Chapter 11

Brooke answered the door. And then just stared at her best friend. Katrina was decked out as if The Real Housewives of the Potomac were following her with their camera crews. Sleeveless pink peplum top over a matching skirt. Pale beige peep-toe platforms. A single strand of pearls lying across the high neckline. And a hat the size of a freaking Thanksgiving platter, complete with a lily and feather combination on the wide brim, tilted at a forty-five-degree angle and staying on Katrina’s head by some reverse gravity phenomenon.

“What are you wearing?”

“What are you wearing?” Katrina shot back. Her expression indicated that unacceptable was too mild a word for Brooke’s outfit. Yep, those squinty blue eyes and perfectly arched brows drawn into a single, judgey line hinted more at reprehensible as a good description.

Brooke looked down at her faded Penn State Cheerleading tee and cotton shorts. “I’m spending all day dealing with boxes. This is what I’m wearing. Don’t be a snob.” She shut the door behind her and walked through to the kitchen.

“I’m not a snob. I’m appropriate. You said we were doing brunch. This is how I do brunch.”

Whoops. This one was her fault. “I meant doing as in cooking. We’re making it here.” She pointed to the pink place mats on the tiny wrought-iron table crowded into the corner. Not to mention the coffee mug she’d stuffed with cheery dahlias to make it feel special.

Katrina dumped her pale rose Birkin bag on the chair. The bag that Brooke coveted with every cell in her body. “Why?”

“First of all, because you asked me to help you with your homemaking skills, remember?”

“Oh. That.” Katrina deflated noticeably. “Yes, I did—but it’s not as fun as endless mimosas.”

Brooke handed her an apron. “Secondly, because it is Tuesday. Which is not a big restaurant brunch day.”

Obviously trying—and horribly failing—to conceal her lack of enthusiasm, Katrina mustered up a weak grimace that was probably intended as a smile. “You’re right. You’re a sweetheart for helping me figure out how to take care of myself.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be painless. Because I’m going to keep you entertained with the story of my hot island fling with one of my oldest, dearest friends.”

Katrina’s perfectly lined and glossed lips fell wide open. “You’ve been holding out on me. You have a sex story?”

“I’ve only been home for two days. I saved the story knowing I’d need to bribe you into dipping your toe into cooking.” And because Brooke had needed to keep it to herself for just a bit.

Her time with Logan had been special. Wonderful. Literally life-changing, as he’d managed to dig her the rest of the way out of her…well, depression wasn’t the right word. Not clinically, anyway. Or so she’d been assured by a therapist who’d encouraged her to concentrate just on trying to live in the moment. Well, that advice had finally kicked in with Logan. He’d lifted her out of her funk. For which she’d be forever grateful. On top of the wonderful reconnection with a friend she hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed.

“Well then, let’s get started! I’m completely inspired by the thought of hearing that you finally got to star in some sexcapades.” Katrina’s heels tapped against the linoleum as she rushed over to the stove. “What’s it going to be? Crepes? Those amazing corn fritters with smoked salmon we had at our April book club?”

Brooke took a dozen eggs from the refrigerator and set them on the counter. “Egg salad.”

“You’re joking.”

“It’s simple, quick, and versatile. It can be eaten at breakfast or lunch. Ergo, the perfect DIY brunch for your first time cooking.”

“Don’t college kids make that in dorm rooms?”

Biting back a laugh, Brooke said, “Yes. But can you?”

At first, Katrina’s lower lip pushed out in the beginning of a pout. Then she caught herself. Caught the absurdity of a thirty-five-year-old woman not being as accomplished as a college freshman. With a rueful frown, she shook her head, the tips of her blond hair fanning out like a dandelion puff. “No.”

“Then this is where we start.” Brooke pulled out a loaf of bread.

“Are you this much of a slave driver with your students?”

Wait until she made Katrina wash the dishes at the end of the lesson. “Yes.”

“By the way, when you finish the big sex story, I had another amazing business idea last night that I can’t wait to tell you.”

Oh, boy. “Hit me.” Preferably with a rock to the head so she’d be unconscious.

A knock on the door saved Brooke. “Fill a pot with eggs and enough water to cover them. I’ll be right back.”

At the door, Logan stood, one hand propped on the lintel, the other jammed into the pocket of his navy shorts. His white polo shirt with blue piping along the collar was tucked in. Hair combed and slicked back. Deck shoes made him look ready to hop on a yacht. It was Logan version 1.0, the way she remembered him from high school. Urban—and urbane—hotness.

“Hi.”

“Hi back at ya.” Her arms hung, leaden with indecision, at her sides. Should they hug? Kiss? Was that presuming too much?

Was he here for another hookup? Shouldn’t there be warning for that sort of thing? Warning so that her hair wouldn’t be in an unbrushed topknot, at the very least. And her legs shaved. Or had Logan left something here, accidentally? Brooke half turned to glance at her coffee table.

“Can I come in?” Amusement lightened his voice.

Sheesh—how long had she been lost in thought? Long enough for Logan to notice, at the very least. Possibly long enough for him to regret whatever impulse made him swing by. But at least this gave Brooke an excuse to touch him. Legitimately.

“Sorry. Of course.” She took his hand and pulled him inside. “But if you just want more ibuprofen, I’ll bet you passed a handful of drugstores between the rectory and here.”

“I’m good, thanks.” Logan followed her into the kitchen. “I mean, I’m going to milk it for another day just to twist the guilt stick a little deeper into Knox. But overall, I’m fine.”

“I’ll say,” breathed Katrina as she got a load of his double-barreled hotness. She’d been holding off on dating until the divorce was final, to avoid any potential red flags, per her team of lawyers. In the meantime, she’d been contenting herself with barely veiled ogling of everything old enough to have a five o’clock shadow. “Are you here for brunch, too?”

“No.” He sort of did a double take at Katrina’s hat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Brooke gave him full credit for not asking why one of them was dressed for the Kentucky Derby and the other for cleaning out the dryer’s lint trap. “You’re not intruding. This is brunch with a lowercase b. And you’re welcome to join us.”

“In that case, thanks.” He strode to Katrina, hand outstretched. “Logan Marsh.”

“Katrina Pendleton—no,” she stopped herself with a harsh laugh, “not anymore. Not as of a week ago. I’m Katrina Ware now.”

Oh, boy. Brooke hadn’t been the only one whose week had taken a dramatic turn. She threw an arm around her friend’s waist in a comforting hug. “The final papers came through?”

Katrina leaned into her for a moment, and then straightened with a victorious gleam sparkling in her blue eyes. “The papers and, more importantly, my first settlement check. A big, huge, enormous, and wholly justified one. Logan, I don’t suppose you have a start-up business idea you need funded?”

“Uh, no.”

“Pity.” Katrina waved her hands at Brooke’s biggest stockpot. “Voilà. Eggs are ready.”

The pot was filled to the brim with probably two quarts of water. The entire dozen eggs sat in the bottom. Katrina definitely promised to be her most high-maintenance, hands-on student.

Brooke reached for the coffeepot. A helpless best friend and a surprise return of her vacation fling called for a big jolt of caffeine. “Was everything okay with your father, Logan?”

“No.” One corner of his mouth dipped lower. “Not at all, as a matter of fact.”

That sounded dire. “The way you ran out of here on Sunday, it seemed like an emergency. Is he sick? Or upset about something?”

Logan looked out the window at the bright blue sky. “I’m upset. Does that count?”

“Of course. But I don’t understand.”

“Me, neither.” Katrina surged closer to Logan. “Catch me up, if you’re suddenly sharing family sagas. How do you two know each other? Because I’ve never heard Brooke mention you.”

“Logan’s an old friend. A very old friend.” It was a weak hint, but hopefully Katrina remembered their conversation of all of three-point-five minutes ago.

Crowding in on Brooke, Logan opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the coffee from next to the butter dish, as if he’d done it a hundred times. It felt cozy. Or, Brooke supposed, it just proved that she knew how to organize a kitchen. “That makes me sound like you’re fitting me for a walker, Escarlata. If we’re going to throw around labels, how about you call me a very good friend?”

Katrina’s eyebrows shot up at the nickname. To help her get the rest of the way there, Brooke rephrased his description. As she handed Logan the coffee filters so his back would be to Katrina. “An old and dear friend who I ran into on vacation.”

Sure enough, that resulted in some very graphic hand gestures accompanied by a questioning look. God. It was just like being back in high school, for all the wrong reasons. Awkwardness. Mouthed conversations behind the hot boy’s back. Katrina gave her a double thumbs-up paired with a toothy, knowing grin.

“Speaking of vacation, do you remember when I told you about my sister living here?”

Brooke lidded the pot to get it to boil faster. Because she wouldn’t be able to handle Logan in her tiny kitchen for much longer. He just took up so much room. Made her so aware of his size. Made her remember just how all that size felt draped across her naked body. Which brought heat to her cheeks, what with Katrina standing right there. Maybe she’d hang out over the hot stove a tad longer so nobody questioned her red face.

“Your sister whom you never heard of until a few days ago? Your own personal soap opera? Yeah, I think I remember.”

“I’m going to meet her. Finally. Tomorrow.”

“That’s great!”

His mouth twisted sideways. Those toned pecs stretched his polo taut as he dragged in a long breath and then let it out with a whoosh. “Hopefully. The only thing I know for sure is that it’ll be weird. For both of us. So Knox suggested—”

Brooke cut him off, waving a rubber scraper. “Knox, the guy who beat you up?”

Logan just shrugged off the event that had had him twisted up in knots just two days ago. “We each got in one fair punch. We’re even, so everything’s cool now.”

“Just like that?” Male friendships were evidently far less complex than the female variety.

He did one of those complicated fist-banging, finger-snapping combos that men excelled at. “Fairness and an apology. That’s all it takes.”

“Not true.” Katrina put her elbows on the high breakfast bar and propped her chin on her hands. “If fairness settled all fights so easily, I could sleep with…oh, say the president’s entire Secret Service detail, and that’d square things off with my ex.”

With a smirk, Logan said, “My roommate Griff’s in charge of a Coast Guard battalion. Would that do it for you?”

“Ooh, a man with connections. I like you.”

Better the entire Coast Guard fall prey to Katrina’s cougarish stalking than Logan. Not that Brooke thought Katrina would ever poach her man. And Logan wasn’t officially her man. But he felt that way. Still, he’d be gone in a matter of weeks, no matter what. Yet…Brooke’s head hurt from the rapid-fire pinballing of her brain.

She’d keep everyone busy and off anything remotely related to sex. Brooke started getting out condiments, plates, silverware—basically anything she could shove into their hands. “What did Knox suggest?”

“He thought we should turn it into a double date. He’d be a known quantity for Madison and for me to smooth things over. If I bring along a woman, it’s an actual double date. There’s a theme, a purpose to the afternoon.”

“Meeting your long-lost baby sister after twenty-four years isn’t purpose enough?”

“Purpose, sure.” Logan stood, frozen, plates in hand, wearing a look of befuddlement that was so completely adorable Brooke wanted to push Katrina out the door and gather him into a hug. “But after we do the hi, hello thing for five minutes, what if we run out of things to talk about?”

Seeing the big, rugged man turn vulnerable weakened her knees to jelly. It kicked up a flutter in her heart. Despite all that, Brooke couldn’t help it when a giggle escaped at the ridiculousness of him thinking that sharing their life stories wouldn’t take more than five minutes. “Seriously?”

“It sounds stupid, doesn’t it?” He paced a circle around the kitchen, still holding the plates. There was no room for the three of them to all be in there in the first place. His laps around required her and Katrina to turn sideways so as not to elbow him. None of that stopped Logan from his measured tread. “I don’t know. I’m nervous. I suck at being nervous. I’m never nervous.”

“I’d say you’re doing a bang-up job of it right now,” Katrina said, tongue in cheek.

“How can I help?” Brooke offered. “Do you want to talk it through? Maybe come up with some bullet points of things to say, just in case?”

“You can come with me.”

“What?”

“I want you to be my half of the double date.”

Good thing she was elbows deep in the fridge. It gave her time to work through the shock at his request. Brooke banged around some jars to give herself a moment. This was huge. Yes, she’d felt an immediate reconnection of their long dormant friendship back on the island. Yes, she’d upscaled that teenage friendship with respect and admiration as she learned more about the man he’d become. And yes, she’d dialed in very adult and intense feelings after their sexalicious night together.

But Brooke hadn’t known, not for sure, if Logan felt all the same things about her. She hadn’t even let herself wonder that. Their lives were two perpendicular lines that intersected at a single point and then kept moving in opposite directions. Wondering about the impossible was futile. Nothing more than an exercise in frustration.

Inviting her to be a witness to such a momentous, intimate interaction…well, that pointed to his being on exactly the same wavelength. It would tie them together. It showed a level of trust based on more than a decade-old friendship. It floored her. Of course she wanted to say yes. Of course she wanted to help him any way possible. Brooke just needed to be sure that Logan truly wanted it, too.

She emptied her full hands onto the counter and kept her gaze fixed on the supplies. “Logan, we’ve never been on an actual date.” Because she so wasn’t counting the dinner she’d run out on in tears as their first one. “I’m not sure I’m the right choice to be your plus-one for this life-changing moment.”

All of a sudden, Logan was right there. Filling her space. Filling her mind and her heart and her vision. Solid. Big. Earnest. His hands bracketed her face. His caramel eyes oozed warmth and sincerity as he tipped his forehead down to touch hers. “I don’t want a plus-one, Brooke. I want you. Only you.”

From behind her, Katrina sucked in a gasp at the utter romanticism of the statement. Good thing she’d done it, because Brooke had forgotten how to breathe.

“I know you’ll probably knee me in the balls if I tell you again how comfortable you make me feel. But I swear it’s a good thing. Being with you…um, eases me. You smooth out all the jagged edges of what I feel in a way I’ve never experienced before. I need you. I need your help. I need you there with me.”

It was the most impassioned plea she’d ever received from a man. Impossible future or not, Brooke knew without a doubt she’d always remember this as the moment she started to fall in love with Logan Marsh. Which made going with him, spending more time with him at all, an absolutely stupid decision. Dangerous. Bordering on self-destructive.

“Go with him,” Katrina urged. She’d played the role of devil on Brooke’s shoulder since the day they met. But all she knew was that super-hot-fling guy wanted to spend time with Brooke. She didn’t know that Brooke’s heart was already on the line. “You need a distraction from all this, anyway.”

Logan pulled away. “Shit. I’m sorry. I never asked how soon you’re moving. If you need to pack, forget it.” He took a look around the room, with its stack of cardboard boxes in the corner.

“Um, no. That’s not an issue.” Not anymore.

“When are you leaving?”

So much for all that two-way connection she’d felt a minute ago. Brooke had no doubt that their lack of a shot at a future together was part of what made Logan feel so comfortable about opening up to her. He’d come right out and admitted it on the island. Would her change in plans affect the way he looked at her? Turn her into a potential pain in the ass, instead of an asset?

Well, she wouldn’t lie. Or evade. If he changed his mind, it might be for the better, anyway. Brooke glanced at Katrina for strength. All she actually got was the wide-eyed interest of a person watching a big fat drama unfold. Not that she blamed her.

Brooke licked her dry lips. “I’m not moving. All of this is now unpacking instead of packing. My job fell through. Yesterday. When they tried to finalize my contract, the school board was in the middle of tweaking the budget. They pushed back and cut the funding for the program.”

“Fucking boards. Messing with people’s lives. They’re nothing but trouble.”

“I’ll be okay.” It was an automatic response, for two reasons. Firstly, because Logan didn’t need anything else dumped on him at this moment. And secondly, because Brooke was freaking the heck out about it every other hour of the day. It was nice to take time off from that. The viciousness of his response surprised her into asking, “Is there something going on with you and a board?”

“I don’t want to get into it. Gotta put out one fire at a time.” He took her hands. “And you haven’t answered my question. Will you come out and meet Madison with me tomorrow night? Please, Brooke?”

He hadn’t batted an eye at the news of her sticking around. Oh, boy. The warm clasp of his hands. The beseeching tone. The thought of the chance to soak up a few more wonderful memories with him. It all tipped the scales overwhelmingly.

“You know I can’t say no to you, Logan.”

Wicked humor lightened his eyes to the color of golden French toast. “I’ll keep that in mind, Escarlata.” And then he captured her lips in a swift but tender kiss. “Thank you.”