CHAPTER THIRTY
Against Ellie’s advice, I try to call James first thing the next day. I’m sitting on the floor in my room with sticky notes spread out around me.
The green ones are covered with all the things I want to say to him:
I’m sorry!!!!
I’m not going back to Spain!
Our timing sucked, but I want a second chance!
Please, let’s sit down and talk.
The red ones are covered in the things I absolutely mustn’t say to him:
How many times did you and Lacy bang??
Was she good? Better than me?
When do you want to get married? What should we name our kids?
Finally, on a small note near my foot, there are three words I’m not sure I’m ready to say, but they’re there, just in case.
The sticky notes are necessary because I’m scared that once the call clicks on and his deep voice filters over the line, I’ll lose my cool. I want to be prepared. I want to sound eloquent and sure of myself. The rings drone on and on, and I unconsciously start to crumple one of the sticky notes. I freak and try to flatten it again, but my sweaty palm smears the pen. I’m sorry now looks like a jumbled mess of gibberish. The call rings one final time and then jumps to voicemail.
BEEP
“James! Hi! It’s Brooke calling again. I was hoping to reach you so we could set up a time soon to sit down and talk.” My sticky notes jump out at me. “I’m sorry! And I’m not going back to Spain! And I would really like a second chance! Did I already say this is Brooke? I can’t remem—”
The voicemail cuts off and when the little automated voice asks me if I’d like to rerecord my message, I jump at the opportunity and just delete it all together. So much for my sticky notes helping me sound eloquent.
I try his phone twice the following day, but the calls go straight to voicemail. He’s ignoring me on purpose, just like Luciana. They should probably start an I Hate Brooke fan club.
I’m now up to four unanswered phone calls, and as the number grows, it sounds more and more pathetic. Even Ellie agrees, but I can’t give up; I just need to change my tactic.
I come up with a diabolical plan while I’m shampooing my hair later that night, and I shout for Ellie to come in so I can relay it her.
“Did you get it?” I ask over the sound of the shower.
“Yeah, it isn’t that complicated,” she says, sounding less than impressed.
“Who cares?!” I say as I rinse my scalp. “Diabolical plans don’t have to be complicated, they just have to work.”
“Yeah, no shit. I’m just saying, why did I have to come in here and see your naked butt just to jot this down? You could have remembered it.”
No. It’s a universal truth that all good ideas generated in the shower are forgotten as soon as the water cuts off.
“Do you think it’ll work?” I ask hopefully.
“Sure thing,” she says, appeasing me. “But just in case, use some of that deep conditioner I have in there. That way, when this doesn’t work and he rejects you, at least your hair won’t lose volume like your heart will.”
She’s wrong. It will work, as long as Beth is willing to play her part. I call her first thing the following morning.
“Good morning, you’ve reached BioWear. This is Beth speaking.”
Her voice is chipper and upbeat. It fills me with hope for what I’m about to ask of her.
“Beth, hi! It’s Brooke.”
“Brooke Davenport?” She sounds surprised, and I guess she probably should be considering how awkward our last exchange was.
“Yes, that Brooke. How have you been?”
“I’m good, thanks for asking,” she answers tentatively. “James isn’t in the office yet, if that’s—”
“No, no. Actually, I called to talk to you.”
“Oh, okay.” Her voice sounds hesitant. “What can I do for you?”
I take a deep breath before laying out my plan to her. It doesn’t take long, and I try to speak quickly considering she probably has a busy schedule that doesn’t include scheming behind her boss’ back.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asks after I finish. “Why don’t you just try calling him?”
“I have tried, but he won’t answer.”
She hums in sympathy. “Yeah, he can be pretty stubborn when he wants to be.”
“That’s why I need your help.”
“You know this could get me fired,” she points out.
I cringe, feeling terrible for putting her in this position in the first place. “I completely understand if you don’t want to be part of it.”
“I didn’t say that,” she says quickly, then after a long, strained pause, she sighs. “Fine. Tomorrow. I’ll put it on the schedule, but you’re taking the fall if this turns out badly.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I owe you, Beth, and if he gets mad, you can tell him I threatened your life!”
“I’m doing this for him,” she clarifies, ensuring I know where her loyalties lie. “Last year, when you begged me not to tell him you called, I felt terrible keeping that secret for you. For months after you left, he moped around this office. I thought he was never going to break out of that fog, and…well, he never really did, but things got a little better, manageable—but Brooke, if you’re here now to just stir the pot again, you need to spare him the trouble. He puts up a good front, but he’s one of the most sensitive men you’ll ever meet.”
I don’t take her warning lightly.
“I promise I won’t screw it up again.”
At least, that’s not part of my diabolical plan.
…
The following night, I pause outside the front entrance to Twin Oaks Country Club. The ornate front doors are made of solid wood and carved with incredible attention to detail. They’re designed to feel imposing, and it works. I know it’s a trick, and yet I can’t seem to make myself step past them. Inside, James sits in the main dining room, waiting for a business associate who will never come so he can have a meeting that was never real. It’s a trick, and a weak one at that, but it’s the only way I could ensure he would be here, alone, and hopefully ready to listen.
I take a deep breath and finally enter. It’s very strange to walk through a place you used to work as a civilian. Dinner service is in full swing, and I have the irrational fear that Brian is going to throw a polo at me and tell me to refill waters. Ellie’s manning the hostess stand, and when she sees me arrive, she nods her head toward the dining room and mouths, Good luck. I turn and my stomach flips when I see James sitting alone at a table for two near the fireplace. A part of me feared he wouldn’t show up, even under the guise of a pretend meeting, but there he is wearing an impeccable navy blue suit. He’s added all the required accouterments—pocket square, tie clip, watch—and he’s never looked more handsome or more unattainable. It’s enough to make me want to turn around and run back home. He’s going to be a formidable opponent, and maybe I’m not quite ready to face him yet. I glance down and reassess my outfit. Nothing in my suitcase was nice enough, so I raided Ellie’s closet. Her flirty blue dress and nude, strappy heels are sexy, but are they enough?
I look back up to find James checking his watch, and his handsome features contort into a frustrated scowl. I’m late thanks to Austin traffic, and it doesn’t help that half of the wait staff recognizes me as I begin to weave through the dining room. They want me to stop and chat, but I smile politely and keep it moving.
I’m a few feet away from stepping into his line of sight when another member of the club—an older, well-dressed man—walks up to James’ table and claps him on the shoulder. James glances up and smiles, offering a handshake and a few words I can’t hear. I falter, unsure if I should proceed or not. I don’t really want an audience for this conversation, but I can’t delay any longer. I don’t want him to use my tardiness against me.
I have no choice but to continue.
“I hear you’ve been working on your short game,” the older man says.
James chuckles. “If only to distract from how I’ve been slicing it off the tee the past few—”
I step up to the table, drawing James’ brown eyes to me midsentence. His friend turns as well, and their reactions are polar opposite. I get a warm, welcoming smile from the older man and a confused, angry scowl from James. His hard gaze rakes over me, and my knees actually quiver.
“What are you doing here?”
I swallow and speak up in a barely audible whisper. “I came to see you.”
His friend clears his throat and extends his hand out to me. “I’m Leonard West. Pleased to meet you.”
“Brooke Davenport.”
His eyes light up. “Ah, are you Brad’s daughter?”
I nod, too caught up in the moment to manage a smile.
He scans back and forth between James and me. “And you’re a friend of James?”
“Yes,” I reply cautiously.
When James doesn’t speak up to confirm that fact, I add, “Well, I think I am.”
Leonard chuckles good-naturedly. James exhales a long, defeated sigh, obviously too much of a gentleman to toss me aside in front of an audience. He tells Leonard he’ll catch him on the links sometime soon. When we’re alone, I glance at the empty seat, wondering if it’s still a good idea to sit down.
James, having followed my gaze, hardens his own and shakes his head. “I’m afraid our reunion will have to wait. I have a business meeting.”
I draw in a tortured breath before working up the nerve to reply, “Exactly. Let’s talk business—unfinished business.”
He leans back in his chair, surveying me with a bemused scowl. “What do you mean?” He connects the dots before I can explain, shaking his head and waving away his question. “Beth.”
He tosses his napkin on the table and surges to his feet, prepared to leave after all the work I did to get him here.
“James! Please…please hear me out.”
I wish so badly that we were in private. I’m aware of the other diners around us, and now I wish I’d concocted some way to have this meeting somewhere else, but it’s too late now. This is the opportunity I’ve been given, and I won’t let it go to waste.
A muscle in his taut jaw shifts as he clenches down, no doubt trying to keep his temper in check.
I knew he wouldn’t like being tricked, but what choice did he give me? The only other option was to camp out at his house until he finally showed his face. This, while unbearably awkward, is at least efficient. By the time we walk out of this dining room, I’ll have my answer about how he feels for me one way or another. He’ll either give me a second chance or he won’t.
His gaze shifts to the door and my heart drops. He’s actually going to leave. He takes his first step just as Marissa strolls up with a small notepad in hand. She’s been assigned as our waitress, no doubt on purpose.
“Good evening!” she announces cheerfully. “My name is Marissa and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” If she thinks it’s weird that we’re both hovering beside our chairs instead of sitting at the table, she doesn’t let on. “Can I get either of you a glass of wine? We have some excellent new appetizers.”
James shakes his head sharply. “I won’t be staying for dinner.”
Marissa beams, unbothered by his sharp tone. “Then wine it is. Red or white?”
“White,” I snap quickly, hoping he’ll feel compelled to stay if I order us a drink.
We both turn to him and wait on baited breath to see what he’ll do. He doesn’t nod or agree, but he does yank his chair out and take a seat. I let out a relieved sigh and follow suit. We sit across from each other in tense silence as Marissa sprints off for the wine and returns in record time.
“I know you mentioned you wouldn’t be staying for dinner, but our chef would love your opinion on some new starters, Mr. Ashwood. I’ll bring them out, courtesy of the club, of course.”
He isn’t amused by her meddling, but I love her for it. She pours our wine quickly and then dips in a little bow before leaving us alone to talk.
I reach for my glass of wine and realize a moment too late that my hand is shaking. It’s evident to the both of us, so I clench it back and hide it beneath the table. I don’t need wine that badly anyway.
“I’ll give you until the food arrives to explain the purpose of all this cloak and dagger,” he announces sharply.
Jesus, an elevator pitch. I’d hate to face him in a conference room.
“Oh! Right. Um, well you s-see…” I stumble over my words in my effort to explain myself before Marissa returns. The appetizers won’t take long, especially if the kitchen knows they’re going to Mr. Ashwood’s table. I fight back a cringe. It’s not nearly enough time to vindicate myself. This could take all night, but his rigid expression and hard frown prove he intends to keep his word. “I br-brought you here because I wanted to let you know I’m not going back to Spain.”
He arches a brow. “I’m sure your family is happy about that.”
He doesn’t seem that enthused, and I realize I’m going out of order. My well-planned speech has turned to scramble in my brain.
“Oh no! You see—well, that is, I’m not going back to Spain because I want to give us a second chance.” Wrong, unfiltered words spill out of my mouth as quickly as they come to mind. I feel like I’m going to explode in my attempt to gain his forgiveness before he leaves. “I should have never left like I did. When you asked me to stay, that was—that took bravery, and I was so stubborn and set on the idea of leaving.”
His gaze flicks over my shoulder and my heart rate kicks up—surely the appetizers aren’t already on their way?
“There’s Marissa now—”
I lean forward over the table. “James! Please!” I cry desperately. This is ridiculous. If he really intends to get up and leave the second the food hits the table, I won’t let it arrive. I’ll fling it out of Marissa’s hands before she has the chance to put it down in front of us. “Honestly, we can’t keep doing this to each other! For once we both need to put our pride away at the same time. I just want you to see that I still care and I know you do too! Do you really have no interest in giving this a second try?”
“Why should I? What’s changed from when you left?”
“Everything!” I insist, pleading. “Everything. I left you last year in such a terrible way, but in the long run, I think it was for the best. I had growing up to do. Can’t you understand that? At times it was unbearable being apart from you, but it brought me so much clarity about my life, about my mom, about where I want to be in five years.” When he doesn’t make a move to respond, I continue, breathless. “You asked me that once, where I want to be in five years. Don’t you remember?”
His eyes soften and he nods, just once.
“Well my answer has changed. I don’t really care where I am or what I’m doing, as long as I’m with you. Surely you still have feelings for me deep down in there somewhere. You’ve just covered it up with all this—” I fling my hands in the air. “This pain.”
I heave a heavy sigh and wait for his response. After all that, he must have one, but he sits in silence, gazing at me intently as if working something out in his mind. It doesn’t look like a good sign.
I clench my fists, digging my nails into my palms as I try to stave off defeat. He wants to push me away for good because that’s easier than forgiveness, but I won’t let him do it. My voice shakes when I say, “I came here today with my heart in my hand. I came here because I think I’m in love with you, and I won’t leave until—”
“You think?” he asks curiously.
“What?” I blink, shocked that he’s finally speaking.
“You think you’re in love with me?” he asks again, leaning forward across the table, not mincing his next words one bit. “Because I know I’m in love with you.”
His words, spoken so clearly and matter-of-factly, are enough to strike me silent. I sit across from him with my mouth gaping open. Then, realizing I probably look like a largemouth bass, I clench it closed again.
I can’t…He can’t…
“Here we are!” Marissa announces cheerfully, striding up to the table with a tray full of fragrant food. The appetizers have arrived, and I’m too stunned by his declaration to remember that I was supposed to flip her tray and spill them before she could set them on the table. I sit perfectly still, paralyzed by fear as I wait for him to shoot to his feet and leave. Instead, he closes his eyes and leans back in his chair, seemingly exhausted.
Marissa is completely oblivious to the scene she’s witnessing. She arranges four different appetizers on our table with careful dexterity, all the while explaining each one in excruciating detail. James opens his eyes and meets my gaze, and I’m surprised to find his expression has softened to one of what I’m really hoping is forgiveness. My heart leaps in my chest.
“So you’re going to want to dip those in the spicy mango salsa,” Marissa explains. “It has a kick to it thanks to the jalapeños, but it is literally to die for.”
“Marissa,” I say, cutting her off while maintaining eye contact with James.
“Yes?”
“We got it, thanks.”
She beams. “Sure thing. Let me know if you need anything else.”
She waltzes away with a pep in her step, probably aware that her work here is done. When she’s out of earshot, I lean forward.
“Love?” I ask, my voice shaky and fragile.
His warm brown eyes scan my face before a slow-spreading smile overtakes his handsome features.
“Love,” he agrees.
I exhale the breath I’ve been holding for the past 10 minutes and then sag back against my chair. The range of emotions I’ve felt in the last few days is enough to send anyone over the edge, but now I sit here across from James, contemplating love—LOVE, of all things! I thought I’d be leaving the club in a body bag, stricken dead from a broken heart.
He’s studying me thoughtfully, probably wondering the same thing I am: what happens next?
I reach my hand out for his, face up across the table. It’s a vulnerable act, especially in the middle of the club’s dining room, but James doesn’t hesitate before he takes it. His hand envelops mine, and somehow it’s the most intimate way we’ve ever touched, palm to palm, heart to heart. I want more—a passionate kiss, a long embrace. Hell, I’d shove the appetizers to the floor and crawl across the tablecloth to get to him, but I’m not trying to send any of these old fogies around us to the hospital.
“I missed you,” he admits, stroking his thumb across my knuckles.
I still don’t trust my voice, so I squeeze my lips together and nod.
“I want to hear about your travels.”
There’s so much to catch him up on, and I do, over dinner. We start with the appetizers, and yes, the spicy mango salsa does strike me dead. I tell him about Diego and Nicolás and the girls. I scroll through my iPhone camera roll to show him the highlights of my time abroad and am embarrassed by the utter lack of photos of architecture or landscape. Surely I visited something that makes me look worldly? A cathedral? A statue? Instead, my phone is jam-packed with photos of Luciana making faces, Luciana waving to me on a playground, Luciana posing in front of an ice cream shop with a massive melting cone, Luciana and me with our cheeks smashed together as we test out various Snapchat filters. My heart aches knowing she’s still upset with me.
“She’ll come around,” James promises once I fill him in on the situation, and I hope he’s right.
After five courses and a delicious fruit tart, we walk out of the club hand in hand. He hasn’t invited me back to his house yet, but I’m hopeful that he will. I’m hesitant to leave him. It took so long for us to get to this moment, and we still have so much to clear up. I fear if we leave separately, he’ll go home and think over what I’ve told him then change his mind about us.
We’re standing beneath the porte cochère when he brings the back of my hands to his lips for a kiss.
“That’s all I get?” I tease.
He smirks before he tugs me closer and grips my chin between his fingers. With a subtle tilt, he tips my head back and kisses me gently. My eyes flutter closed as I wrap my arms around his neck and press up onto my toes. A groan ripples through me as he tightens his possessive hold, gathering me close. Our chests brush and he urges my mouth open so his tongue can skim across mine. A shudder runs down my spine as the kiss turns urgent, hungry. His hand fists my dress at the base of my back and my nails dig into his shoulders.
“Ahem.”
A voice clears comically behind us, and James breaks the kiss. We turn in sync to find Ellie standing with her hands on her hips. She’s wearing a smug smile as she asks, “Isn’t PDA against club rules?”
James smiles. “Since when do any of us follow the rules?”
She delivers an exaggerated eye roll before stepping forward and holding up her keys. “Brooke, if you’re coming home with me, I’m leaving.”
“Oh, right. Yeah…” I look back at James. “I should probably go with her, right?” I ask.
“Probably,” he answers with a telling smile. “But I’d rather you didn’t.”
That smile is dangerous. A girl could be convinced to do just about anything with a smile like that.
“I don’t have any of my stuff,” I point out.
“You have everything you need,” he responds with a telling smile while his fingers trace slow circles along my spine.
“Yoohoooo, can you two freaks work this out later?” Ellie asks, interrupting our moment. “My shift is over and I want to get the hell out of here.”
I pinch my eyes closed and try to stifle a laugh. “I can’t believe I’m saying this right now, but—I’m going to go home with Ellie. It’s been a wild few days—I’ve barely slept, and I’ve been on a rollercoaster ride of emotions. I need a moment to catch my breath. I’m so happy and excited and grateful and I just want to make sure we don’t screw this up and IwantyoutoknowthatIwanttogohomewithyousobadbut—”
“Slow down, Brooke,” he says, putting a finger up to my lips with a laugh. “Let’s get lunch tomorrow.”
I smile and step back. “Okay. It’s a date.”
…
James insists that he wants to eat at home the next day, and anyone with half a brain could guess his motive. Why doesn’t he just say he wants to eat lunch in his bed, under the covers, naked? Cut out all the pretense, right? Beth clears his schedule for the rest of the afternoon, and I arrive at his house by Uber at noon on the dot. When he sweeps the door open, he’s wearing jeans and a soft cotton t-shirt. The look is so simple and sexy that I nearly melt. Instead, I hold out the loaf of banana bread I baked with Martha this morning. He glances down at it and groans in appreciation.
“It’s her secret recipe,” I brag as he drags me inside by my hips. “She adds canned pineapple, which sounds odd, but I swear it’s the best thing you’ll ever taste!”
He takes it out of my hand, sets it on the side table beside the door, and yanks me against him.
“I guess you really like banana bread?” I tease before he tilts his head down and steals a kiss.
I close my eyes and let myself revel in the feeling of being in his arms again. I wasn’t sure if I’d played up how good of a kisser he was in my mind over the last year and a half, but now I know for a fact his skills weren’t embellished by time and distance. The man is lethal. He sweeps me up and kisses me so passionately I become a mess of aching desire, half-convinced we should just get it on right here—his scratchy welcome mat is as good a place as any. Then something familiar catches my attention over his shoulder and I tear my mouth from his.
“My bike!”
“Your bike?” he teases, following my gaze. “I thought you gave it back to me.”
I step out of his grasp so I can move closer and run my hand along the handlebars. Then, it hits me. I spin back around to him. “Isn’t this the same spot where you left it that day?”
He nods and glances away, down the hall. “I couldn’t move it.”
Oh.
Regret socks me in the stomach yet again.
“I’m sorry,” I say on a soft whisper.
He glances back to me, and I’m surprised to see the residual hurt left in his gaze. Before, he would have tried to hide it, but not now, not if we’re going to try to move on. He extends his hand to me.
“C’mon, let’s go order lunch.”
Not much has changed around his house since before I left. There’s no new furniture or décor, and he’s still using paper plates and Solo cups. I can’t let it go on for another second, so while we wait on our Chinese food to arrive, I force him to unpack the dishes he’s kept stowed away in his cabinets for too long.
I am surprised to find Harry the goldfish swimming around on his kitchen island. James has upgraded his original tank, and now he’s basically swimming in a fishy paradise.
I beam and turn toward James. “You kept him.”
He shrugs. “Of course. What else was I going to do? He’s my fish.”
“Wait—you didn’t pull the classic kids movie gag, did you? Where the fish died months ago and you just replaced him with one that looks the exact same?”
“Are you saying you don’t recognize Harry?” he jokes.
“Can I feed him?” I ask, bending down so my face is level with the tank. Harry spins in a little circle and a few bubbles float up to the surface. It’s all very cute.
When our lunch arrives, we take it into the living room and sit in the center of the floor, envisioning what he could do with the space. I don’t insert myself into the design plans, not yet anyway. This is his house, and maybe one day I’ll share it with him, but it feels presumptuous to assume that will be the case now, after we’ve only just started to get back on track. Still, he wants my opinion.
“Do you think we should put up curtains?” he asks, pointing to the row of floor-to-ceiling windows that display a gorgeous view of the backyard. It would soften the space a bit, but I don’t think they’re necessary, so I tell him so.
“You don’t want to obstruct that view if you don’t have to.”
He agrees and admits he’s been dragging his feet on hiring a designer.
“My life has been in limbo for too long,” he admits, surveying the room. “I think it’s finally time I start to get settled here.”
I look down and chew on my bottom lip before asking a question that’s been in the back of my mind. “James, when I left…you didn’t—I mean, you weren’t waiting for me to come back, were you?”
I asked him not to, not if it meant he continued to live like this. I feel guilty knowing he might have hit pause on his life in the hopes that I might return.
“It wasn’t my intention. Up until I saw you at the gala, I was under the impression that you’d moved on, so I tried to do the same. A few months after you left, I started to go through the motions of dating. I needed plus-ones for a few events, and it was a good way to test things out without jumping into anything too serious.”
Jealousy digs its sharp claws into me.
“Did you like any of the women?” I ask, focusing down on the noodles twirling around my fork.
“Yes,” he admits with a sigh, and my stomach twists into a tight knot. His answer shouldn’t bother me, but it does. “They all fit the bill of what I was looking for.”
Oh, I’m sure they did—smart, beautiful, perky, closer to his age, and probably begging to settle down and start flexing their ovaries.
I barely stifle a sneer.
“None of them lasted though,” he reassures me, reaching over to still my hand. I’ve twisted and twisted my fork around so many times, nearly every single one of my noodles is wrapped around it in a heaping mess. “Apparently, according to most of them, I wasn’t emotionally available.”
“That’s too bad.” I try to sound genuine, but he sees through my thinly veiled disguise.
“Oh, yeah?” he asks, pushing our plates aside and pressing up onto his knees. “Do you wish I’d tried harder to move on?”
I finally gather enough courage to look up and meet his eyes. “Not exactly…though I do feel bad for hurting you, for leaving like I did.”
He smiles as he stands and extends his hand down to me. I let him pull me to my feet and then we’re pressed together, hip to hip. His hands wrap around my waist and he squeezes gently. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it up to me.”
“I plan on it, but first, I have one question.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you have any emotions available now?”