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“It’s more than okay, Brooke. You can cook breakfast any time you get the urge. I fucking love it,” I told her, taking in a deep inhale of the scent of her hair. “How can I help you?”
“You can transfer these plates to the table while I pour coffee,” she said slowly.
“On one condition,” I said.
“And that is?”
“I give you a proper kiss good morning first.”
She froze beneath my hands as if she was trying to hold back. Then I heard it—the softest sob, and then another. She was crying.
“No.” I turned her and got a look: eyes closed, tear streaked, shoulders shaking. “What is it, baby? What did I do?”
She curled into me and sobbed a few more times before pulling herself together. I waited because I sensed it was the right thing to do. I do not know how I knew that, but something told me to just wait her out. I rubbed her back and held her while standing in front of a Viking range I rarely used, in my similarly unused kitchen, and waited for her to say something.
“It’s not you,” she managed to say on the breath of a sob. “I—I do this now. It happens quite a bit, a-actually. I think my accident has something to do with it because I never had this problem before . . .” She took some deep breaths and seemed to be coming out of it, and my heart started beating again.
Fuck. Me. Sideways.
I did not like her crying. It freaked me the fuck out.
I’d thought for a minute she was going to tell me last night had been a terrible mistake.
“Was it—was it me asking to kiss you good morning that brought it on?”
She nodded against my chest, almost as if she were afraid to look at me.
“I need to understand, Brooke. Can you talk to me?”
“I get emotional at the drop of a hat . . . and it’s led to a lot of embarrassing moments just like this one we’re having right now.”
“But, don’t be—please don’t feel embarrassed with me. I don’t mind, I just want to know why.”
“Whenever I talk about my problems to someone, my voice will crack and I’ll start crying. Even wonderful moments choke me up, like when Nan and Herman told me they were getting married, or just now when you said you wanted to give me a good-morning kiss.”
“Me asking to kiss you good morning was a wonderful moment?”
“Yes, it was, Caleb. For me it was, because it teaches me that you want me here.” She sighed heavily against my bare chest, and I could feel the heat of her breath move over my skin. It started things up down south again. All she had to do was speak and I wanted her again. Didn’t she realize that yet? “Rehearsing what I want to say to people doesn’t really help, either, because I end up sobbing and thus can’t get the words out of my mouth, or control that feeling at the back of my throat,” she added with another heavy sigh.
Jesus. Not what I was expecting her to say. Again, I reminded myself that Brooke was someone I barely knew. My feelings for her remained unchanged, but as she revealed more about herself, I understood there were many layers of complexity in her life. Complexities she struggled to work around so she could function as a person. We all had them. Same, but different complexities, pushing in at odd moments, making us dance to their tune. The bastard fuckers.
“Well, let me say this then: having you here to say good morning to, after the night we just shared together, is a wonderful moment for me.” It was more than wonderful actually, but I didn’t want to scare her with how I really felt. Insanely fantastic was closer to the mark. I tugged on her chin with a finger because I needed to see her eyes and I needed her to see mine. “If I cry, too, will that help you feel better?”
My teasing worked because she laughed and her eyes smiled—and my world tilted a little bit more. I got my good-morning kiss, which was spectacular all on its own, but there was more to look forward to. So much more.
I was going to sit down with her and eat the delicious breakfast she’d cooked for me.
And then I was going to carry her back to bed and make love to her again, and reassure her just how much I wanted her here with me.
After that, I was going to carry her into the shower and make her come against my lips one last time before we both got ready for work.
Then I would have the pleasure of dropping her off and kissing her good-bye before she walked inside her building. I would watch her as she went in and know I was seeing my girl. Mine.
Brooke Casterley was mine now.
Caleb
James R. Blakney & Associates, PC was the only firm I’d consider with something like this—since it was me with the request and James doing the investigating—because I didn’t trust anybody else when it came to my private business more than I trusted my best friend.
