Page 86 of I Choose You

I didn’t go back to work after I dropped Brooke off at her office. I’d left her there with my address, and she promised she’d be there. When she asked what I’d be making, it became the perfect ice breaker for what felt like an emotionally tense day. Her questions segued into joking about kitchen mishaps we’d both experienced, and I promised her I wouldn’t botch it.

“Have faith in me.”

She’d paused at the passenger door before shutting it. “Says the guy who admitted he didn’t know how to boil water in college?”

I chuckled. “It was the stove,” I protested. I never understood how I’d gotten a dorm with a European appliance that wouldn’t fit into any US outlets, but that was what I’d had to deal with for a week or so before I decided dorm life wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. Kody and I moved out to get an apartment instead. Needless to say, I hadn’t been able to get the stove working to make a damn pot of macaroni and cheese.

I had a state-of-the-art kitchen to rely on now, and that was half of the reason I didn’t go back to the office. Avoiding Kody was my first priority. Seeing him would piss me off, and I wanted to hang on to this happy feeling that I’d gotten from being with Brooke.

When she handed that check to her mom, I was stunned. Shocked. And my feelings for her took another nose-dive into something undecidedly not fake. Her compassion and selflessness knew no bounds, and I admired her all the more for it. I was shoved into more shock when she’d given me the credit. I’d done my fair share of donating to charity and attending fundraisers. It wasn’t like that, not at all. It was seeing Brooke’s sacrifice on such a personal level that touched me so much more. This wasn’t an organization or a nameless number in a long list of a charity drive.

This was a mother and daughter looking out for each other, and seeing their closeness hit a place so tender in my heart. It reminded me of my mother, who I’d lost too soon.

I also stayed home and worked remote so I could multi-task and look up recipes. I wasn’t a gourmet chef, but I knew how to work with what I had on hand.

As the hours ticked by, I grew more and more excited for her to show. I wasn’t in the same boat as I had been in when I first saw her at Halden Inc.. I no longer worried if she’d ghost me or stand me up.

Right on the dot, punctual as ever, she rang the bell.

I opened the door and smiled as I let her in. She still wore the same thing I’d seen her in earlier. Because she had a late call and I’d popped this dinner invite on her at the last minute, she’d given me a warning that she’d have to come right after work.

If she mentioned that as a preliminary excuse for not looking good, she was wasting her time.

She looked hot, and I took my time to eye her from head to toe. Her long black locks were down. Loose and tumbled over her shoulders, she looked laidback and relaxed. She’d lost the blazer, replacing it with a large cardigan she didn’t button, and that blue skirt clung to her curves and muscles the same as it had this morning.

I saw fatigue in her eyes, the result of a long Monday. I felt the same. But her gaze glinted with excitement as she entered, and I was glad to be the one to see her now. To be a landing after a rough or long day.

“Come in,” I urged her, taking her hand and leading her to the kitchen. I gestured for her to take a seat at the island. “How was your day?”

She sighed, leaning her forearms on the massive counter as I poured her wine. “You saw me for part of it already.”

I lifted one shoulder and let it fall before I handed her the glass. “So? I didn’t see you for all of it, and I’m curious how it went.”

“Didn’t you work?” she asked. She held the wine glass halfway to her mouth, and I dragged my stare away from her parted lips.

I scoffed, taking a drink from my glass. “You know I did.” Rolling my eyes, I smiled and set my glass down.

“Oh, right. Those attachments.”

I laughed, giving her my back so I could put the finishing touches on our meal.

“The attachments you swore you sent.”

I grinned. We’d gone back to more of the teasing playfulness, even within the realm of work matters. I’d emailed her something with files, only I’d never attached them. And when I sent another email, I still didn’t have them attached, sending the wrong draft. It had led to back-and-forth texting that consisted mostly of teasing me.

She told me a bit more about work, and I listened as I brought the plates to the table. Over a simple but satisfying dinner, we chatted some more. The topics weren’t all about work—our deal or otherwise—and time flew. I hadn’t realized how quickly the hours passed. Before I knew it, the clock showed that it was late for a Monday night.

I set everything in the sink to deal with later. She helped tidy up, too, but since it was just me in this big house, it wasn’t like I had much clutter to deal with. For a dinner of two, we tended to the cleanup with ease.

“Last one,” she said of the drink in her hand.

More like the only one. She hadn’t refilled it over the evening.

We sat on the couch, relaxing into the cushions. She was beat, but she wasn’t bad company. I was exhausted too, but I suspected starting the morning by fighting with my brother predisposed me to feeling more tired than usual. It didn’t matter. We were comfortable, united as soldiers in the fight of workaholism, and I couldn’t help but notice it provided a feeling of domesticity between us.

I rolled my head on the cushion to look at her. She dragged her thumb over the inside of her wrist, the same spot she’d touched when we were at her mom’s house. “Hey.” I grabbed her hand and stroked the soft flesh. “What is this symbol?” I glanced up at her, noticing that she had her gaze downcast, watching me stroke her skin.

I pressed hard, spreading my thumb up into her palm and massaging it.