Proposing to Preston: The Winslow Brothers #2 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 8) (9 page)

“So you’re here! You need a place to stay?”

He had to ask, even though the timing wasn’t perfect. Aside from his short conversation with Christopher several weeks ago, he hadn’t talked about Elise with any of his brothers. Until they were a solid thing, he didn’t want to introduce her to them. Not because he was trying to hide her, but because if things didn’t work out for some reason, he wouldn’t want for his brothers to ask about her or have memories of her. It would be bad enough for Preston to have his own memories.

“Nope. They’re putting me up at the Waldorf. But I do have time for dinner tonight.”

Tonight. Opening Night.

“I can do dinner,” he said, “but I have plans at eight. Can’t get out of them.”

“No problem,” said Brooks. “Six-thirty? You choose the place and text me the details. I have to go through Customs now. See you later, okay?”

“Yeah,” said Preston. “Looking forward to it!”

Eleven hours later, Preston looked up from his seat at Bistro Chèvrefeuille to see Brooks walk in. Per usual, every set of female eyes in the small café looked up to admire his ex-Olympian brother, but Brooks waved at Preston, all but oblivious to the attention.

“Hey!” said Brooks, enveloping Preston in a big bear hug and slapping him enthusiastically on the back. “You look good, bro!”

“Yeah? You too! Damn, you’re tan!”

“The South African sun,” said Brooks, taking the seat across from his brother and ordering a gin and tonic from the waiter. “So, what’s up? How’s the internship? You ready for the bar?”

As the oldest of the Winslow siblings, Brooks had taken on the role of head-of-family at a very early age, and all four of his younger siblings still looked to Brooks for support and advice in varying degrees. For Jessica and Chris, Brooks was almost a surrogate father. For Preston? His very best friend in the world.

“Internship is good. They haven’t made me an offer yet, but I think I’m a lock for a full-time job if I pass the bar.” He took a sip of his drink. “And yeah, I’ll definitely be ready. I got a little distracted for a while there, but I’ve got plenty of time to be sure I nail it.”

“Distracted?” asked Brooks, waggling his eyebrows in a way that was truly annoying. “What’s her name?”

Preston sighed, bristling at his brother’s lascivious tone. “It’s not like that.”

“Not like what? This chick doesn’t have you wrapped around her”—he cleared his throat for effect—“little finger?”

“I mean it,” said Preston, raising his eyes to Brooks and warning him with a narrow-eyed stare. “We’re not talking about her like that.”

Brooks sat back, his eyes wide with amazement. “You’re not—Jesus, Pres, you’re not
in love
with her, are you?”

Preston didn’t answer, just stared back at his brother, daring him to say another word.

Brooks held his hands up in defeat. “Okay. I get it. She’s different.”

“She is. She’s special.”

“Clearly,” said Brooks under his breath, finishing his drink. “So? What’s her story? What does she do? Where’s she from?”

These weren’t easy questions, because Elise Klassan was very different from the girls that the Winslow brothers generally dated. She wasn’t a debutante, or a sailor, or a D.C. intern. She wasn’t part of the uppercrust of Main Line society, into which the Winslows were born, or  model or a businesswoman in Philly. Preston wasn’t lying when he said she was different, and he found it was hard to describe Elise in a nutshell.

He started with: “She’s an actress.”

“What?”
blurted out Brooks. “An actress?”

Preston nodded. “Yep. She’s in a show at Lincoln Center right now. I’m headed there after dinner.”

“I didn’t even know you were into the arts, Pres.”

“Beth took me to see a show she was in a few weeks back…I-I don’t know…” He shook his head. “There was something about her.”

“Beth Atwell? I didn’t realize you two were still a thing.”

“We’re not anymore. She noticed I was into Elise and told me to fuck off.”

“Felicity, Hope, and Constance will be delighted to know that you slighted their cousin,” said Brooks.

“Like I care,” mumbled Preston, thinking about the annoying trio of sisters he and his brothers had grown up with in Haverford.

“So, you’re dating this Elise.”

“She’s not ‘this Elise,’ first of all. She’s Elise, and yeah, we’re dating. In fact, she’s kind of…living with me.”

“She moved in? Already?” snapped Brooks, eyes wide and disapproving. “How long have you two been together?”

“Over a month,” said Preston defensively.

Brooks sighed. “You’ve got it bad.”

“You have no idea,” said Preston, finishing his drink.

“Okay,” said Brooks, like he was heading into a gauntlet. “When do I get to meet her?”

“You don’t,” said Preston. “Tonight’s her opening night on Broadway, and she’s got two shows tomorrow, and another two on Sunday.”

“Sounds like a busy schedule.”

“It is,” said Preston, suddenly wishing they could talk about something else. He heard the skepticism in Brooks’ voice and it bothered him. He wanted Brooks’ approval, not his advice to move slow and be cautious.

“Does she have time for you?”

“She
lives
with me,” said Preston, signaling the waiter for another drink.

“I bet her career is really important to her.”

“It is. She gave up a lot to make it here.”

“I guess we know how it feels to be that ambitious, huh?”

Preston nodded. Although only one of them had actually made it to the Olympics, yes, they’d both had the dream, the determination, and the drive.

“Not a whole lot we wouldn’t have given up when we were in the thick of it,” said Brooks carefully, looking at Preston with worried eyes.

Preston understood his brother’s meaning precisely. It was at the heart of Preston’s concerns for a possible future with Elise. When push came to shove, he had a feeling she’d always choose the stage first. And although he admired and respected her ambition, he wanted to know that eventually his place in her life would be a priority, too.

“It’s not an issue yet.”

Yet.
The word sat thick and heavy between them as Brooks nodded once before picking up his menu.

“Brooks, can you just be happy for me?” asked Preston, feeling very much the little brother to his big brother, and wishing, as he had countless times before, that his father was still alive for conversations like this one.

Brooks, who’d come through for his siblings their entire lives, looked up from his menu and forced his lips into a neutral smile.

“Of course.” He lifted his glass. “Good luck, brother. May she break a leg tonight, but never break your heart.”

They clinked their glasses together and segued easily into a conversation about Christopher’s recent conquests at the Capitol and Jessica’s upcoming graduation from college, but there was a vague melancholy that had taken up residence in Preston’s heart, near the spot that belonged to Elise.

Not a whole lot we wouldn’t have given up…

Turning his head to the business of their siblings, Preston said a quick and fleeting prayer that the day never came when the thing Elise needed to give up was him.

***

So
this
is how it feels!

On the cab ride home, Elise clutched Preston’s hand, staring out the window and beaming as she recalled the first standing ovation she’d ever received. It had been an almost-unreal joy to hear the roar of applause when she, Garrett, and Maggie had taken their bows together, watching as the audience leapt to their feet before them.

Afterward, she’d attended a backstage reception, comforted by the light pressure of Preston’s hand in the small of her back as various theater critics, fellow actors, and other theater bigwigs complimented Elise on her portrayal of Mattie Silver. Her heart had swelled with pride, and it had been all the sweeter for having Preston by her side and knowing that she didn’t celebrate her success alone, that he was proud of her, too.

Wasn’t he?

Of course he was.

But then, he’d been very quiet at the reception and now in the cab. As she started coming down from her high, she realized that he hadn’t said very much since they’d left the theater. She turned to him.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.” He had been looking out the window, but now he turned to her, squeezing her hand and smiling. “You were brilliant.”

His smile was genuine, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“I am. And so was everyone else in attendance, or did you miss that standing ovation?”

“Nope,” she said, searching his face. Come to think of it, he hadn’t kissed her since the play either. Was something wrong or was she searching for problems where none existed? “I noticed. It’s burned on the happy side of my brain.”

“It was well-deserved,” he said, squeezing her hand again before turning away to look out the window.

“Pres,” she said, “is everything okay?”

He turned to her and nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. You were epic, Elise. Really. You blew me—and everyone else—away.”

He turned to look out his window again, and so she did the same. They were still holding hands. He was saying all of the right things. So why couldn’t she shake the feeling that
something
was wrong?

The cab stopped at his apartment and Preston dropped her hand to pay the cabbie, sliding out of the backseat and holding the door open for her. As the cab pulled away, he took her hand and pulled her toward the building, but she stayed rooted on the sidewalk until he turned around to look at her.

“Are you coming inside?”

“As soon as you tell me what’s going on,” she said softly, giving him the no-nonsense look her mother used to give her and her sisters when she was waiting for an explanation.

Preston stared at her for moment in surprise, opened his mouth like he was about to say something, thought better of it, then pursed his lips together.

She tilted her head to the side, still holding his hand, but refusing to move or say anything else until he was straight with her. Preston didn’t know this about her yet, but Elise was good at patience. She was very, very good at waiting and had every confidence that she’d eventually outlast him.

They stood on the sidewalk, staring at each other for a good two or three minutes before Preston finally dropped her eyes and bent his head forward, muttering softly, “I’m an idiot.”

“I don’t think so,” said Elise, “but if you insist, maybe you could explain why.”

“I’m a selfish prick.”

“Hard to believe since you’re one of the most selfless people I know, but again, I’ll reserve judgment if you want to make your case.”

“Can you just let it go? I’ll get over it without infecting you.”

“You may be underestimating me. Perhaps I have a natural immunity to whatever’s ailing you.” Her teasing grin dimmed and she shook her head sadly. “No, I can’t let it go, Preston. I could only let it go if you were less important to my heart.”

“You mean that?” he whispered, taking a step closer to her.

“You doubt that you’re important to my heart?”

“You kissed that guy three times tonight,” he blurted out. “Three. The third time with tongue. And you looked like… damn it, it looked like you
enjoyed
it, Elise,” he said, wincing as he looked down at the sidewalk.

“Oh.” Elise took a deep breath and let it go slowly. “This is about jealousy.”

He nodded, refusing to look at her.

“I see,” she said, then, “Come on.”

She tugged on his hand, walking into the building as the doorman swept the door open, but refused to look at him as they waited for the elevator. She kept her chin high and her eyes forward. He needed to sweat this out a little. He needed to remember what she was about to tell him and he’d remember it better if his feelings were feverish by the time she started talking.

As the elevator rose slowly, Preston cleared his throat. “I said I was an idiot. I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want to ruin your Opening Night because it really was amazing, Elise. It was so great, and now I’m wrecking it with this stupid—”

She turned to him and placed her finger over her lips, telling him to shush, then turned her eyes forward again. When the doors opened, she pulled him out of the elevator, took her new keys out of her purse and opened their apartment door. Placing her purse on the table in the front hallway, she didn’t let go of his hand. She led him through the living room, then opened the French doors to the balcony and he followed her outside.

“Preston,” she said, “look at me.”

He did, and the expression in his eyes made her breath catch: guilt, shame, anger, jealousy, frustration…they were all there staring back at her from deep, dark pools of green.

Letting go of his hand, she reached for his cheek, smoothing her palm over the black stubble.