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I turned back to my desk in a huff. I pulled the hair band out of my hair and started brushing violently. It only made it bush up, but I didn't care. I needed something to do.
Brandon continued to watch me in the mirror.
"Skylar, come on," he said, "This is me, a guy who is currently being followed everywhere by a private investigator hired by my crazy ex-wife. Do you think I want to invade your privacy?"
"She's not your ex yet," I countered petulantly as I attacked the left side of my head.
"You say you know how these kinds of people work. I do too, Red, and probably better than you. I used to run with thugs like him when I was younger. And when they want something, they don't go after the guy with the money. They go after the people he cares about. Messina would go after the people I care about, and that's you, more than anything else." Behind me, Brandon sighed. "Will you turn around and look at me, please?"
I stilled, but set my brush down on the desktop and did as he asked. I started braiding my hair into a thick rope. Brandon leaned over and braced his hands on his knees so he could look directly at me.
"They don't report to me unless something bad happens," he said plainly. "No one is spying on you or tracking anything other than your safety. I wouldn't do that to you. Do you believe me, Red?"
His voice was imploring, but also hard with tension. We were trying to heal, but he was still a slightly colder version of the man I had fallen in love with. I hadn't thought about the obvious stresses in his life, particularly with negotiating a divorce from someone who obviously didn't want to be divorced. And on top of that, he had been trying to help my family even when we weren't technically together. I certainly wasn't always a peach either.
"I believe you," I said.
"Good. Look, I figured you wouldn't want a bodyguard, so surveillance was the next best thing. But if you really don't want it, I'll call it off," he said, although he obviously wanted to do anything but that.
I looked down at my hands. I really didn't like the idea of being followed around everywhere I went, even if I could understand his concern. Regardless of his promise that he wasn't spying, it still felt like an overstep.
"How about this," I said. "Keep whoever is in Brooklyn there for now, but remove the Boston guys. I actually do feel better knowing someone is looking out for Bubbe and my dad. If I feel any hint of anything weird here, you can assign someone to me. Will that work?"
Brandon chewed on his lower lip for a moment, clearly wanting to insist on his original agenda. But finally, he clapped his hands together and looked straight at me.
"Deal," he said.
"And no going around my back with other plans."
He gave me a shy, guilty smile that just about broke my resolve to force him to keep his hands to himself for a while.
"Deal," he said again. "Now get over here."
He pulled me from the chair to stand in between his legs, then wrapped his big hands around my hips and pressed his lips into my stomach. The sweet gesture made my heart ache. Green eyes or blue? My fingers threaded into his hair automatically, and I sighed.
"Thank you for letting me help," Brandon murmured into the cotton of my shirt.
His hands floated down to squeeze my ass briefly, then let go when my stomach grumbled. He looked up, blue eyes ablaze with happiness and humor. I pushed a few locks of hair off his forehead. It was getting just slightly too long again, curling around his ears the same way it did when I'd first met him. We gazed at each other, entranced by the obvious love flowing between us, until my stomach grumbled again.
Brandon laughed and stood up. "Come on, Red," he said. "Let's get you some food. And then, unfortunately, I have to get going."
"Another golf meeting?" I teased as I followed him out of the bedroom. A quick glance at the empty couch told me Jane must have found someone to go home with last night.
"Not quite," Brandon said as he went to the refrigerator. "Tennis court this time." He darted a quick glance at me over his shoulder. "You don't play, do you?"
I shook my head as I pulled a box of tea and my jar of honey out of the cupboard. "There aren't a lot of tennis courts in Flatbush."
He gave me a knowing half-smile then turned back to his search. "I feel you. Not a lot in Dorchester either. I didn't learn until I was married."
The word dropped between us like a mini-grenade––the fact that he had been and still was married to another woman. And not to just anyone. The kind of woman who belonged to a tennis club and who probably played golf too. Who wore real pearls as casual jewelry and only drank white wine and colorless liquor. I had seen Miranda Sterling née Keith. She was the kind of woman who never had a hair out of place, even in a wind storm. She was imperious and impossibly beautiful.
But Brandon didn't love her, and most likely never really had. And I had a choice to make––stand with him while he finished cleaning up the mess of his youth, or leave him, just like everyone else had. I had already tried the wrong version of that decision; I wasn't going to do it again.
He put the milk he had grabbed on the kitchen counter and welcomed me when I came to stand in front of him. I smiled and reached up to clasp his stubbly cheeks between my palms.
"I love you," I told him, knowing that it was true.
The words hadn't been said much since we had gotten back together––maybe once or twice in a fury. Brandon stilled for a moment, taking in the words before his face split with a massive grin. It was the thousand-watt smile I loved, the one that seemed to make an entire room light up without a single light bulb.
