Best of Intentions: A Best Friend's Brother Standalone Romance

by LK Farlow

  Oh. Oh, hell. It finally dawns on me what’s got her so upset and I feel like a grade-A asshole.

  I trace the back of my hand along the side of her face. “Oh, Jenny.” My voice is rough, weighted with emotion. “No, that’s not it at all.”

  Her eyes shine, a mixture of hopefulness and uncertainty. She sways a little closer to me, our lips less than an inch apart. “Then what?” she asks, sounding as broken as I feel.

  Running my thumb over her bottom lip, I contemplate how to answer her. I need her to know that I’m wholly the issue, but everything that comes to mind sounds like a line or a copout, neither of which will do.

  “Jenny,” I exhale her name, and she shudders, leaning closer, so that our lips are touching. Yet, neither of us make the move to close the distance. We simply hover, breathing in each other’s air.

  “There’s nothing you could do—nothing you could tell me or show me—that would make me not want you.” I speak the words against her mouth, wanting nothing more than to bite down on her trembling bottom lip.

  “I…I don’t understand.” Her words are nothing more than a soft whimper—a plea.

  Just as I press my lips to hers, the sound of Jamie calling her name echoes through the house. Jesus. Christ. How could I forget that she’s here with someone else? I may be a lot of things—and most of them bad—but I’m not a cheater. That’s a hard limit for me.

  She pulls back from me and practically flies off of my lap just as he steps into the room. “There you are.” His voice holds a slight edge.

  “H-here I am,” she mumbles back, not looking at either of us.

  “Is everything okay?” he asks, stepping closer to her.

  “Mmhmm, fine.”

  He keeps his focus completely on her, as if I’m not even in the room. “You about ready to head home?”

  Home. The way he refers to her house as home has me feeling a little greener than I’d like to admit.

  “Yeah, Jamie-pop. Just…” She glances back to me. “Just give me a second.”

  He hesitates before giving her a tight nod. “I’ll wait by the door.”

  “Nate,” she whispers, but I really don’t want to hear whatever she’s about to say.

  “Save it.” I let out a dry laugh. “You wouldn’t want to keep your Jamie-pop waiting.” I inject as much venom as possible into his stupid nickname, hoping to convey exactly how I feel without actually having to say it.

  Judging from the way her shoulders fall, I’d say I made my point. Without another word, she rises from the couch and walks out of the room.

  I linger after she exits, polishing off my now-warm beer before heading to the kitchen in search of a glass of water. I end up getting more than I bargained for when I discover Natalie perched atop of the island, looking like she’s waiting to grill me.

  Ignoring my sister, I grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it with filtered water from the fridge. I’m mid-sip when Natalie starts in on me. “I know you slept with Jenny.”

  I choke on my drink.

  She ignores me and carries on. “Don’t bother denying it, Nate. I. Know. What I don’t get is why you’ve spent most of the day practically pissing a circle around her and glaring at her very gay cousin.”

  As I cough and hack, my sister’s words settle. Jamie’s her…cousin. Her gay cousin. Oh, shit.

  chapter twelve

  Jenny

  Tuesdays at the café are always busy—between all of the ‘ladies who lunch,’ the Red Hatters, and the old shmucks who bring their clients here to impress them, we stay slammed. And I don’t mean just a little busy; I’m talking a you-better-call-ahead-or-be-prepared-to-wait-thirty-minutes-for-a-table busy. You won’t hear me complain though, because the tips are killer.

  Two of my tables just cashed out, leaving me with a small window to rest before Giselle seats me again. I pop into the kitchen for a breather and am instantly assaulted by the delicious aromas of whatever our head chef, Darren, is working on.

  “Mmm, smells amazing,” I say as I come around to where he is for a little peek, and hopefully a taste.

  “Yeah? Alden has me working on a new recipe he wants to roll out for the Fourth of July.”

  “What is it?”

  Darren quirks a bushy brow at me. “Guess.”

  I grin, because I knew that’s what he was going to say. Ever since Alden took over and basically saved Bayside Café from drowning, this is a little game Darren and I play. He cooks—I guess the ingredients based on either smell or blind taste. It’s a double-win for me, because I usually get to taste something off the charts amazing and I get to strengthen my palette.

  With my eyes closed, I lean over the cooktop and allow my other senses to take over. I can hear the sound of oil sizzling. Inhaling deeply, I smell fragrant garlic mixed with peppers and onions and fresh tomatoes.

  “Well, what do you think it is?” Darren asks.

  From elsewhere in the kitchen I hear a scoff. “You already know she’s gonna guess it, why bother?” Ah, Javier, our sous chef is here, too.

  I smirk at his smartass question but pay him no mind. “I know you’re making something savory, but I feel like I’m missing something.” I tap my finger on my chin. “I’ll be honest, I’m not sure what you’re making, but if you add in some sweet Italian sausage, it’ll be off the chain!”

  At the sound of Javier busting out laughing, I open my eyes. Sure enough, Darren is steadily working his special seasoning mix into a bowl of freshly ground pork. “Boom! Nailed it!” I cry out in victory.

  Darren grins. “You did good, kid.”

  “Let me be the first to taste the sausage when it’s ready?” I ask, batting my long lashes at him.

  “I’ll let you be the fifth—after me, Javier, the boss, and Natalie.”

  “Fair enough.” I grab a bottle of water from the small fridge Alden keeps stocked for his staff, chug it down, and head out to check on my tables.

  Once I know my customers are all doing fine and dandy, I head over to the hostess stand. “Looks like the rush is just about done,” Giselle comments upon seeing me.

  “And not a moment too soon. I need a break before dinner service.”

  “Actually,” Alden interrupts from behind us. “You’re not going to be working dinner tonight. Finish your tables, do your side work, and head home.”

  I shoot him a weird look over my shoulder. “Huh? I’m down to work a double today.”

  He shrugs. “Plans change. Don’t like it, take it up with my wife.” Gah—I have to swoon at the way he still refers to Natalie as his wife every chance he gets.

  “Why did she tell you to cut me?”

  Alden mimes zipping his lips. “I have nothing to do with this. You wanna know, you gotta talk to her. In fact, I was given explicit instructions to have you call her the second you leave here. Don’t land me in the doghouse, Jenny Jones.”

  I roll my eyes. “Sure, sure. But this reeks of a setup!”

  Giselle brings her attention back to the reservation book, already bored with us and Alden simply smirks before sending me back out on the floor.

  An hour later, I’m in my car and dialing up my best friend. She answers on the first ring. “Hey, what are you up to tonight?”

  “Hmm, why don’t you tell me, seeing as you canceled the second half of my shift.”

  Natalie lets out a nervous-sounding laugh. “Well, Mom wanted me to invite you for dinner.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, Jenny; she just asked me to.”

  Yeah, this is definitely some kind of setup. “We’ve been friends for a few years now, and not once has your mom ever invited me to dinner.” I say each word slowly, letting my skepticism come through loud and clear.

  Static filters through the line, followed by Natalie’s muffled voice. “What? I can’t hear you.”

  More static and then she comes through clear. “Sorry, dropped my phone.”

  “You’re all good. Seriously though, this is weird.�
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  “Look, I don’t know why she wants you there, but she specifically asked me to make sure you were. Don’t make me disappoint her—Lord knows, I’ve done enough of that in this lifetime.”

  “Oh, hell no. You are not playing the teen pregnancy card with me right now, are you?”

  “That depends.” I can practically hear Natalie’s grin. “Is it working?”

  I let out a long, overly dramatic groan as I turn onto the winding gravel road that leads to my cottage. “Oh my God, fine.” Natalie lets out a loud cheer. “One question though…will Nate be there?”

  I throw the gear shifter in park, waiting on her to speak. Why is she hesitating? I don’t like this…not one bit.

  “Honestly, I don’t know. Mom didn’t say.”

  “I’m just gonna assume he won’t be, because why on earth would your mom invite me to a family dinner?”

  “Exactly. Be there by five-thirty. Do you remember how to get there?”

  “I do. Then again, this isn’t exactly a GPS kind of town. You’ve been somewhere once, you know how to get there for life.”

  “True that. See you later!”

  We end the call, and I make my way inside. My feet and back ache, and while I’d love a hot, steaming bubble bath…a shower will have to do.

  As I stand under the warm spray, thoughts of Nate invade my mind. Ever since Tatum’s party this past weekend, he’s been at the forefront of my mind. Even though we talked, nothing between us was resolved. And sweet baby in a manger, the way he held me in his lap and spoke with his lips brushing mine…the mere memory of it has me erupting in goose bumps regardless of the scalding water cascading over my skin.

  After my shower, I dress casually in a pair of coral linen pants, a white tank top, and leather flip-flops. I forgo makeup and keep my hair up in the same messy bun I gathered it into before my shower.

  With a few minutes to kill, I fire off a text to Natalie.

  Me: Hey, what time are we actually eating? Do you by chance know what we are having?

  Natalie: Mom says dinner is at six and that we’re having grilled steaks, baked potatoes, and salad. See you soon!

  I smile at her reply. That’s a perfectly easy meal for me to bolus for. Dinner parties and eating out can be a struggle sometimes, especially when restaurants don’t bother providing nutritional information. That’s another thing I respect about my best friend’s husband: for every single dish on the menu, Alden provides a nutritional breakdown—even if it is a one-time special.

  Natalie and Nate’s childhood home is a traditional colonial style house built from red brick with glossy black shutters, an even glossier red door, and a little copper-roofed portico over the entryway. Put simply, it oozes Southern charm.

  Mr. Reynolds keeps the lawn immaculate and the shrubs well-groomed. Honestly, this house looks like something you'd see on HGTV.

  As I exit my car, Natalie pulls in next to me. “Hey, hey! Glad you could make it!”

  “You say that like I actually had a choice.” My words are harsh, but my tone is light and airy.

  Natalie just smiles, and together, we head inside.

  Everything is exactly the way I remember from my last visit, and let me just say, if MTV did a normal people edition of Cribs, this place would top the list. The furniture and décor are a perfectly balanced mix of generational antiques and modern finds. It’s definitely a stark contrast from the log cabin I grew up in. Mind you, I’m not putting my parents’ home down—it’s just gorgeous in its own right.

  The scent of garlic and rosemary greet us the minute we step inside. “Mmm, smells good, Mom,” Natalie calls out.

  “Mama!” Tatum comes barreling around the corner and tackle-hugs Natalie as if she hasn’t seen her in a decade. “I missed you! I painted you a picture today, and we were gonna make cookies, but we needed the butter for the potatoes. But that’s okay because Nana let me help make the salad. We chopped up some greens from her garden and now she’s gonna show me how to cut up some cucumbers! I got to use a knife! All by myself!”

  “Whoa, Tater Tot! Slow down!” Natalie says. “Tell me one thing at a time, okay?”

  The three of us set off toward the kitchen as Natalie and Tatum talk among themselves about Tatum’s seemingly eventful day. This kid goes from zero-to-sixty faster than a super car. It’s no wonder people always joke about bottling kids’ energy—they have it in spades.

  “Jenny, you made it!” Melanie Reynolds says in greeting, wiping her hands on a floral print dishcloth.

  “Am I chopped liver?” Natalie asks, her tone teasing.

  Melanie brushes her daughter off. “I see you all the time. Jenny being here is a treat.”

  Her words cause me to blush a little. “Thank you for inviting me. If I’d have known sooner, I’d have brought something.”

  “Your presence is more than enough.” Melanie smiles at me in a way that has alarm bells blaring in my head. She has that meddlesome mom look going on, and it has me on high freaking alert.

  I grab a seat at the bar and the four of us chatter mindlessly. Well, Tatum chatters, we mostly just listen. I can’t say I mind it though. For starters, the kid is amusing. And more importantly, listening to her distracts me from concocting worst-case scenarios about what Mrs. Reynolds has up her sleeves.

  However, not even ten minutes later, my worry materializes in the form of Nate Reynolds. “Smells good, Mom!” he hollers from the entryway, his deep, gravelly voice already putting me on edge. When he steps into the kitchen, still dressed in his uniform, I have to force myself not to squirm on my stool. No man has any business looking that damn good.

  I mean, have mercy. The way his standard issue shirt pulls tight across his chest, combined with…no, Jenny, do not think about his handcuffs. I squeeze my thighs together and pinch my eyes closed. Good Lord, this man gets to me. After all that’s transpired between us, you’d think I’d be immune to him, but nope. Somehow, my stupid attraction only seems to grow. Talk about insult to injury.

  “I’m glad you think so,” Melanie replies, bending to retrieve a pan from the oven. “I made all of your favorites.”

  “Uncle Nate! I thought you’d never ever get here!”

  Nate doesn’t respond to his mother or Tatum. Nope. He’s too busy gawking at me. He studies me, probably trying to figure out why I’m here. I can see the moment it dawns on him that we’ve been set up.

  “I see we have a guest joining us tonight.”

  “We do. I invited Jenny to join us. Your father and I figured it was high time to get to know her a little better.”

  “You know her plenty,” Nate deadpans.

  “There’s always room to know someone better.”

  “I agree with Nana.” Tatum leaps down from her barstool and twirls in a wide circle. “Plus, Miss Jenny is pretty like a real-life princess. Oooh! Maybe you could be her prince!”

  “Now, there’s an idea,” Melanie mutters to herself. I don’t think she meant for us to hear her, but we all did.

  Nate and I share a blank look. Luckily, Natalie is on my—our—side. “Alright, you two, that’s enough. Tater Tot, why don’t you go check on Papa and the steaks?”

  A little frown mars Tatum’s face. “Papa told me to stay inside. He says grilling is a solo-sport.” She stomps her foot. “But there’s no I in team! I think he just gets grumpy because I always tell him all the things Daddy does different than him.”

  We all try and smother our laughter. Tatum is a bossy little thing and at all of four, she definitely knows her way—with adult supervision—around a kitchen or grill. Then again, with two foodie parents, of course she does. Natalie has been cooking with her ever since she was old enough to stand up on her own.

  “I’ll go,” Nate volunteers. I prop my elbows on the bar and rest my head on my hands, discreetly following him with my eyes, ogling his delectable backside until he’s out of my line of sight. The second the door shuts behind him, the air settles, and I breathe a little easier.
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  We chat for a few more minutes before I excuse myself to the restroom. I make quick work of checking my blood sugar and bolusing for my meal. As I’m washing my hands, the door swings open. “Oh, shit, sorr—” Nate’s words fall off mid-sentence and I angle my head to look at him. Instead of retreating, he hovers in the threshold for just a moment before stepping into the small space with me, closing the door behind him. “Hello there,” he murmurs, turning the lock—like I should have done.

  “Uh, hi?” I turn off the faucet and dry my hands, feeling all kinds of cagey in this confined space with him.

  “Hi, yourself,” he murmurs, stepping closer to me, practically pinning me to the pedestal sink. He stares at me with a hungry gaze that simply doesn’t make sense to me. We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms last weekend, yet here he is, looking like he wants to devour me whole.

  “What are you doing?” My heart thumps a frantic rhythm in my chest. This man is bad for my freaking health.

  “Well, I was coming to wash up for dinner.” He steps closer, eliminating the gap between us, fitting our bodies together in a way that has me flashing back to that night. “But now, I’m doing this instead.”

  As soon as he utters those words, I know he’s going to kiss me. And even though I shouldn’t let him, even though I should turn him away, I meet him halfway, moaning softly when he sucks my lower lip into his mouth.

  He nips at it before soothing the sting with his talented tongue. I trail my hands all over the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, relishing in the firmness of his muscles and how they contract and flex under my touch.

  With a surety unlike any man I’ve ever known, he grips my ass and hoists me up onto the edge of the sink, giving us both better access to what we so desperately want. I grind against his hardness, vividly remembering the way he filled me.

  When his lips leave mine, I sound my displeasure. But my whimper quickly turns to a moan when he scrapes his teeth over the sensitive skin below my ear before kissing his way down my neck toward my collarbone.