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‘That’s a no, then. Why not?’
Because he had a son he’d rather spend time with, finishing arranging his bedroom and toys, rather than wandering around a large store, tossing up between black or navy couches, between a double or a queen-sized bed with or without a steel-framed headboard. ‘I’ll get there.’
‘You stalling?’ she asked, then colour flooded her cheeks. ‘Forget I said that.’
‘How am I supposed to do that?’ She had put it out there, and he knew it wouldn’t go away in a hurry. Hell, they couldn’t even get through breakfast without the on-off button coming into play. ‘I am not going away, Brenna,’ he repeated. ‘Vancouver is home now, more specifically my house is where I intend living for a long time, at least until Dylan has grown up and left to follow his own aspirations.’ Forking up hash brown and egg, he chewed and watched the play of emotions passing over her face.
Get it, Bren? I mean every word.
Finally, Brenna pushed her half-empty plate aside, picked up the paper mug of coffee, took a sip and put it aside as well. ‘I do believe you. I hear it in your voice and see how much you want Dylan to be settled and happy here.’
But? He continued eating and waited.
Her chest rose on an indrawn breath, dropped as she exhaled. ‘Give me time to get used to it. It’s not long since you walked into work and I’m all over the place about how I feel about that. We’ve argued, been intimate, dated, got angry. There’s a lot to come to terms with, and I’m still working my way through it all. Okay?’ She was pleading with him.
He hated that. ‘It’s fine. I know exactly where you’re coming from. You and I weren’t part of the plan for coming back here.’ She winced, and he rushed on before she could bite his head off. ‘What I meant was that I was always going to get in touch with you. What I didn’t know was where that would lead. I had no plans of getting back together with you. But I wanted, still do, to see how things are for you, and if we could at least be friends.’
Retrieving her plate, she replied, ‘Like I said, give me time.’ Her eyes were lightening so he knew she wasn’t cross with him.
Best to leave it at that while they were at least smiling at each other. But there was a long way to go in sorting out just what they wanted from each other. ‘What have you got planned for the day after you’ve caught up on sleep?’
‘I’m taking Poppy to get her teeth cleaned. Should be a barrel of laughs.’
‘Sounds like you’ll need a coffee afterwards. Drop by if you’ve got time.’
‘I’ll see.’
He had to accept her reluctance. He wasn’t the only one confused right now. At least he’d had the sense not to raise the fling idea, or about now he’d be out in the car park, trying to pull the knife out of his back.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BRENNA KNOCKED THE shower handle to make the temperature higher and stood with water pummelling the aching muscles in her shoulders. That spot between her shoulders always hurt most during and after a bike ride.
It had been a hard ride out at Fraser. The track had been muddy, the trees sodden from last night’s downpour—so much for the fine weather forecast for the weekend. Like her, the four other cyclists she’d gone with had all returned to their vehicles covered in mud from helmet to toe grips. The owner of the local bar they’d stopped at had laid newspaper on the seats before they’d sat down but at least he’d let them in and given them prime position by the roaring fire he’d had going.
Sponging her face again in case she’d missed some mud, she bashed her elbow and gasped. Falling off at a sharp bend and landing on her arm and hip had given her bones a knock. Colourful bruises were making themselves known along her arm and down her leg, and by tomorrow she’d be stiff. All part of the thrill of speeding over root-strewn tracks. She hadn’t been the only rider to come a cropper today—one of the others had managed to leave his seat and land hard, luckily with no injuries anywhere except to his pride.
Tell that to Hunter. If he knew she’d come off, he’d be locking up her bike and throwing away the key. Yes, she’d seen his angst when she’d mentioned going mountain biking. He only saw it as another way for her to risk her life. He didn’t understand that she had to prove she was capable of pushing the barriers and surviving, that she was worthy of people loving her. Sure, her family adored her, no doubt at all. But two people who should’ve loved her unreservedly hadn’t, and Hunter was one of those.
There was always a certain amount of risk involved in high intensity sports. Ask any successful skier, snowboarder or—yes, mountain biker. Anyway, it was a lot of fun. The option of staying at home sitting on the couch with a book didn’t spark her interest nearly as much.
Snapping off the shower, she reached for a towel and pressed the warm softness against her face. Hunter, Hunter, everywhere she went, he was there, in her head, driving her crazy with longing and at other times with annoyance. Right now, it was a mix of both getting to her.
Drying off, she pulled on black jeans and a thick red jersey before attacking her curls with styling cream and the blow-dryer. Then she applied a light coating of make-up, though why when she was only keeping Poppy company for the rest of the day she had no idea.
While the kettle boiled she rang her mum. ‘Hi, I’m home in one piece.’ She always reported in. Hunter wasn’t the only one to worry about her escapades. ‘I had a great day out at Fraser.’ Not mentioning coming off the bike.
‘You must’ve been half-drowned from what they’re reporting on the weather channel.’ Her mother’s second favourite TV program after the news.
‘There was a bit of rain coming down.’
‘How’s Hunter?’
Where had that come from? She dragged out her answer. ‘He’s fine. Still unpacking.’ He’d been at it all week, though she suspected it was only half-heartedly. Which begged the question. How permanent was permanent? Brenna sighed. She should probably move past what had happened in the past and accept Hunter was here to stay. It had been in his voice and face the other morning at breakfast when he’d talked about his move. He was strong; he’d do it. If it was what he wanted.
‘What’s the house like?’
‘I haven’t seen it.’
‘Why ever not? Even if you’re not getting back with him, that seems sad.’ Her mother had made no secret of her hope that Hunter’s return to Vancouver would encompass Brenna as well. ‘You can at least be friends again.’
‘We are.’ Sort of.
‘I’m sure it’s not easy with his reasons for going back to Kamloops, and you not rushing after him.’
‘He suggested I give him some tips on the interior decorating. I think he’s winding me up. It’s not really my area of expertise.’
‘You’ve done all right so far with the house.’
The house, not hers. Some things never changed in her family. Laughing, Brenna said, ‘I’ve done three rooms in as many years, Mum.’
A text popped into her phone and she sneaked a look.
Hunter.
You home? Dylan wants to see Poppy.
‘Mum, I’m going to take Poppy for a walk before it gets too late. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?’ Not the whole truth, but close enough. She didn’t need questions later about how they’d got on, or if she was seeing him again outside work.
It took ten minutes to finish that call, then she texted Hunter back. Poppy and I are coming to visit. Will be a little while. She wasn’t asking if that was all right. No more avoiding the truth. Hunter had moved into his own home, not far from her. It was time to see his house and give him his house
warming gift. Better late than never. It would be a firm step in the right direction.
* * *
Hunter stared at the grandfather clock standing beside Brenna’s car. No wonder she’d backed right up to his porch. This wasn’t a throw-over-the-shoulder piece of furniture. Not her small one, anyway.
He caressed the woodwork, the glass, the fine carvings. He opened his mouth, closed it again. Speech was beyond him. He walked around the clock, scanning every last detail, and still couldn’t utter a sound.
‘You still like it, then.’ Brenna sounded relieved.
His head dipped. ‘Like it?’ he croaked. Like it? This had been his clock from the moment he’d seen it. He’d had to have it. He’d never felt like that about an inanimate object before. Except he hadn’t been able to afford it at the time because every cent had been going into the ‘buy a house’ account, and later there had seemed no point. ‘When—? How—?’
‘I put it on layby the day after you took me to see it. It was going to be your housewarming present when we moved into our own place.’ Now she was looking distinctly embarrassed. ‘After we broke up, I sold it. Actually, Mum sold it for me. To herself.’
‘I think you need to explain that.’
‘I’m not sure I can.’ Now there was full-on embarrassment colouring her cheeks. ‘Mum knew how much it meant to you and thought there might come a day when—’ Her chest rose. ‘When I might want you to have it. I discovered it when I was storing some of Dad’s gear in the lock-up.’ Her voice broke, but she carried on. ‘So here it is. Remembering how much it meant to you, I’m not churlish enough that you can’t have it.’
‘Oh, Bren.’ He reached to wrap her in his arms and pull her close. ‘It’s as beautiful as I recall.’ It was almost the same as the one his grandfather had had in his hallway when Hunter had been a kid, and he’d been allowed to wind it up and have the bells chiming on the hour every time he’d gone to stay in the old nineteenth-century house. When Granddad had died the clock had disappeared and he’d been as distraught over that as losing the man who’d loved him unconditionally.
