Not His Type (16 page)

“I’m not fat,”
she whispered miserably to her reflection.

Brooke turned
away from the mirror.  She quickly combed her hair and left the bathroom.  She
walked to the kitchen, where she stood looking in the pantry for a moment. 
While she was still in the hospital, Travis had put several bags of groceries
in her pantry and her refrigerator.  Now though, staring at the various
packages, cans and boxes, Brooke found she had no appetite.  Will Barnes’ words
seemed to be stuck on an endless loop in her brain; short, plain and
plump…short, plain and plump.  Brooke shut the pantry, made a cup of tea
instead, and went to the living room.  She watched the evening news, let Boo
out one last time for the night, then went to bed.

When Brooke
slept, she dreamed.  Her mother stood beside her in front of a mirror; her
mother’s gaze was sharp and critical, missing nothing in her daughter’s
appearance.  She sneered as she pointed out Brooke’s flaws.

“If I didn’t
know better,” Satin said, “I’d say you weren’t my kid.  Look at those short
legs!  And now you’ve got that ugly scar, too!  It’s a good thing you got some
brains, Bunny, ‘cause you’ll never make it onstage!”

Satin’s image
shifted and morphed into that of Will Barnes.  His eyes roved up and down
Brooke’s body and he laughed.

“Yep,” he
chuckled.  “Short, plain, plump, chubby, dumpy, dowdy….”

Will’s litany
went on until the image shifted again.  Lorna, Travis’ Titian-haired beauty,
replaced Will.  Lorna said nothing, merely looked at her own reflection, then
at Brooke’s.  Her olive-colored eyes raked over Brooke from the top of her
messy ponytail, over her minimally made-up face and oversized sweatshirt and
jeans, to her worn Converse sneakers.  Lorna’s opinion was obvious; Brooke
Valentine couldn’t hold a candle to the other woman.

Finally, the
image next to Brooke changed again and Travis stood beside her.  Smiling
fondly, he patted Brooke on top of her head.  He shook his head sadly.

“Sorry,
Bunny-girl,” he said, his voice overly kind to Brooke’s ears.  “A round little
cupcake like you just isn’t my type.”

Brooke’s head
turned from side to side on her pillow.  She mumbled in her sleep.  Tears slid
from between her tightly closed lids, soaking into her pillow.

Chapter
21

The next
morning, Travis stood on Brooke’s front porch, staring incredulously at a piece
of paper taped to her door.  He yanked it off and read it again.

Travis,
Brooke had written in her quick scrawl. 
You don’t need to take me to work
this morning.  Don’t worry, I didn’t take the bike.  I called a cab.  See you
later, Brooke
.

Travis wadded
the paper in his fist and threw it on the porch.  After a moment, he bent and
retrieved it, shoving it into the front pocket of his jeans.  He stomped back
to his own house, slamming the front door behind him.  He stood there for a
moment, trying to get a grip on his anger.

Travis couldn’t
pinpoint a real reason for his anger.  Brooke Valentine was a grown woman; as
she’d repeatedly pointed out to him, she was
not
Travis’ problem.  How
she got to work was her own business.  But this made twice that Brooke had stood
him up, more or less.  First she’d backed out of working with him last night. 
Now she’d left, knowing Travis would be over soon to take her to work.  It was
almost as if she were avoiding him.  Still frowning darkly, Travis strode to
his office, his boots sounding sharply on the wood floor.

Inside the warm
atmosphere of Babycakes, Jazz and Riley watched Brooke climb out of a battered
taxicab.  They exchanged curious looks as their employee entered the bakery
silently.  Brooke mumbled a greeting and continued on to the kitchen in the
back.  She was tying an apron at her waist when Jazz and Riley pushed through
the swinging door.

“You okay,
kiddo?” Riley asked.

“Fine,” Brooke
answered, her tone flat.

“Oh-kay,” he
said slowly.  Jazz gave him a tiny headshake.  “All right, then, I’ll just be
out front if you girls need me.”

When Riley
walked back to the front of the bakery, Jazz smiled easily at Brooke, saying,
“I thought I’d have you start on the Taylor wedding cake this morning.  The
tiers you baked yesterday are in the cooler, so if you’ll get those and do the
crumb-coat, we can frost and decorate this afternoon.”

“I’ll get
started,” Brooke said.

“Okay,” Jazz
said.  “I’ll get started on pies for next week.”

Brooke’s head
came up then.  She looked blankly at Jazz.

“What’s next
week?” she asked.

“Hello?” Jazz
laughed.  “Thanksgiving?  You know, gratitude to our Creator.  Turkey, dressing, pumpkin pie?  How do you forget Thanksgiving?”

“Oh,” Brooke
said.  She gave a little sigh.  “I never really do much for holidays.”

“Your family
doesn’t do anything?” Jazz asked carefully.

“I don’t really
have much family.  Just my mother, and she’s not big on family celebrations. 
I’m used to it.”

“Well, maybe I
can talk you into joining my family this year.”

“We’ll see,”
Brooke said.  “I usually go work at a soup kitchen.”

“You don’t have
to decide right now.”

Jazz smiled and
moved away to gather the ingredients she needed.  Brooke went to the big
walk-in cooler and rolled out a cart that held several large tiers of cake. 
She hefted the largest one onto the worktable and began working silently.  As
the two women worked, Jazz was able to observe Brooke.

The younger
woman’s usual ready smile was nowhere in sight.  She looked tired, pale shadows
beneath her eyes.  Her eyes were also slightly red-rimmed and puffy, as if
she’d been crying.  Jazz was certain there was a direct correlation between
Brooke’s appearance and demeanor and the absence of a certain big, handsome man
this morning.  She wondered what had happened between the two neighbors; they’d
seemed to be getting along fine the day before.

Brooke remained
quiet throughout the morning.  Shortly after one, when the lunch rush was over,
Riley flipped the “Open” sign over.  He and Jazz went to the office; they
called Brooke to join them.

“Have a seat,”
Riley said, pushing a stack of catalogs off a chair.  “Get your lunch and join
us.”

“Oh, I didn’t
bring my lunch today,” Brooke replied as she sat.

“Oh, were you
going to go get something?” Jazz asked.

“No, I…I’m not
hungry.”

“What, are you
on some stupid diet?” Riley asked, popping the top on a can of soda.

“Riley!” Jazz
gasped.

Startled by her
sharp tone, Riley looked up.  He followed her gaze to Brooke’s face.  It took a
second before he understood the stricken expression on her face.

“No, no, that’s
not what I meant, Brooke!” he said quickly.  “I don’t think you
need
to
be on a diet!  You look great just the way you are!”  He shook his head
adamantly.  “No, it’s just – my sister-in-law is constantly on a diet.  She
might eat one decent meal in a week.  Other than that, if she eats at all, it’s
something ridiculous like lettuce with vinegar.”

“Your
sister-in-law also drinks like a fish and smokes like a chimney, so let’s not
go there, shall we?” Jazz said tartly.  She looked at Brooke, her dark eyes kind. 
“You do know Riley didn’t mean you should diet, right?”

“I know he didn’t
mean that,” Brooke said, nodding slightly.

“But
you
think you should be on one,” Riley observed.  He shook his head.  “Why would
you think that, Brooke?”

“Just…maybe
fifteen pounds,” she mumbled.

“Brooke, honey,
starving yourself isn’t the way to lose fifteen pounds,” Jazz said gently.

“That’s not why
I didn’t bring my lunch,” Brooke said.  “I really just wasn’t hungry this
morning, and nothing sounded good.”

“You’re not
getting sick, are you?” Riley asked.

“No, I’m okay.” 
Brooke shrugged restlessly.  She stared at a swirl in the wood on the front of Jazz’ss
desk.

“Something
happen between you and Travis?”

“There is no me
and Travis, so no,” Brooke said.  She rose and turned to leave.  “I think I’ll
get some air.  I’ll be back shortly.”

After they heard
the bakery’s front door close, Riley turned to Jazz, an expression of chagrin
on his face.  He sighed.

“I feel
terrible, Jazz!” he said.  “You know I didn’t mean to imply she needs to lose
weight.”

“I know, baby,”
Jazz agreed, nodding.  “But for some reason, Brooke seems to believe she does.”

“The redhead!”
Riley said suddenly, snapping his fingers.  Jazz looked at him blankly.  “The
redhead that was in here the other day.  Brooke saw them through the kitchen
window, and it was a pretty friendly kiss they shared.”

“Oh, the tall
skinny one?” Jazz asked.  She frowned.  “You think that’s what this is about? 
Come to think of it, I did overhear her ask him to dinner this Friday evening. 
I think she said they had a lot of catching up to do, or something along those
lines.”

They ate in
silence for several minutes, each of them thinking, before Riley said, “Well,
this is just speculation on my part, but yeah, I think the redhead has
something to do with this.”

“Aw, Ry,” Jazz
said wistfully.  “I don’t want to see Brooke get hurt.”

“It might be too
late,” he said.  “I know she says they’re friends, and he’s out of her league,
but it’s obvious she’s attracted to him.”  Riley shook his head thoughtfully. 
“But something happened.  That much is clear.”

When Brooke
returned to work a short time later, she seemed in a slightly better frame of
mind.  She was still quiet, but if Jazz, Riley or a customer spoke to her, she
responded in polite, friendly tones.  She worked the remainder of the afternoon
with Jazz, decorating the multi-tiered wedding cake.  Shortly before the bakery
closed, Brooke grabbed the broom; while she swept, Riley washed up the utensils
and pans they’d used, and Jazz totaled receipts in her office.  The bell over
the front door suddenly jingled.

“Sorry, we’re
closed.”  Riley and Brooke heard Jazz speaking.  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know it
was you!  Come on in!”

“Be right back,”
Riley said.

He left the
kitchen to check on his wife, returning just a moment later.  He went back to
washing dishes and Brooke continued sweeping.  When she was through in the
kitchen, she went out front to sweep in the counter and dining area.  She froze
when she recognized the deep voice talking to Jazz.

Slowly, Brooke
approached the office.  Travis sat on one of the chairs, smiling and talking
with Jazz.  He looked completely relaxed, leaning back in the chair, one booted
foot resting on the opposite knee.  As if sensing her presence, Travis turned
and faced Brooke.

“Hey,
Bunny-girl!” he said cheerfully.

“Travis,” Brooke
said, her tone even and reserved.  “What are you doing here?”

“I came to check
on the security system,” he answered.  “I always follow-up a couple of times
with new installations, make sure there are no problems.”  He grinned at her. 
“Can I give you a ride home, since I’m already here?”

“I don’t want to
be a bother.”

“Not a bother,
Brooke,” Travis said, his smile still in place.  “We’re going the same way.”

“Okay,” she said
reluctantly.  She couldn’t think of a reasonable excuse to give for not
accepting his offer.  “I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“You’re ready
now,” Riley said from behind her, pulling the broom from her hand.  “Go on,
we’re done here.”

“Oh, and
Brooke,” Jazz said.  “Give some thought to my invitation, won’t you?”

“What invitation
is that?” Riley asked.

“I asked Brooke
to join us for Thanksgiving,” she explained.

“Oh.”  Travis
looked disappointed as his gaze turned to Brooke.  “I was going to invite you
to join me at my parents’ home.”

“Oh, you should
definitely go with Travis!” Jazz said quickly.  She looked at Brooke, eyebrows
raised questioningly.  “You don’t speak Spanish, do you?”

“Um, no,” Brooke
answered, puzzled.  “Just a few words and phrases.”

“Oh, well, there
you go,” Jazz said as if that resolved the situation.  “My family speaks
Spanish at family gatherings.  You’d be lost and uncomfortable all day long,
and I’d hate that for you.”

“And I suppose
Riley is fluent in Spanish?” Brooke asked sarcastically.

“Actually, I am
now,” Riley said.  He grinned.  “But Jazz is right.  Those first few family
dinners before we were married were very awkward.”  He smiled.  “I don’t want
you to think we’re rescinding the invitation, but I think you’d enjoy spending
the holiday with Travis and his family.”

“Um-hm,” Brooke
said noncommittally.  She offered the same vague answer she’d given Jazz
previously.  “We’ll see.”