Coming Swoon (Brunch Bros #4)

Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

Peter didn’t spend the night, but he came close. The contentment of having him in her arms and being in his was as good as a strong sedative for Sybil. While he stroked his fingers up and down her spine, her eyelids grew too heavy to keep open and sleep came swiftly once they closed. And she probably would’ve slept the whole night through, tangled up with Peter, but at about 2:30 in the morning, Mallory came home from her shift at Moonie’s bar and tripped over the mess in the kitchen.

There was no shame in Peter’s walk when he left her house. It might have been her tired eyes, but Sybil could’ve sworn he was strutting like a peacock. He unabashedly said hello to Mallory and would have struck up a conversation if Sybil hadn’t shoved him out the door and locked it behind him.

“You’ve got sex hair,” Mallory said, perching on the back on the couch with a suggestive grin on her face.

There was no use denying it. Mallory would dig through the trash cans for the evidence if she did deny it.

“That’s because I had sex,” Sybil said bluntly, putting her hands in the pockets of Peter’s hoodie to make herself look more casual than she felt. “You’re out of condoms.”

Mallory threw back her head to laugh and tipped backwards with a yelp of surprise, tumbling ass over head onto the couch.

“Serves you right,” Sybil grumbled and headed for the kitchen to clean up the aftermath of her earlier anxiety.

“I have questions!” Mallory called from the living room, her voice growing closer as her sentence progressed.

Sybil picked up some scattered cans from the floor. “If you’re going to ask questions, you have to help clean.”

Mallory scooped up a few more of the scattered cans. “Tell me everything.”

“That’s a demand, not a question.”

Sybil could feel the eye roll that happened behind her back.

“Was that the first time?”

The truthful answer sprang into her mouth and died on her tongue. Mallory didn’t need to know about their past. It was a precious secret she’d guard close to her chest.

“Yes,” Sybil lied. “You managed to come home after the grand finale this time.”

“I guess you’re welcome,” Mallory said, stacking cans in categories that surprisingly didn’t annoy Sybil. “Moonie offered to cut me early because we were slow and I decided to stay.”

“How magnanimous of you.”

“So is this a thing? Are you seeing each other?”

“I manage to see him every day whether I want to or not,” Sybil replied, transferring Mallory’s stacks onto the shelves of the pantry.

“If you’re going to give me bullshit answers, I’m not going to help,” Mallory warned coldly.

“We’re not dating. It’s casual. Ish.”

“What does ish mean?”

Sybil looked to the ceiling like she was praying to the single light bulb in the pantry for strength.

“It means…” She struggled to define those three de vilish letters. They were infinitely problematic. “It means ish. Peter’s mildly incapable of being truly casual, but it’s not going anywhere.”

“Mildly incapable.” Mallory snorted. “Understatement of the decade.”

“Oh, you know him super well?” Sybil snapped, much harsher than she’d intended.

“Do you?” Mallory bit back.

“You know what, I can do this myself. Go to bed.”

“No.” Mallory shoved a can into her hand. “You can’t always push people away when you’re uncomfortable.” She set her jaw into an unyielding line. “I’m not scared of you like everyone else is.”

“Is it time for you to leave again yet?”

“Maybe I’ll stay to spite you,” Mallory responded, but retreated to the other side of the kitchen to work on the kitchenware.

They worked, unspeaking, for twenty minutes and went upstairs in tense silence once the kitchen was back in order. They shut their doors on the opposite sides of the hall firmly with choreography they’d perfected over a lifetime of conflict.

No matter how late she went to bed, Sybil’s alarm still trilled bright and early, rudely interrupting a fantastic dream where she was in a bookstore with Peter after it had closed for the night. He was on his knees in front of her, her legs hooked over his shoulders, her back against the shelves, and his hot breath igniting fire on her flesh while he recited poetry in between long, luxurious licks of her pussy. She couldn’t remember if it was Shakespeare or Neruda or someone she’d heard once and long since forgotten, but those reverent recitations had curled her toes and made her pant. The details of the dream rapidly slipped away, but the aching and the wetness remained.

Her frustrated growl echoed in the early morning stillness.

There was no time for relief. She wasn’t needed on set until the afternoon, and because production was scheduled to be near downtown all day, she wanted to spend the first half of the day at Stardust. And if she was going to open like she’d told her staff she would, she needed to pry herself out of bed and get ready for the day ahead.

Sybil saw several production assistants during the morning rush, coming to collect coffees for various departments. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d gone through so many gray cardboard drink carriers. Before the end of the week she might even need to re-order those along with a lot of other supplies.

Guilt tainted the elation she felt when she got a moment to add the receipts from the week so far to her spreadsheet. Stardust was making a healthy profit, especially compared to what they usually made this time of year, but she hated that she was leaving her employees by themselves during the unexpectedly busy time.

There was an almost timid knock on the doorframe of the office. Lorna, one of her longest serving employees and de facto assistant manager, opened her mouth and hesitated.

“What’s up?” Sybil prompted.

“I don’t know how to say this,” Lorna admitted, and Sybil’s stomach clenched. “This isn’t exactly my two weeks, but I wanted to let you know that Nicky got a job in Boise, so we’re going to be moving soon.”

Inwardly, Sybil cursed. Outwardly, she said, “How soon is soon?”

“We’re supposed to be in Boise on the first of November.”

“Fuck,” she swore, and then remembered this was a good thing for Lorna. “I mean, this is a huge step forward and exciting for you two, but I am really going to miss you around here. I’m happy to write you a glowing recommendation letter or be a reference.”

“Thank you. With Nicky’s new job, we might be able to afford for me to go back to school to get my nursing degree.”

“You mean you lied on your résumé and making coffee isn’t your lifelong passion?” Sybil teased with mock indignation.

“Thanks for being so understanding. I was really nervous about telling you.”

Mallory’s words from the night before flashed through her mind, but Sybil pushed them aside.

“Stop yapping and go clean something.”

Lorna grinned and disappeared from the doorway. Sybil counted to twenty before she put her head in her hands and groaned. She didn’t need to add hiring and training to her impossibly long list of things to do. Any other year she would have absorbed the slack and figured it out later, but Lorna would be leaving before the end of production. With the increased business and Sybil’s inability to be in two places at once, it felt like a recipe for disaster.

“Goddammit,” she muttered under her breath.

A confident knock in a silly syncopation scared her half to death. She whipped her head up to castigate the intruder, and was only slightly mollified to see Peter’s gorgeous, smiling face.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her exhaustion leaking into her words along with her discouragement.

“I popped in to say hi,” he answered innocently. “They waved me back.”

Sybil doubted anyone had waved him back. Knowing Peter, he’d darted back when Lorna’s back was turned.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” She pointed to his costume. It had to be a costume, because she doubted Peter owned any flannel and no sane person would have handed him a real badge and gun.

He shrugged and leaned against the doorframe. “We’re taking a break.”

Her eyes narrowed. “The kind of break where you’re allowed to wander off-set?”

“We’re not far, and I wanted to see you.”

Sybil sighed. “We need to talk.”

Peter frowned. “About what?”

“Not here.” She pushed back from her desk and stood. “The walls have ears.”

She took him to the back door, looking up and down the alley before pulling him outside.

“I meant what I said at Eloise and Graham’s. This can only be casual, and you sneaking off set to say hi to me when you know I’m going to be there later is not casual.” She crossed her arms.

“But last night you said you still loved me.”

“I know,” Sybil admitted, cursing her past emotional self. “It doesn’t matter. Our lives aren’t compatible, and I don’t think it’s smart to try and delude ourselves into thinking we’ll ever work again.”

“I’m not following.”

“Your life is big and mine is small,” she said, using hand gestures for emphasis. “Everywhere you go, people are excited to meet you. They want to take a picture with you so they can show their friends that they met you. Outside of Crane Cove, no one knows or cares who I am. And that’s fine with me. Everything and everyone I care about could fit inside this coffee shop. But our lives are too different. So it’s casual or nothing at all because I already know how this ends and I don’t want it.”

There. She said it. All of the racing, looping thoughts that had plagued her since the very glimmer of a possibility of Peter being in her life again had arisen.

“What if I want to be here? What if I want a smaller life?”

“What we—what you want—what you think you want is on the opposite side of reality from what’s practical, Peter. Do you really want to live in a place with god-awful cell phone reception and a newspaper that comes out weekly? Not daily. Weekly . The fundraisers we have around here aren’t to cure cancer, but to buy new uniforms for the marching band, and it’s not black tie, it’s barbeque.”

“That doesn’t sound bad. I think I’d enjoy that.”

“What about your career? If you want to keep working, you’ll never be here. That’s not much of a relationship.”

“Our friends have made it work,” Peter reminded her.

“Graham sold his company and moved here full-time to run the hotel with Eloise. Annie moved to Los Angeles for Jordy. Sam and Lacey travel together because their careers can intersect.” For every example, Sybil held up a finger. “If you quit acting and moved here, I don’t know what you’d do. You’d be miserable because you love your job.” She put down her first finger. “I’m not moving to Los Angeles or New York or London or wherever you happen to be at the time.” She put down her second finger. “I can’t travel with you because my business is here, and it’s not mobile.” Sybil put down her final finger. “We’re not them.”

“I could live here. I could scale back my schedule. I could?—”

“Casual or nothing.”

Peter put his hands on his hips and looked at the sky, his mouth setting into a hard line. He let out a heavy, almost weary, sigh.

“Are you saying that because it’s what you want, or because you’re scared again that I’m going to resent you?” He looked down and leveled her with a soul-searching stare. “Because I think twelve years is long enough for me to know that anything I accomplish doesn’t mean anything to me without being able to share it with you. I want this—I want us , no matter what it takes, no matter what it looks like.”

His words reached into her chest, grabbed her heart, and squeezed so hard they crushed that vital organ like an overripe tomato. Never go against an actor when the future is on the line because they have too much experience delivering emotional speeches. Her resolve wavered.

Sybil tore her eyes away from his and looked at their feet, hoping to regroup and stiffen her backbone. All attempts to be stronger vanished when she saw that the black-and-white cat she’d been feeding had wandered between them unnoticed and was rubbing vigorously against Peter’s legs, looking for attention.

Peter must have looked down too, because he said, “Oh, hello,” in a delighted tone, and then crouched to pet the stray cat. She almost warned him not to, that it would run away, but the traitorous cat she’d been trying so hard to befriend arched its body to follow his scratches, and pushed its head under his hand for more.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she fumed. “I’ve been trying to get that cat to come to me for months, and it waltzes up to you like you’re a fucking Disney princess.”

He smiled up at her. “You know, I actually did voice a?—”

“I know!”

Peter scooped up the cat, cradling it like a little baby, and stood. She could hear the cat purring while he scratched its chest.

“Did you stuff catnip in your pockets?” she asked accusingly, but reached out to scratch the cat behind the ears. “You’re a smart kitty, going to the one that could keep you in wet food and treats.”

“I’ve never had a pet,” Peter admitted. “I’ve always wanted one, but it’s never been a possibility because of my travel schedule.”

It amazed her that he didn’t see the irony.

“So does that mean you’re going to keep her?”

He sighed. “I shouldn’t.” He scratched the cat under the chin, then, before Sybil could tell him not to, put the cat on the ground.

“Don’t—” But it was too late. The cat bolted away like someone had lit its tail on fire. “...let go of the cat.”

Peter’s face was the picture of innocent horror and regret.

“I didn’t know I was supposed to hang on to it,” he said, and looked half ready to chase the cat down the alley.

The back door opened a little, and Lorna stuck her head out.

“Um, there’s someone named Dempsey here looking for—” Her eyes landed on Peter, and her cheeks turned red. “Oh, hi.”

“Busted,” Sybil said. “Lorna, this is Peter, and he was just leaving.”

“Hello, Lorna,” Peter said warmly, putting a bright smile on his face and extending a hand. She took it, dazed. “Wonderful to meet you.”

“Dempsey is plotting your murder,” Sybil reminded him before he could try to make Lorna his new best friend. It wouldn’t have taken any effort judging by the look on her face.

“Lorna, could you tell my assistant I will be with them shortly? Thank you.” He waited until Lorna had disappeared back inside the building before turning his attention back to Sybil.

“I want you any way I can have you, so if casual is all you have to give right now, then I can be casual. I’d rather have a little of you than nothing at all.” He cupped her face and stroked her cheek with his thumb. It took every ounce of self- control she had not to push into his touch like the cat had. “But I’m not going to give up trying to change your mind.”

“That’s not very casual of you,” she pointed out.

Peter brushed his lips against hers, and her heart fluttered between her legs.

“You have your definition, I have mine.”

“Dempsey. Murder.”

Even the potential threat of bodily harm didn’t stop Peter from giving her the kind of goodbye kiss reserved for soldiers going off to war. By the time he was done with her, Sybil was hanging on to his broad shoulders for dear life.

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” he said, and went inside like he hadn’t attempted to alter her brain chemistry via her mouth.

Sybil leaned against the cool exterior of the building and took some deep, calming breaths. The way her heart raced was absolutely, completely, one hundred percent casual.