and grim-faced, James cupped his chin and gave the bike a thorough up-and-down inspection as he circled it. There was a lot to see. The kid had decked it out for this afternoon’s parade, which meant it had red, white and blue streamers woven through the spokes, red duct tape wrapping the seat and, in case anyone was still missing the message, tiny American flags sprouting from odd angles, like across the handlebars and from the reflectors.

  At last, James finished his circuit of the bike and met Noah’s excited gaze, his expression grave.

  “Dude,” he said. “I’m a little disappointed by your lack of holiday spirit.”

  Noah eyed him suspiciously, then burst into laughter. “You almost had me, man.”

  Grinning, James gave him a high five. “Nice job. Did you save any flags for your brother?”

&nbs
p; Said brother, Jonah, turned up just then, wheeling his own bike through the gate.

  “What’s up?” he said to Edward and James.

  Noah regarded his brother’s bike sadly, shaking his head. “I told him to decorate his bike the right way. He wouldn’t listen. He just wouldn’t listen.”

  They all looked at Jonah’s bike. It had a black and blue triangular plastic Batman kite strapped to the handlebars.

  “Wow,” James said to Jonah. “Batman, eh?”

  “He’s an American hero,” Jonah said proudly. “You don’t get more American than Batman.”

  Noah snorted. “Yeah, you do. Superman’s colors are red, white and blue. So are Spider-Man’s.”

  Jonah, who apparently hadn’t thought of that, scowled. “Shut up, Noah.”

  Noah opened his mouth for an angry retort.

  “Twins who snipe at each other,” James said mildly, “will not go fishing with me tomorrow.”

  Noah shut his mouth and looked as though he’d been forced to swallow a snail.

  “Anything else?” James asked, his attention swinging from one boy to the other.

  The twins, now shooting each other sideways glares and looking sulky, shook their heads.

  “Great.” James clapped his hands, edged around the boys and headed for Java Nectar’s front door. “Where’s your mother? I’m starving. You boys staying out here?”

  “Yeah,” they said, going back through the gate.

  “I want to put some more flags on my bike,” Noah added.

  Edward gave the boys a wave and followed James into the coffeehouse, which was hopping.

  The place had really grown in the past few months, becoming the center of a lot of the daily action here in town, the place where everyone stopped for an infusion of caffeine or sugar on their way to or from somewhere else. Miranda, the owner and James's fiancée, had recently hired a couple more employees and started offering salads and sandwiches, so the place was generally packed. The crowd today was crazy.

  “Grab that table,” James said, pointing to one over by the bay windows while he made a beeline for the counter, where Miranda was talking to a customer. As though she’d been expecting them, she glanced around, saw James, and lit up like the firework display scheduled for tonight. “I’m going to say hi to my girl.”