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Almost as if by design, Brooke bounds out of the bedroom right then, and I click the screen on my phone to lock it. Her hair is down and sleep-messy, but her eyes—her eyes are alight and dancing.
She shimmies and shakes and does a little hop, skip, and a jump until she lands on my lap. The table of the booth jabs into her side, and she howls aloud like a beagle.
“Holy hell, Brooke! Are you okay?” I ask, trying my best to soothe the injured part of her side with my fingertips.
“Yes, yes,” she lies with a groan and a laugh, both of which make me smile. “I’m fine. Just clumsy.” She leans forward and puts her lips to mine then for the softest, most intimately gentle kiss. When she pulls away, her voice is a sweet whisper. “There. All better.”
My God. I really might be in love with her.
Satisfied with our hello, she climbs from my lap once again, grabs Benji’s leash off the counter, and then opens the door for him to fly outside and pee. She winks before shutting the door behind her, and everything inside me misses her the moment she’s out of sight.
I have to wonder. If I miss her this much when she’s just outside, how much am I going to miss her when we get home?
Sunday, June 4th
Brooke
At Chase’s direction, I’m sitting on the passenger side of the motor home, wearing heels and a dress, my makeup done and proper, as he pulls up to the curb of a side street in downtown Nashville and shuts off the engine with a twist of his wrist.
He looks yummy too, having made a stop just outside of Memphis to shower and change himself before instructing me to do the same while he drove. I didn’t know how far we were going or where we were stopping, but I never expected the glitz and glam of a downtown Nashville hotel.
Dinner, maybe? I thought when he was making suggestions about what I might want to wear.
But now that I’m looking closer at where we’re stopped…I realize where we are, and a loud squeal jumps from my lungs without my approval.
Holy flocking sheep! He brought me to White Limozeen—otherwise known as the Dolly Parton-themed bar of my adolescent dreams.
Maybe someone else wouldn’t realize where they were with the immediacy I have, but as someone who’s dedicated a frightening amount of her time and life to the music of Dolly Parton, I knew when they decided to open this place and name it after her 1989 album very shortly after it was announced in the paper.
“Chase freaking Dawson, where are we?” is all I can manage, and beyond that, I can only do it in a whisper. I also keep looking at the sign of the Graduate Hotel, the home to the Dolly-inspired rooftop bar, blinking several times to make sure what I’m seeing is real.
Chase, though, he’s all relaxed and calm, just sitting there in the driver’s seat with a big-ass smile on his face.
“Tell me this isn’t what I think it is. Tell me we’re not where I think we are,” I beg dumbly, unable to handle the raw emotion of twentysomething years of obsession culminating in this moment.
A chill runs the entire length of my spine as he reaches over to grab just the top of my knee. And his voice is unbelievably gentle and understanding as he replies. “We are where you think we are. And we’re here to celebrate you.”
“What do you mean?” I demand, bouncing up and out of my seat. “What do you mean we’re here to celebrate me?”
Chase stands with me, pulling me into his body just enough to stop my shaking. “The premiere in LA was about Netflix. Sure, they were very welcoming to you, and you were a part of it, but overall, it was a celebration of their success…of their milestone.”
My nose stings as tears enter my eyes uninvited.
“This…tonight…is a celebration of you—Brooke Baker—and your success. Your milestone. You have a show on Netflix!” he nearly shouts, hugging and shaking me at the same time. “This is big, Brooke. Huge. And there was no way in hell I was going to allow you to let it pass you by. And I couldn’t think of any better place to celebrate you than here.”
I launch into his arms, wrapping my legs around his hips and raining kisses all over his face. It’s enthusiastic and overzealous, and I don’t care. I’m so fucking thankful that this man exists.
“You!” I yell, directly into his face while clamping his jaw with my hands. “You are something else! I would totally take you back to the bedroom to ravish your whole body right now if I weren’t so damn excited about the bar! I’m sorry for that! And I’m sorry for yelling this loud and for possibly injuring your eardrums also!”
