by Cat Carmine
Luke’s still standing exactly where I left him. He looks amazing in a light blue plaid shirt that stretches across his muscular chest, and dark jeans that hang perfectly on his hips. God, why does he have to be so damn delicious? He’s not exactly making this easy on me.
I can’t let my resolve weaken though.
I hand him one of the mugs. His fingers graze mine for a second but I let go immediately.
“Careful. It’s hot.”
“Thanks.”
I can feel his eyes on my body and I suddenly realize that this little white tank top leaves very little to the imagination. I’m not even wearing a bra, which means he can probably see exactly what kind of effect his presence has on me.
Why oh why couldn’t I have just left my work dress on for a few minutes longer? This conversation would be so much more comfortable if I was at least wearing proper clothes.
“Have a seat,” I say, curling up into the corner of the couch. “I mean, if you want.”
“I want,” he says quickly. “But first I wanted to give you …”
He gestures at the floor and that’s when I see that he’s brought something in with him. I gasp.
I get back up from the couch, setting my mug on the coffee table. I cross the floor to get a closer look.
It’s a sewing box, the kind that has multiple compartments and pulls out and apart so that you can access all of them at once. It’s similar to the one my Gram used to have, although this one is a million times more beautiful. It’s a stained dark wood with lighter wood diamonds inlaid across the top. It’s exquisite, really. It’s…
“Did you make this?” I look up at him. “It’s beautiful.”
He nods. “You always seem to have your sewing stuff spread out everywhere, so I wanted to …”
“You shouldn’t have.”
“I wanted to —“
“No, really, Luke. You shouldn’t have.” I try to steel myself but it’s so hard to look at him. His face is quickly morphing from hopeful to desperate.
“Bree, please…” He sets his mug of tea down on the coffee table next to mine. “Please, just hear me out.”
“No.” It breaks my heart to say it, but I force the word out of my mouth. Luke looks surprised.
“No? You’re not even going to let me talk?”
“No. Because you’re going to say something sweet or charming and I’d relent because God knows I want to, and then we’d end up fucking on the floor like bunnies, because God knows I want to do that too, but then we’re going to be right back in the same place. This isn’t good for us, Luke. It isn’t good for either of us. You’re the kind of person whose work needs to come first, and I respect that, I honestly do. In fact, I’m trying to be that person too.”
“But that’s what I’m trying to tell you, Bree. I’m not that person. Or at least, I don’t want to be. I want to be the kind of guy who builds a life with someone.”
“Then you should find someone else to do it with.”
The words almost stick in my throat. They feel so horrible coming out and they feel even worse once they’re hanging in the room between us.
Everything about Luke seems to deflate. I’m so used to seeing him with a grin or a smirk, that somehow the disappointed look on his face now hurts more than anything else.
“This isn’t over,” he says. “I’m not letting this be over.”
“I’m sorry, Luke. I think you should go. You should take this with you.” I gesture to the sewing box.
He shakes his head, adamant. “No. I made that for you. It’s yours. The truth of everything I feel is in that box. No matter what else … well, no matter what else happens, that belongs to you.”
I soften. God, he’s so sweet. And so sexy. He’s the perfect man, really, except that he’s Luke Whittaker, and I’m Bree Bailey, and it’s not in the best interest of either of us to be together. I’m a liability for him; he’s a distraction for me. Some day, when his company is trading for hundreds of dollars a share on the New York Stock Exchange, he’ll thank me.
Maybe someday I’ll thank me too. Not today … but someday.
“Goodbye, Luke.”
I spend the next few hours crying. I cry like I’ve never cried before in my life — not even when Dad died. Letting Luke walk away was the right thing to do — I know it was — so why does it feel so goddamned terrible?
Our mugs of tea sit on the coffee table until they grow cold — I can’t bear to touch them — and the sewing box Luke made remains in the middle of the living room, right where he left it. It’s a beautiful box, but I honestly don’t know if I’ll ever be able to use it. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at it without crying.
After hours have passed, I realize that it’s actually late enough now that it’s morning in Paris. Margaux isn’t exactly an early riser, but I figure she’ll make an exception for me in my time of need.
I hit the button for her contact info on my phone and let it ring. I almost think she isn’t going to pick up but finally I hear her groggy voice on the other end of the line.
“This had better be good.”
“We broke up.” A fresh wave of tears stings my eyes.
“Shit.” In her French accent, the observation sounds profound.
“Yeah,” I laugh. “Pretty much.”
“I’m sorry, darling. What happened?”
I tell her everything. She’s heard bits and pieces of it over the last couple of months, especially after the photo came out, but now I tell her the whole story, from the very first time I met Luke at the Design Times party and he rescued me from the lecherous arms of The Carpet King, to tonight and his arrival at my house with the sewing box. Margaux is quiet the entire time.
When I’m finally done, she sighs. “Darling, I think I need a cigarette after all that.”
I laugh again. Margaux doesn’t actually smoke, but I kinda understand the feeling.
“I did the right thing, right?” I ask quietly.
“God, no.”
I almost drop the phone. That is so not the answer I was expecting.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry, darling, you know I love you and I think you’re brilliant and talented and almost as perfect as me, but right now you’re being a complete and utter fool.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Care to explain?”
“What’s there to explain? You’re obviously madly in love with him, and of course he feels the same. I don’t see the problem here.”
“The problem is we’re bad for each other. He distracts me from work. And he has his investors to worry about.”
“So let him worry about them. If he’s coming to your house with puppy dog eyes and hand-made gifts, he’s already decided the investors can, how do you say, suck it. And as for you …” She lets out a sigh. “Bree, what kind of man was your father?”
“What?”
“What kind of man was he? What was he like?”
“He was … wonderful. Kind and caring and supportive and …”
“Great,” she interrupts. “So tell me in what world, in what reality, would this kind and caring and supportive father want you to sacrifice your entire life to run his company?”
I don’t respond right away. I know on the surface, her words make sense. But she doesn’t know how passionate my dad was about his business. He had always wanted me to follow in his footsteps, and instead I’d embraced my own dream at the expense of his.
I don’t disagree with Margaux — I know he wouldn’t want me to be miserable — but it would kill him to see Bailey Living lost. I can’t do that to him, or to his memory.
I explain all that to her, but I can still sense her impatience.
“Bree, I know you think you’re doing the right thing, but just promise me this.”
“What?”
“Promise me you won’t count Luke out just yet.”
Pain shoots through me. I grumble something in response and then rush her off the phone. I know M
argaux means well, but she just doesn’t understand.
I did the right thing, for me and for Luke. That’s all there is to it.
31
Luke
“Happy anniversary,” I say, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
“Thank you,” Celia beams as she hands me a freshly poured pint. “Can you believe it’s been an entire year since we opened Two Steves?”
“I can’t,” I answer honestly. “The time’s really flown by.”
“They say time flies when you’re having fun,” Jace says, wrapping his arm around his soon-to-be-wife’s shoulders. “But it flies even faster when you’re spending it with the love of your life.”
Celia flushes and leans over to kiss him, while I take a long swallow of my beer, looking away.
“Shit. Sorry, man,” Jace says, when he pulls away and sees my face. “I forgot …”
I wave off his apology. “Don’t worry about it. It’s better this way. At least one of us Whittaker brothers has to stay out there, sewing our wild oats, right?”
Jace smiles but it’s strained. I take another swallow of my beer and glance around the bar. The anniversary party Jace and Celia are throwing for the bar has garnered a huge turnout, and I couldn’t be happier for them. The place is jam packed with regular patrons, other business owners from the community, and friends and family.
The place also happens to be jam packed with single women. Perfect for a guy looking to sew his wild oats.
I scan the crowd, hoping to feel that old familiar pull, that longing for a woman whose name I didn’t know and had no intention of finding out. Instead …
Nothing.
Sure there are beautiful women here. Blondes, brunettes, even the odd redhead, which seems to be my type these days. But none of them compare to her.
Bree.
Weeks have passed since I tried to apologize, since I brought her the sewing box — that was so much more than a sewing box — and she asked me to leave. I still couldn’t get that image out of my head, of her standing there in that crazy furniture-filled living room, in a white tank top just begging to be ripped away from her body. It’s her face that I remember the most, though, the way her eyes shone with tears and her juicy red lips trembled.
God. Bree.
“Anything I can help you with?” I ask Celia, as she and Jace scramble behind the bar to keep up with all the orders coming in.
Celia shakes her head, but Jace jumps in.
“Actually, I just poured these beers for Trent, Hannah and Ally but I haven’t had a chance to drop them off yet. Maybe you don’t mind taking them over to the table?”
“Absolutely.”
Jace loads the three pint glasses onto a round tray and I add my own glass to the mix. I hold the tray carefully and pick my way through the crowd. Trent and the girls have a table near the back that Jace and Celia had reserved for our crew.
I set the tray down on the table.
“You folks order some drinks?” I grin, handing the drinks out around the table.
“Luke! Hi! Sit!” Hannah says, patting the bench beside her. I grin — she’s clearly not on her first beer of the evening. “You haven’t hung out with us all night.”
“Well, you know, they keep us servers very busy,” I joke. The truth is, I’ve been embarrassed to spend too much time with them. I’d admitted my feelings for Bree, and telling them all that I’d made a play for her only to be shot down in flames was humiliating. Of course, they were all being super nice about it, which only made it worse.
But they’re all looking up at me so expectantly now that I slide in next to Hannah and grab my drink.
“Good turnout, eh?”
We chat about the bar for awhile and about Jace and Celia’s upcoming wedding. While we talk, the bar fills up even more. I catch Hannah looking towards the door every few minutes.
“Who are you looking for?” I finally ask, after she leans over me for the hundredth time.
“No one,” she says quickly.
My stomach clenches. “Hannah.”
She shrugs. “I’m sorry. I invited Bree.”
“Hannah,” Trent and I both say at the same time.
“What?” she says innocently. “She’s friends with Celia too. She’s making her rehearsal dinner dress, you know. So I just thought she might want to come.”
Trent shakes his head. “Sorry, man,” he says to me. “I didn’t know.”
Once again, I wave it off.
“It’s fine. If she comes, she comes. We’re all adults here.”
I don’t mention that the thought fills me with an excited anticipation that sends an electric buzz through my entire body. I might see her tonight. Bree.
I try to keep up a normal conversation with Hannah, Ally and Trent, but now Hannah’s not the only one watching the door like a hawk. Every time I see it sweep open, my heart leaps. But it’s never her.
The night wears on. We have a couple more beers and pass the time chatting and laughing, but Bree never shows up. When midnight rolls around, I know she isn’t coming. By this time of night, my girl is firmly ensconced in her pajamas and ready for bed.
My girl. Jesus, Luke. Would you listen to yourself?
“God, finally!” Hannah exclaims looking at the door.
My heart lifts … and then falls.
It isn’t Bree, just Hannah’s old work friend. Sloane, I think. Something like that.
“She had a date tonight but said she’d try to drop by after. Come on, Ally, let’s go say hi.”
Hannah and Ally grab their drinks and make their way through the crowd towards the pretty blonde girl who’s just arrived. Trent and I both watch to make sure they get through okay, but even though the bar is packed, the crowd is surprisingly polite and they make plenty of room for Ally to get through in her wheelchair.
When the girls have finally made their way to Sloane, I turn back to Trent.
“So, you’re back to work in a month?”
He nods, sipping his beer. “Yeah. It’s going to be weird not being home with Hannah and Libby all day, but I’m looking forward to getting back to the office. I know this sounds crazy, but I miss it.”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t sound crazy at all. I’ll be honest, I can’t wait to get back to being in the workshop full time.”
Trent grins. “We do make a pretty good team, don’t we?”
“Hey,” I say, tapping his glass with mine. “There’s a reason our company is as successful as it is.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
We both take a long swallow of our beer.
“So,” I say slowly. “What are your feelings on the IPO? If we’re going to pull out, it’s going to have to be soon.”
Trent nods. “I know. I’ve been thinking about that. There hasn’t really been any media coverage about you and Bree, not since that photo came out, but I was talking to George Shapiro the other day and he said the investors are still feeling a bit wary.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah. I’ve been exploring other options, something we could do to set us on an upward trajectory again, but none of my ideas have panned out. We just need one big win, but …” he shrugs. “We’re running out of time.”
I sigh and shake my head. “Damn. I’m so sorry, Trent. This is all my fault.”
He sets his beer down. “Stop apologizing, Luke. You were in love with her. I get it.”
I grin. “You’re being surprisingly chill about this.”
He chuckles. “Well, someone pointed out that I don’t let people make mistakes, so I’m trying to be better about that. After all, as that same person pointed out, I’m not exactly perfect either.”
I actually laugh at that. It feels like something I haven’t done too much of lately. “Yeah, sorry about that. I may have been a tad defensive.”
“Nah. Don’t worry about it. You were right anyway.”
“I just wish I’d been right about the rest of it,” I mutter.
“What do you
mean?”
“About Bree. That we could make it work somehow.”
“Hmmm,” is all he says.
I take another drink of my beer before I speak again.
“I would have given up everything for her,” I say finally. “All of it. I was ready to walk away from Loft & Barn if I had to, you know.”
I expect him to be shocked, or even angry, but instead he just looks off in the direction Hannah went. “I know,” he says softly. “I get it.”
I slump back in my seat. “Maybe I still should,” I say bitterly. Then I sit up again. “Maybe I still should,” I repeat. My mind is turning.
Trent leans forward. “What are you talking about? No.”
“Think about it — this would get the investors off your back…”
He’s shaking his head even while I’m still talking. “No. Luke, no. I need you.”
“Well, as much as I’ve always longed to hear you say those words …” I tease. I suddenly feel ebullient. After all, I’d already decided weeks ago that I’d do it if it meant being together with Bree. Even if that was no longer an option, it might still be a way to save Loft & Barn.
“Luke, I’m serious. Look, it’s late, you’ve been drinking. Give it some more thought before you do anything rash. Besides, we still have a couple of weeks or so left before the drop dead point with the IPO. You never know — I could still pull a rabbit out of my hat.”
Trent looks so distraught that I relent. “Fine. I’ll wait. But if it comes down to it, I don’t want us losing out on the IPO. I don’t want to be the one responsible for fucking this up for us. I’ll leave before I let that happen.”
“Understood,” he says gravely.
Somehow, for once, I feel that Trent really does understand.
32
Bree
The pain of letting Luke go doesn’t lessen over the weeks that follow. Work is easier now that Rich is gone, but the rest of my days pass in a dull fog. I’ve had one Homes for Hearts event that I was supposed to go to, but I begged off and told Tomas I had a bad head cold and wouldn’t be able to make it.
