"My guess?" she said. "He feels bad for Brody."
"But why?"
"Isn't it obvious?" she said. "He's broken-hearted over losing you, just like you're broken-hearted over him."
I didn't bother denying this last part. I had been pretty miserable, as Cami had seen firsthand during that so-called vacation.
Oh, God. The vacation.
Brody had gone to a lot of trouble to deliver Cami straight to my doorstep. And what had I done? I'd spent the whole week making both of them miserable.
Thinking of it, I felt like crawling under a blanket and hiding until I didn't feel like the worst person in the universe.
Plus, who was I kidding? I was broken-hearted for a reason. I'd totally fallen for him. Call it love. Call it stupidity. Call it craziness. But even in spite of our history, I did love him, even now.
Cripes, I probably loved him more now when I considered just how much trouble he'd gone to on my behalf, even in spite of my rotten attitude.
I perked up. But that's right. He'd defended me, even after I'd been so awful. What did that mean?
My breath caught. Maybe there was still hope.
Cami and I were still talking when my cell phone buzzed with an incoming call.
When I glanced at the display, my heart nearly leapt out of my chest.
It was Brody. He was calling from his old cell phone number, not the new one. In a rush, I told Cami, "Sorry, but I've gotta go, okay?"
"Wait, why?"
"Brody's calling."
"Right now?"
"Yeah. Right now. I'll call you back later, alright?"
"You'd better," she warned.
I was literally trembling when I answered the new call. "Hello?"
But it wasn't Brody who replied. It wasn't even a guy.
It was a vaguely familiar female voice, who wasted no time in demanding, "Who's this?"
Disappointment coursed through me, even as I said, "It's Arden. Who's this?"
"No one." And with that, the caller disconnected.
I stared at my phone for a long moment before I realized with a start why the voice sounded so familiar.
It was Waverly.
I was almost sure of it.
I dropped my phone and bolted from my bedroom, determined to find out what the heck was going on.
Chapter 68
Arden
Waverly glowered up at me. "I have no idea what you mean."
I'd found her in the living room, perched on the sofa scrolling through her cell phone. Not wanting to waste any time, I'd asked her flat-out if she'd just called me from Brody's old number.
And of course, she'd denied it. Repeatedly.
I didn't believe her.
And it wasn't only because I'd recognized her voice. It was the sly look in her eye, even now, as she feigned innocence.
I told her, "You're lying. I can tell."
"Oh, so that's how it is?" Her voice rose. "You're calling me a liar?"
I crossed my arms. "Yup."
"Well, I don't appreciate it."
"Good," I said, "because I don't appreciate it either. And why were you calling me, anyway?"
"Because I wasn't calling you," she said, "as I've already made clear."
I didn't bother hiding my disbelief. "And where's Brody's phone?"
"I don't know," she said. "You'll have to ask Brody."
At the mere thought of asking him anything, something squeezed at my heart. If only it were so easy.
Sure, I had his new cell phone number, but I could only imagine how delighted he'd be to hear from me now.
Somehow, I vowed, I'd make things right between us. Even if I'd ruined any chances of us being together, at least I could tell him that I was sorry for thinking the worst of him.
But first things first. I looked to Waverly and said, "So tell me. How'd you get the phone? Did you steal it or something?"
She made a sound of annoyance. "Oh, so first I'm a liar, and now I’m a thief? You really are crazy. You know that?"
Maybe I was. But I wasn't so crazy that I'd take Waverly at her word. With sudden inspiration, I said, "Maybe I should check your luggage." And with that, I turned toward the bedrooms.
She was off the couch in an instant. "You wouldn't!"
She was right. I wouldn't. And now, I didn't need to, because resting on the sofa behind where Waverly had been sitting, was Brody's old cell phone, contained in its familiar rugged black case.
"I knew it!" I lunged for the phone just as Waverly turned back to look.
"Hey!" she said. "That's mine."
"Nice try," I said, snatching the phone off the couch. I gripped it tight and jostled my way past her, heading toward my bedroom.
She hollered out after me, "I was gonna give it back!"
Without breaking stride, I called over my shoulder, "Sure you were!"
"And the battery was dead!" she called. "I had to charge it myself."
"Oh, boo hoo!" I called back.
Just as I reached my bedroom door, Waverly yelled, "And I found it in the coat closet. How was I supposed to know whose it was?"
She knew. Of this, I was certain – just as I was certain that it would take a lot more than the return of Brody's cell phone to make things right between us.
But hey, it was a start, right?
Chapter 69
Arden
Brody eyed the plate of oatmeal cookies that I held out between us. With a frown, he asked, "What are those?"
"Cookies." I summoned up a smile. "Oatmeal cookies. My grandmother's. I mean, they're not her cookies exactly, because I made them on my own. But they're her recipe. And I remember you saying a few weeks ago that you'd never had the homemade kind, so…" I let my words trail off as I nudged the plate closer. "Try one. I made them just last night."
It was early Monday morning, barely past six-thirty. I'd been standing out on the front porch of my grandparent's place since sunrise, waiting for Brody to show up.
As expected, he'd been the very first person to arrive, which was a huge relief, considering that the last thing I wanted now was an audience.
With a dismissive shrug, he said, "I already ate."
"Oh." I hesitated. "Well, if you don't want one now, maybe you could put them in your truck for later."
Without making any move to take them, he said, "What's this about?"
"Alright. The truth is, I owe you an apology." I lifted the cookies higher. "And hey, how about a peace offering, too?"
His eyes were dark, and his lips were compressed into a thin, angry line. He looked like he'd rather grind my cookies into dust than trust me not to poison him with baked goods. In a tight voice, he said, "An apology for what?"
I glanced toward the front door. "Do you want to talk inside?"
"No."
"Then maybe in your truck?" I forced another smile. "I mean, the last thing we want is for Roy to show up and film us, right?"
With no trace of warmth, Brody said, "Roy's just doing his job. I suggest you do the same." He glanced down at his watch. "And you don't start for ninety minutes."
Ouch.
It wasn't just a hint. It was a dismissal.
It reminded me of how things used to be, way back in the beginning, when both of us hated each other. It seemed like a long time ago. And yet, here we were, back to the beginning. Except I didn't hate him.
Not anymore.
At his cold dismissal, my smile faltered. "Right. At eight o'clock. I know. But this isn't about work. And don't you want to know what prompted this?"
"I already know," he said.
"You do?"
"Yeah. I heard about your talk with Mason."
I should've known. "So he told you?" I said. "When?"
"Saturday."
It was the same day Mason had confessed to me what he'd done. This meant that Brody had learned two days ago about the misunderstanding and hadn't made any effort to get in touch.
But then again, why would he? This was my fau
lt, not his.
Cautiously, I asked, "So, what exactly did he tell you?"
"Does it matter?"
At his tone, I almost flinched. "Well, yeah. It does, actually." I stared up into Brody's eyes, willing him to understand. "Did he tell you everything he did with the house? I mean, how he practically forced Jason to sell?"
"Yeah, so?"
Now I was frowning. "So, you seriously don't think there's anything wrong with that?"
At this, Brody's expression only darkened. "If you think I've changed my mind about selling, forget it."
"But that's not what this is about," I protested. "Did Mason also tell you that I thought it was you who did all those things?"
"Yeah. He told me."
"So you see why I was angry, right?"
"Why?" Brody scoffed. "Because you thought I'd do things differently?"
I hesitated. "Well, wouldn't you?"
"I guess you'll never know."
Obviously, Brody still wasn't getting it. "But just listen," I said. "I thought you were lying, telling me that you didn't know anything about my connection to the place when you really did."
"So?" he said again.
"So don't you think that's kind of a big deal? Lying, I mean?"
"Except I didn't."
Well, there was that. Still, I felt compelled to try again. "But can't you see why I was upset? The way it looked, I thought you'd purchased the house for some sort of revenge – and then, lied to me about it, even after we'd gotten so close. That's all."
That's all?
Wasn't that enough?
And yet Brody remained silent.
Desperate to keep the conversation going, I switched gears. "So…do you think that's why Mason bought it? Because he wanted to get back at me for torching your truck?"
Brody's jaw clenched. "He didn't buy it. I did. So if you want to be pissed at somebody, you're looking at him."
Yes. I was looking at him. He looked as amazing as ever – maybe a little leaner than he'd been a few weeks ago, but amazing none the less.
If only he weren't eyeing me with such coldness, I might've melted into his arms right then and there. And maybe, if he weren't so angry, he might've gathered me close like he used to.
And maybe together, we'd look at making a fresh start.
With that in mind, I tried again. "Yeah, but you're still not getting it. This isn't about the house. It's about us. And honesty. And integrity. And all that other stuff."
The amazing sex.
The fun we'd had, even while working.
The look he used to give me whenever we crossed paths, before all of the misunderstandings had torn us apart.
I was still holding up the cookies, and the longer this went on without Brody actually taking them, the more stupid I felt about such a small, useless gesture.
As if cookies would make any difference at all.
Recalling my other peace offering, I adjusted the plate of cookies in my grip so I was holding it with only my left hand. With my right hand, I reached into my pocket and pulled out Brody's old cell phone.
I held it up between us. "Oh, and I brought you this, too."
He spared the phone half a glance. "Keep it."
I did a double-take. "I can't. I mean, it's not mine. It's yours. It's the one you lost." I nudged it closer. "See?"
"So toss it," he said.
I shook my head. "But it's still got service."
Brody still made no move to take it. "It's just a phone."
No. It wasn't just a phone. Not to me. After I'd snagged it from Waverly, I'd finally figured out why she'd called me from that phone in the first place. Not only was I the very first contact in Brody's list of favorites, I was listed under some initials that I didn't recognize.
And now, I couldn’t stop myself from saying to Brody, "And speaking of your phone, why was I listed under 'L.O.L.'?" I tried for another smile. "Was it because we liked to joke with each other or something?"
He stiffened. "You went through my phone?"
If I weren't trying so hard to be civil, I might've pointed out that he'd just offered me this very same phone, which made his reaction now just a little bit ridiculous.
Still, I saw what he meant, so all I said was, "No. I didn't. Waverly did. And she was the one who pointed it out."
It was true. Just before I'd slammed my bedroom door in Waverly's face, she'd demanded to know what exactly I'd done to deserve the top spot in Brody's contact list. And then, she'd made some snide comment about Brody listing me as "L.O.L." because I must've been one big joke to him all along.
This posed a distressing question. Was I?
But then I remembered something. With renewed hope, I looked to Brody and said, "When Mason and I were talking, he also mentioned how you stuck up for me."
Looking almost bored now, Brody said, "How so?"
"You know. How you told him that if he fired me, you'd walk off the show." I searched Brody's face for any sign of warmth. "Is that true?"
Sounding colder than ever, he replied, "It is."
Something in my shoulders eased. "Thanks. I mean, that was really nice– "
"It wasn't."
"Sure it was."
"Forget it," he said. "I wasn't doing it for you."
"Oh." Again, I hesitated. "So, if you weren't doing it for me, who were you doing it for?"
"I was doing it for myself."
Was that good? Or bad? With my heart in my throat, I said, "Really? Why?"
"Because it's my responsibility, not Mason’s."
I blinked. "Sorry, what?"
"The show," Brody said. "It's not his job. It's mine – which means he doesn't fire anyone without my say-so."
"But…" I bit my lip. "You stuck up for me."
"Wrong. I stuck up for myself. Big difference."
As the distinction hit home, heat flooded my face. Yes. It was a big difference. Huge, actually.
And now I felt so ridiculous, I could hardly stand it.
Of course, I understood what Brody meant. From what I'd seen of Mason, he'd be all too willing to steamroll over anyone to get what he wanted, so it only made sense that Brody would need to push back just as hard.
Even so, this latest news was a serious blow to my hopes – and to my pride, too, if I were being totally honest.
And now I couldn’t help but dwell on the other thing I'd learned on Saturday – first from Waverly and then from Mason.
It was a biggie.
Willow was Brody's sister.
But I was still hoping – and maybe praying, too – that there was some reasonable explanation for Brody not telling me about Willow himself.
In my best-case scenario, Brody and I made up, and I got the chance to ask him nicely why he'd neglected to tell me something so important.
But now, judging Brody's demeanor, the opportunity for niceness was fading fast.
With growing humiliation, I realized that my left hand was actually starting to tremble from holding up the plate of cookies for so long in the same position.
Reluctantly, I looked down at my pathetic peace offering. Cookies, what a joke. Still, I really had made them with the best of intentions.
It hadn't been a simple job either.
All of my baking stuff was still in storage near Michigan State – my grandmother's mixer, the mixing bowls, the cookie sheets, everything to make perfectly wonderful cookies.
The stuff was too far away to retrieve in a day, especially with no vehicle. So yesterday afternoon, I'd taken a ride-share to the nearest shopping center, where I'd purchased everything to make homemade cookies at a house that wasn't my own.
I'd even called my mom to get my grandmother's cookie recipe, since I didn't know it by heart. In hindsight, it was shocking that she'd had it at all. The whole time I'd been growing up, she'd never made cookies, not even once.
It wasn't a big deal. I mean, I didn't expect her to stay home and bake or anything, especially when she'd preferred to save her ca
lories for booze and bar snacks.
Great.
Now I felt foolish and depressed.
Oh, screw it. I lowered the cookies to hip level and said to Brody, "Hey, can I ask you something? Why didn't you tell me you had a sister?" I searched his face for clues. "In fact, why didn't you tell me anything about your family?"
With a tight shrug, he replied, "Maybe it's a sore subject."
"You mean because of everything that happened with your parents?"
"That – and what happened with you."
With me? "But wait, I don't get it."
"Yeah. You don't. So let's make a deal. You want the bonus, right?"
It took me a moment to realize what he meant. "You mean for finishing the show?"
"Right." He reached into the front pocket of his jeans. "I'm gonna pay up. Right here, right now." As he spoke, he pulled a check from his pocket.
He set the check directly on the plate of cookies.
I asked, "What are you doing?"
"You want the money?" he said. "There. I'm paying you to leave." His jaw clenched. "And not come back."
My heart sank, and I felt the first sting of tears.
It was in this godawful moment that the familiar white SUV pulled into the driveway. As I turned for a better look, Roy emerged from the driver's side – with his camera.
Oh, my God.
He pointed the camera straight in my direction, even as I felt the color drain from my face.
I could only imagine how I looked, standing there like a total idiot, holding the plate of cookies in one hand and Brody's cell phone in the other. As I stood frozen in place, a runaway tear slid down my cheek, making me feel doubly pathetic.
With both of my hands full, I couldn't even wipe at my eyes, not without drawing further attention to my lack of composure.
Desperately, I looked down. As I did, my gaze landed on the personal check, lying face up on the plate of cookies. The check was already filled out, with my name right there in blue ink. The amount was for thirty thousand dollars.
If I felt capable of doing math, I might've pondered the fact that the amount included the full twenty-thousand-dollar bonus plus another ten thousand on top. It was more than I'd earn if I simply stayed on the project as planned.
As I zoomed in on the date of the check, something in my heart twisted. The check was dated ten full days ago.
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