So Much More (Made for Love #3) (19 page)

Mom and Aunt Row came together. Aunt Row usually has to be into work at the crack of dawn, like me, so I know she took time off to stop in. Knowing mom, I was thankful that she would stop everything for me, just for a while. She seemed impressed, which flattered me; I had done this on my own and it felt great.

Then she eyed the pastry case and I could see it in her face. I could see it the moment she shut down and decided she couldn’t stay any longer.

“I think there’s a lot I don’t know or understand about my mom,” I begin to speak, pulling myself out of the memory—wishing to be free of it. “And there’s a lot of things she doesn’t know or understand about me. There’s so much that we don’t talk about—so much that we
never
talked about…and we can’t go back, you know?

“The bakery—the love I have for baking and messing around in the kitchen—that came from my dad. It’s like I told you earlier, he inspires me always. It’s not the same for my mom. I don’t think she draws strength from her memory of him. I think she shuts down when she is reminded of him.

“The blueberry crumble muffin? That’s the last recipe that my dad and I perfected together. The one and only time my mom has been to LB, she looked into the display case, saw it sitting there, and couldn’t stay.”

“Oh, Brandon, I’m so sorry.” Sarah tightens her grip around my fingers and brings her free hand up to cling to my arm.

When I look at her, her eyes filled to the brim with compassion, my entire body aches with a longing I’ve never felt before. It’s not just a physical want—it goes deeper than that. It’s as if my soul wishes to be embraced by
this
woman—
this
woman who looks at me and makes me feel like I deserve better. Better than my mother. Better than Olivia.

I want to kiss her so damn bad it hurts
.

I stop walking and cup my free hand around the side of her face. I pause for just a moment, giving her a second to recognize what I want; giving her the chance to tell me
no.

When I lick my lips, she leans in closer, her grip around my arm tightening.

Then my phone starts to ring. It’s the bakery. I know because I programed a different ringtone
just
for work in the event that I was screening my calls.
Like now
.

“Don’t answer it,” she whispers.

“Shit,” I murmur, propping my forehead against hers. “I have to. It’s work. They know not to call me on Sundays unless they desperately need me.”

I move my hand from her face and press my lips against her forehead as I reach into my pocket for my phone. Turns out, it’s Joey—and the internet is down, which means the register is offline, which means I have to get over there. When I fill Sarah in on the situation, she murmurs her understanding and we head back to the Camaro.

“I could come with you,” she offers.

A part of me wants to tell her yes, that that’s what I intended all along. The selfish part of me is fighting with the responsible part of me—with the
kind
part of me.

The gentleman wins.

“No,” I tell her. “It’s your first day off since you started. I’m not letting you come in.”

“But I—”

“Good grief, you have a hard time with the answer
no,
” I tease.

She laughs. “Only sometimes.”

“Well, I’m putting my foot down. You’re not working today. You’ll just have to wait until tomorrow morning. Besides, I’m the one with the car, which means you go where I take you. I’m taking you
home
.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” she quips.

As soon as I pull into Sarah’s apartment complex, my phone rings again. This time it’s Eryn, calling to make sure I’m on my way. I can tell they’re in straight up panic mode right now. I don’t have time to linger with Sarah, no matter how badly I want to. Nevertheless, I don’t hesitate to walk her inside to her door.

“Hate to drop and run, but I’ve got to go.”

“I know,” she says with a nod.

I scoop her into my arms and she clings to me. Suddenly, I abhor responsibility.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” I tell her, kicking myself for letting her go, knowing all along that it can’t be helped.

“Thank you. For today,” she says sweetly.

Fuck—she’s killing me.

I’ve got to go. Why won’t my feet move?

I can’t kiss her. I have a feeling that once I start, I won’t be able to stop—not until I’ve memorized every facet of her mouth with my tongue. A closed mouth exchange would never do, and I don’t have time…

Dammit. Not here. Not now.

That’s becoming my mantra.

Not here. Not now.

It’s really getting on my last nerves.

“Brandon?” She smiles at me and the butterflies in my stomach are back.
That smile.
I want to
own
that smile. “Duty calls. Go save the day.”

I nod, knowing she’s right. I press a quick kiss against her forehead and start backing away. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” she echoes in reply.

T
HE ONLY GOOD THING
about watching Brandon leave was that look on his face. I saw it in those hazel eyes. I saw a man being shoved inside of a cage. I saw the fight he was trying desperately to win—his sense of responsibility versus his ravenous recklessness. I saw his desire coupled with his frustration. He didn’t have to say a thing. I
saw
it all, my gaze locked with his.
That look.
Good God,
that look
was a warning of things to come.

No—it was a promise.

I don’t know how long I stay out in the hallway, leaning against the front door, my body still buzzing with the anticipation of a kiss that didn’t come.

Stupid, stupid, stupid technology!

When I finally scrounge up the will to go inside, I find Millie in the kitchen. She’s shuffling around in a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, making a sandwich. I forgot to look in the parking lot to see if Sage is still here, but it appears as though he’s made his exit.

Wishing to build upon the efforts we both put forth last night, I decide to talk to her instead of avoiding her. “Hey,” I say in greeting.

She looks over at me and gives me the most pathetic nod. In fact, I’m not even sure it can be called that. I don’t hold it against her; she looks like she’s nursing a hell of a hangover.

“So. You and Sage,” I continue, undeterred by her less than enthusiastic greeting.

“Mm-mm,” she mutters, shaking her head ever so slightly. “We’re not doing this now. We’re not talking about it.”

O-kay
, I think to myself as I slowly back my way out of the kitchen.
Maybe an afternoon chat with the roomie is
not
on the books for today.

I swear, I can’t figure that girl out to save my life. However, just now, I couldn’t care less. After the morning I’ve had,
avoiding
roomie drama is at the top of my priority list. I close myself into my room, still feeling entirely too full, and stretch out across my bed. I’m too wired to take a nap, my day with Brandon having left me elated. I need something to help pass the time, though, so I pull out my Kindle and get lost in my current novel.

Four hours later, after I’ve completely wrinkled my dress from changing positions every twenty minutes, I’ve reached another happily-ever-after. I’m in the middle of trying to decide if I want to pick another book and keep reading, or if I want to make myself something small to eat for dinner, when my phone rings. I don’t know why I think it’s Brandon, but I scramble for the device with the hope that I’m right. I’m extraordinarily disappointed when I find out I’m not.

Then I feel like a shitty friend for being disappointed. That’s not exactly what you’re supposed to feel when your best friend is trying to reach you.

Addie and I haven’t really talked much this summer. It’s completely understandable, what with her getting married and then moving to Texas to be with her husband while he continues working his way through medical school. I'm sure there’s been lots going on. Not to mention, tons of sex. I bet there’s been
so much
sex. They waited for each other for
six years
or something crazy like that. The sexual tension between them was palpable. Now, I bet they can’t keep their hands off of each other.

Fuck.
Why am I thinking about my best friend having sex? So much sex?

Smut. Too much smut.

Then, suddenly, I've got Brandon on the brain and my phone stops ringing. I’m a horrible friend. I should be
dying
to talk to Addie—anxious to tell her about my summer with Jack and Claire, my new job, and my hot boss who makes me feel crazy wonderful. None of that would make sense to her. She has no idea how my life has changed.

My phone starts ringing again. I stare at it, wondering if I’m ready for this conversation; wondering if I’m capable of continuing this
lie by omission
or if it’s time to come clean and tell her the truth.

Then, suddenly, I’ve got Luke on the brain and my phone stops ringing. I’m a horrible friend. I should be
dying
to talk to Addie—anxious to spill my guts and cry my eyes out as I tell her about the last year and the gigantic mess that I’ve made of my life. She’d listen, because she’s
amazing
like that. Sure, life has kept us busy and we’ve lost touch since we graduated college, but we haven’t lost each other. Never that. And she wouldn’t judge me for the mistakes I’ve made. But this lie?

My phone starts ringing again and my heart skips a beat.

Shit. She knows.

Now, I have to answer. She’ll keep calling if I keep ignoring her. I can’t let her do that. I’m a mess, but I’m not an asshole. I draw in a deep breath and then slide my finger across the screen, accepting the call.

“Hello?”

“Sarah Hailey Prescott, you’re in
so
much trouble! I could
kill
you, but I love you too much.”

Hearing her voice makes me tear up. I didn’t know how much I missed her until this very second. She’s my very best and oldest friend. She knows me, loves me, accepts me—no matter what. I thought I was keeping the truth from her so as not to ruin her wedding, but who was I kidding? Nothing could have ruined that wedding. Instead, by withholding the broken pieces of myself from her, my most vulnerable self, I was pushing her away. I see that, now, and I want to fix it.

“You talked to Claire?”

“Yes. She didn’t know that
I
didn’t know that you’d spent the summer in Georgia. She wouldn’t tell me
why
, though. That’s on you.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll forgive you
after
you tell me everything. Before you start, though, I need you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“Hang up the phone, go the store, get a bottle of wine and some popcorn. Come home, make the popcorn, open the wine, and sit in the middle of your bedroom floor. Call me when you’re ready. I’ve already got my supplies.”

I nod, half crying, half laughing. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll go now.”

“Don’t stand me up!”

“I won’t. I promise.”

It takes me less than an hour to do as I’m told. After I’ve gathered all my
supplies
and change into a pair of cotton shorts and an old CSU t-shirt, I call Addie.

We’re on the phone for five hours. I tell her about Micah, then about Luke. I tell our love story, resenting him all the more when it comes out as if it were a damn fairytale instead of the nightmare that I know it to be now. I hash out every humiliating detail regarding the
Red Coat Incident.

The fucking Red Coat Incident.

I tell her about Rebecca, Luke’s wife, or what little I know of her. I outline the demise of my career as a new teacher, once thought to be filled with so much potential. Talking to her reminds me of all that I’ll be missing out on over the next year as I live my life
away
from the classroom. It dawns on me that this will be the very first August, since I was five years old, that I
don’t
start school in the fall.

As if my tear ducts are in need of a good cleaning, I cry like it happened yesterday instead of months ago. Addie cries with me, upset that we’re miles and miles away from one another so she can’t wrap me in her pint-sized hug. It isn’t until she asks me to tell her about my plans for the next year that I start to relax.