Strictly Pretend (The Salinger Brothers #6)

Chapter 6

CHAPTER

SIX

brOOKS

“You go grab a seat and I’ll order our drinks,” I say to Emma as we walk into the coffee shop. It’s one of those mock-old cafes with unmatched chairs and rubbed off paint that’s trying to look like it’s been here forever but was probably set up by some trust fund dude who thinks that if he can have some kind of dream job he’ll be happy.

And yeah, I’m a trust fund dude. Don’t think the irony of that escapes me.

“I’ll get the drinks,” Emma says. She’s so obviously annoyed with me. She walked ahead of me the whole way here. In the sunshine her red hair looks almost blonde. The sun shone off it and made her look like an advert for shampoo. She’d hate that if she knew.

How would you know what she hates?

“I’m not letting you pay for my drinks,” I tell her.

“Well, I’m not letting you pay for mine.” She folds her arms across her chest. She’s wearing a black dress with a white collar and trim, oversize white buttons adorn the front. Even though it’s fastened to the neck she looks alarmingly attractive. I’m trying really fucking hard not to look at where it stops, mid thigh.

“Sit down.” It comes out a little harsher than I expect. Two people turn around to look at us. I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers because this woman is aggravating. But there’s still no excuse for me talking to her like that.

Linc’s words echo in my head. This time, actually try to charm her instead of repulsing her.

Yeah, that’s really working.

“Please,” I say, way too late. “Please sit down.”

She shifts her weight, her arms still folded across her chest in a way that’s distracting. “Okay.”

I let out a breath. Well that was easy. Maybe Linc has a point after all. “What can I get you?” I ask.

“I’ll have a double mocha decaf with no foam, skim milk, no sprinkles, but maybe add a little whipped cream to the top.”

My mouth drops open. “I’m sorry?”

She gives me a smug smile. “Thanks.”

“I didn’t hear what you said.”

She takes a step closer and I can smell the floral notes of her perfume. I swallow hard. “Tell you what, if you get my order right I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”

“A double mocha?” I say, trying to remember. She needs to slow down her words. “With oat milk?”

“There was more,” she murmurs, her gaze glancing at my mouth.

I know there was. “No sprinkles.”

She grins. “Getting there.” Turning on her heels she walks over to a table on the far side of the café. I turn to the barista and ask for an Americano.

“Anything else?”

“You see the woman over there?” I say, pointing at her. She’s sitting back from the table, her elegant legs crossed.

“Emma?”

“Yeah. Do you know her order?”

“She always orders an espresso.”

My brows knit. “Not a mocha? Without sprinkles. And maybe oat milk?”

The barista shakes his head. “Nope, never. She always orders an espresso, and occasionally a flapjack.” He points at the oat bars in the glass cabinet.

“Okay, an espresso and a flapjack please.” My stomach gurgles. “Make that two flapjacks.”

“Coming up.”

She turns and makes our coffees – an easy enterprise since we both take it black. Before long there are two cups on the tray along with two plates, each with a flapjack on them. I pay, adding a tip, and carry the tray over to where Emma is sitting.

She’s looking out of the window, her face profiled against the light streaming in through the glass. She has no idea I’m so close so I take a moment to scrutinize her.

Along with her red hair she has the palest skin. There are freckles across the bridge of her nose and along her cheekbones. Her lips are pink, her eyelashes a sandy blonde that remind me of the corn fields around my father’s estate.

I clear my throat, mostly because I don’t want to startle her as I’m sliding the tray onto the table in front of her. She looks at me, startled, then at the coffee cups.

I take a seat and slide her cup and plate over to her. “One espresso and a flapjack.”

“Is that what I ordered?” she asks me, her brows knitted.

“No. But it’s what you wanted.”

“How do you know what I want?” she asks, and I have to admit she has a point.

“I don’t,” I reply honestly. “The barista did though.”

She turns her head to look over at her and smiles.

“So…” I take a sip of my Americano. “Have you ever noticed that hardly anybody drinks hot coffee anymore?”

“What?” Two tiny frown lines appear between her brows.

“We’re the only ones. Everybody else is drinking cold coffee.”

“I have noticed,” she says, looking surprised. “I hate cold coffee.”

“Me, too.”

For a second she looks at me as though she’s trying to work me out. “Why are you here, Brooks?”

“Because your granddad told us to come get coffee.” I take a deliberate sip of my Americano.

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t mean here as in the coffee shop. I mean here, as in Oak Hollow. Why did you drive all the way here? Again.”

“Because you won’t answer my emails and you’ve blocked my calls.”

“You’re behaving like a stalker ex-boyfriend,” she says. “And I only have room for one of those. Put your application in and I’ll come back to you when there’s a vacancy.”

“Will is stalking you?” It’s my turn to frown. I don’t like that one bit. Sure, I was an incidental player in the whole howling at the moon escapade, but I was on her side.

I liked that too much.

She sighs. “No, not really. I mean, I’ve blocked him too. He wants to talk about Cassie’s wedding. To make sure I won’t make a scene.”

“So why don’t you tell him you won’t be there?” I ask.

“Maybe I will.” She tips her head to the side. “Maybe I’m planning on turning up in an ancient wedding dress and having a whole Miss Havisham style moldy food table just to remind him how he broke my heart.”

“Are you?”

“Jeez, you’re so literal. No, I’m not. I’m not going, so I don’t need to talk to my ex. Job done.”

I’ve heard of lightbulb moments before, but I’ve never experienced one. But this eureka moment is so damn blinding I blink at the sheer genius of it.

What was it that Linc said? Something about me understanding what she wanted. Or needed. And now I know exactly what she needs.

I just don’t know if she knows. Which is kind of irritating.

“You’d let him win?” I ask her.

She shoots me an annoyed look. “I’m not letting him do anything.” There’s an off-note to her voice though, as though the idea of him getting one over her doesn’t sit well.

“But he’ll think he’s won,” I persist. “Just by you not being there. He’ll think he’s the reason.”

The furrows in her brow deepen. “No he won’t.”

“Trust me, he’s a man. He will.”

She takes a bite of her flapjack, her teeth bared. And I feel this rush of elation, because I’m right.

There are some crumbs on her lips. Without thinking, I reach out to wipe them away. As soon as my fingertips graze her mouth her breath stutters.

And it does something weird to me.

“Flapjack crumbs,” I say.

“Oh.” Her brows knit and I realize my fingers are still on her. Slowly I pull them away, and there’s this weird sizzling gaze between us.

All I can think about is how those lips tasted when I kissed her at the wedding. She blinks, like she’s thinking exactly the same thing.

I shift in my seat, stupidly turned on at the memory. What the hell is happening here? I go to move my fingers away, just as she lifts her own hand up, and our touches graze for a millisecond. Her pupils dilate.

Christ, she’s shivering. I frown, trying to remember what I was going to say before I got completely distracted by the fact I want to kiss this woman.

Oh yeah. I had a cunning plan.

“Hear me out,” I say as though touching her hasn’t just given me a hard-on. “Because I know a way to make him feel like a complete loser.”

Her eyes shoot up to mine. “I’m listening.”

“Go as my date to the wedding. We can stick it to him where it hurts.”

“What?” She looks appalled, and I like that much better than when she looks turned on. “Why would I want to do that?”

If I were more thinned skinned I’d be wounded by her being so horrified.

“Actually, don’t answer that,” she adds, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I’m even giving this stupid suggestion any head space.”

“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I’m not doing it for any altruistic reason. I’d want payment.”

Her mouth drops open. “What are you? A gigolo?”

I laugh because that’s one thing I’ve never been called before. Cold, yes. Unfeeling, definitely. An asshole? So many times…

“I don’t mean monetary payment,” I tell her.

“Then what would…” She trails off. “Oh no, I’m not giving up the book store to you just so I can get one up on an ex I don’t even care about.”

“I’m not asking you to give up the store.” Not yet.

“Then what?” she asks me.

I take a deep breath. “I’ve found another building. In town. That would house you, the therapy guy, and the dress shop. Just agree to see it, to think about moving in there. That’s all I ask in return.”

She says nothing. Just lifts her tiny little cup to her lips and drinks the espresso in one go. “This idea is stupid.”

“Yep.” I can’t lie, it really is.

“And juvenile.” She shakes her head. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Thirty-two,” I tell her.

“I can’t believe I’m even listening to this. I have so many better things to do. Like bang my head against the wall until everything disappears.”

“I guess there’s one other option,” I say, hating myself because I don’t want to go nuclear. But I want that building. And I want it bad.

“What?” she asks, looking suspicious.

“We could go back to the book store and explain to your granddad exactly who I am and why I’m here.”

Her mouth drops open. I’m not proud of myself. Okay, I’m a little proud of myself. But she was so obviously lying to him in there.

“You wouldn’t,” she says, her voice low.

“Try me.” Okay, I need to pull this back a little. “Seriously, this is a win-win. You get to stick it to Will and I get to show you the units that I know deep in my heart would be perfect for your business. They’re modern. The air is controlled which I know is perfect for old books. The storage facilities are second to none.”

“And if I see them and I still say no?” she says. “What happens then?”

“Nothing. I’ll still keep up my end of the bargain. I guess you get to stick it to me, too.”

For the first time she looks like she’s wavering. I grab onto it like a life saver. “Seriously, that’s it,” I tell her. “We go to the wedding together. I act as the perfect gentleman. You look at the unit and then the bargain is over.”

“In that specific order?”

“As in I have to do the sacrifice first?” I ask her.

“Hey, buddy. It’s no sacrifice to be with me. It’s a privilege.” She narrows her eyes.

“Okay,” I agree. “I have to do the privilege first.”

She lets out a mouthful of air. I may not be the best at reading people, but I’ve negotiated enough to know that I’ve gotten as far as I can today. “You don’t have to decide now,” I tell her. “Think about it. You get revenge on Will, and then you get rid of me.”

“You’ll seriously walk away if I say no once I’ve seen the unit?” she asks again. She doesn’t trust me and I completely get that. I don’t trust myself.

“Scout’s honor.” I touch the tips of my fingers to my temples.

“Were you ever a scout?” she asks.

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.” She sits back in her chair and stares out of the window. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this.”