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Talk about hot.
21
I never realized rush hour traffic sucked this bad.
Of course, I’m never usually in it. I always get to work too early and leave too late to ever be a part of the long line of cars leaving Portland.
But today I’m in the thick of it as I haul the box of clothes over to Ellie’s along with an envelope with fifteen hundred dollar bills for her tuition—my investment in the future of her family. I know, as someone who has lost everything, she’ll be able to put all of these things to good use and chase her dreams at the same time.
When I get off I-295, though, and the GPS takes me through a relatively upscale section of Sapphire Shores, I start to wonder if all is not as it seems with Ellie Garner. A few minutes later, I pull into a new-looking complex called The Portside, parking in front of a gorgeous building with shiny black framed windows and modern, clean lines.
This place is better than mine, with a view of the Maine coastline. Ellie said her brother’s a family law attorney, but if he can afford a place like this, why can’t he give her tuition money?
I decide it’s none of my concern as I pull into a parking space. She obviously feels as though she’s outstayed her welcome here, and she needs to get back on her feet. That’s where I come in.
I wrangle the box of clothes out of the passenger side of the car and head to the front door of condo number 112, ringing the doorbell. A second later, a little boy with dark hair and a chocolate milk mustache answers in a Portland Pirates jersey. It’s got to be Ellie’s son.
“Hi, there,” I say with a big smile.
He’s eyeing me with suspicion. I’m surprised he’s allowed to answer the door for strangers, but I’m not here to judge.
“Is your mom home?” I ask. “I’m a friend of hers.”
He shakes his head warily.
“Oh, okay. Well, I just brought her something. Do you think you coul—”
I stop when a male voice inside says, “Hey. You’re not supposed to answer that. Who is it, Bud?”
Before I can react to the familiarity of the sound of his voice, he appears.
Brooks Gentry.
When she said her brother was a family law attorney, the last person I expected it to be was him.
He’s still wearing his button-down shirt and slacks from work, where I left him not an hour ago. He looks slightly more deconstructed, though, more rugged, his hair tumbling more into his face, his shirt unbuttoned to the breastbone and untucked, his shoes off.
I hate that deconstructed Brooks is even hotter than office Brooks.
It’s not fair.
Also, what are the odds?
Slowly, my mind works through the irony and impossibility of the situation.
Brooks seems just as shocked as I am, but he manages to speak first. “What are you doing here?”
I hold up the bag. “I’m dropping off some things for Ellie.”
His eyes narrow. “How do you know my sister?”
He looks down, his hands on Jace’s shoulders, and in that moment I think someone is playing a cruel joke on me.
“We’re friends,” I say. It’s protocol not to reveal how we know our clients at the women’s center unless they give us the go-ahead.
“This is… Ellie doesn’t… you don’t…” He lets out a long breath, and now he just looks angry. His voice doesn’t match his expression, though, when he pats a very confused Jace on the shoulder and says, “Hey, Bud, go on inside and watch the end of Paw Patrol, okay?”
The little boy nods, still looking suspiciously at me, and runs off.
So that must have been the kid that was sick the other week…
He steps toward me, pulling the door shut behind him, and lowers his voice to a whisper. “I’m sorry, this isn’t making sense. I’ve seen the kind of people Ellie’s friends with and you’re not it. What’s really going on? Are you stalking me?”
I sniff, tempted to throw a “you wish” in his face.
“I have some clothes to give her,” I say, “interview clothes. Professional clothes.”
He squints, confused. But I can’t betray her trust.
But before I can say anything else, he notices the envelope of cash in my hand. “Why are you giving her this money?”
“Because she needs it,” I say, not wanting to disclose the culinary school thing. Ellie made it clear she wants to prove she can do this on her own, without his help or judgment.
“Damn it, Bayliss.” His voice is still a whisper, but I’ve never seen him so pissed before. “Tell me why you’re suddenly showing up at my front door with money for my sister? And don’t bullshit me either.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” I say. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”
He drags his hand through his already-messed up hair, like he’s done that a few other times since he’s been home from the office.
