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17
JEREMY
Earlier than usual, I went downstairs for breakfast. Imagine my surprise to find coffee already made and my dour brother Darren pouring his into a travel cup.
“Don’t you usually go in at nine?” I asked.
“Early consult with one of Dad’s clients. Coffee?”
“Sure,” I said, opening the cupboard for a mug. My brother was looking awfully chipper, not just for the early morning but for himself in general. He headed out to the foyer for the leather caddy where we all dropped our keys at the end of the day.
I added cream to my coffee and looked up when he muttered something. I looked out the doorway.
“What’s wrong? Did you forget you’re the grumpy one?” I teased.
“Can’t find my wallet. I guess it fell out of my pants last night,” he grumbled.
“Maybe if you stayed a minute before sprinting out the door on some poor woman, you wouldn’t lose your stuff,” I quipped.
He rolled his eyes. I was waiting for his comeback about how I might try leaving my office long enough to locate a woman who’d hook up with me when there was a knock at the door.
I opened it and surprisingly, Julie stood on our doorstep. She looked startled to see me and her cheeks went red instantly.
“Good morning,” I said, opening the door wider to let her in the narrow foyer.
She didn’t look like her usual self—put-together and in control. She had on sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, her hair in a messy bun, emphasis on messy. I was puzzled as to why she was at my door at six-thirty in the morning looking as bewildered as I felt.
Darren cleared his throat and stepped past me. Julie handed him his wallet. They exchanged a look, he bent to say something to her in a low voice. She nodded, and answered him, equally too-quietly to be overheard.
I stood there, a transfixed third wheel to the awkward encounter. I admit, I was surprised that he wound up at Julie’s the night before, that he’d clearly left his wallet at her place accidentally after they spent the night together, euphemistically speaking. Not that my rough-and-ready brother was the kind to resort to euphemisms. He would, if his history could be trusted, never have breathed a word about this to Rory or me. He kept his counsel and was a walking one-night stand who had made discretion an art form. One reason why it was so unusual that he forgot his wallet. He must have been off his game, because I can’t imagine Darren stumbling in his efficiency during a getaway, I thought wryly.
Darren said he had to go, he was running late. He thanked Julie. He said he’d call her after the meeting was over. It was so…sweet. The uptight, upright ex-Marine looked almost bashful as he told her to have a good day and took off down the steps. They were goddamn adorable. I couldn’t deny that.
And there was Julie, standing in the doorway still, looking awkward as hell.
“Coffee? It’s fresh,” I offered. She took a step back and shook her head.
“No, thanks. I just came by to—”
“It’s fine, Julie. Please, come in and have a cup of coffee. I insist,” I said, ushering her in. She sat down at the table, looking hesitant. I poured her a cup of coffee, took the sugar and cream to the table. When I handed her the cup, our fingers brushed, and I felt the same jolt as before. She met my eyes for an instant, proof she felt it, too. But she looked miserable. I admit it surprised me they spent the night together, but I was more surprised that it didn’t upset me. I didn’t feel jealous or angry or even irritated about it. I gave her a reassuring smile.
“Listen,” I said, “we know, okay? Rory kissed you, and so did I. Now you’ve spent the night with Darren. You don’t have to look so upset. We’re all adults here, to use the cliché. Consenting ones at that. There’s no road map for this situation, but there’s not a problem here either. You came back into our lives, and we’re all glad to have you here. I like you. So does Rory. And obviously Darren likes you too,” I gave a half-smile. “There isn’t any pressure on you to make some kind of decision or follow anybody’s rules. Nobody here is going to shame you or get angry about it.”
She started to say something, to protest and probably apologize. I held up a hand to stop her.
“What if nobody’s mad, Julie? What if you don’t have to choose?”
That gave her pause. In fact, she had the mug halfway to her lips when she stopped and set it back down, just looking at me. I think she was considering the possibilities, or else I’d just shocked the hell out of her. Either way, the only thing to do was to leave it up to her. What she was willing to discuss or what she was comfortable with. I’d let her know we were open to that conversation, open to a lot of things, actually. The very idea of it made me feel like I had something to look forward to, the promise of something that could be amazing.
