Chapter Twenty-Seven - Summer
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Summer
On my last day off, Nate handled the place like a pro and I wasn’t expecting anything different and it was nice to have that day to spend with Alex. After the craziness, it feels good to spend quality time with her.
And today, I was going to let Nate handle the cafe again too but as soon as we opened we were rammed and I am not the type to let my staff struggle along even though I know they’re more than capable. Why wouldn’t I make their lives that little bit easier? Nate ran the breakfast rush, I kept on top of the baking, running food, and Lennon smashed it out the front.
It’s finally the end of the day, Lennon is cleaning up the front area, Nate the kitchen and I was clearing up the floor, closing the curtains, stacking the chairs.
Nate calls me into the kitchen, so I make my way there. He’s looking at the banana bread I’d made, he must’ve just got it out of the oven.
“Do you think this has risen properly?” he asks in that accent of his. And, even though I was baking before he got here, I am no way as educated as he is when it comes to baked goods .
“Do you think it has?” I make my way over, he’s looking at it from side to side, trying to figure it out, his long hair flopping over his forehead.
“It’s a different recipe to what I’m used to, I’m not sure.”
As I reach Nate, I see that it does look like it hasn’t risen as much as it was meant to, but it might just be that there was less mixture. I reach for the pan to lift it up to check the weight, sometimes that is a good way to see if the bake didn’t go well.
Just as I got to touch it, I hear Nate say, “Hey, it’s still hot!”
But it’s too late, I grab hold of the pan with one hand and automatically pull it away, all four fingertips and thumb burning with the heat of the pan.
“Fuck!” I shake my hand, as if that’ going to make it burn any less, but Nate quickly grabs me by the arm guiding me to the sink, shoving my hand under the tap.
I hear Lennon come bursting through the door. “Are you okay?” She comes running over and she looks at my hand, “Ew, gross.”
There’s nothing gross looking about it, its just red and the burning is now subsiding under the running water.
“It’s not gross,” I say. “It’s not even bad.”
“Luckily, it’s not worse, just need to keep your hand here for a little while longer.”
Nate stands with me while I keep my hand under the water, Lennon going back to her closing duties, and once sufficient time has passed, Nate pulls my hand away and dries it off for me, being gentle on the burns.
While he’s inspecting the digits for blisters, the door to the kitchen swings open and I turn to see Brooks standing there wearing a Coyotes t-shirt and some sweats, his hair covered by a cap that I’m sure is Grayson’s and a barely disguised look of anger that I haven’t seen on him before.
I, however, probably look like I’ve seen a ghost. I feel the blood draining from my face, my eyes not straying from his, I can’t even feel that Nate has dropped my hand so it’s now hanging by my side.
“Ciao, I’m Nate.” Nate holds out his hand for Brooks to shake but Brooks either doesn’t notice or he pretends to not notice just to snub him.
“Brooks.” Is all he says in response, his eyes not leaving mine.
Nate looks between the two of us, then to Lennon who’s stood in the doorway behind Brooks holding it open, a smirk on her face.
“Well, I think your hand will be fine, Summer. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He grabs his stuff off the hook by the door, says his goodbyes to Lennon and leaves through the front door.
“Well,” Lennon squeezes through the door next to Brooks, he still hasn’t said anything else, and I can barely take in what’s happening right now, let alone say anything. “I’m going too. Night boss, love you. Night big brother.” Lennon stands on her toes to give Brooks a kiss on the cheek and leaves with a wave in my direction.
It’s just Brooks and I now, and I have no idea what to do, what to say. This is exactly why I wanted to be the one to initiate contact so I’m not caught off guard.
Eventually, after what felt like 2 minutes of an awkward silence, he asks, “Who was that?”
It’s not what I thought he would ask and it takes me a second to realize who he’s talking about. “Who? Nate? ”
He nods, coming further into the kitchen.
“He’s my new pastry chef, what are you doing here?”
“Why was he holding your hand?” Brooks asks, completely ignoring my own question. I refuse to believe that after everything, he’s acting jealous of my employee.
“I burnt my hand—”
Almost immediately, his demeanor changed. “You burnt yourself?” He comes over, grabbing both my hands and inspecting them until he finds the burns, his movements gentle. They’re really not that bad, luckily, but they are still tender. “Are you okay? Do you need go to the ER?”
“They’re fine,” I say, pulling my hands away, hiding them behind my back, “What are you doing here?”
His concern is nice, though unwanted right now, but it still stirs up those feelings from before and I have to keep myself in check.
He lifts his hat, running a hand through the curls. “You haven’t been answering my calls.”
I let out a breath, “No, I haven’t.”
“You’ve been getting my gifts?”
I nod, tilting my head up to look at him. I can’t say I haven’t missed him, just being near him brings back the memories of the time we spent together, getting to know each other.
His green eyes search mine, looking for answers that I don’t have right now. I raise a brow, waiting for him to actually answer my question.
“Grayson dropped me off. I’m in town for the next couple days.”
“That still doesn’t answer my question. What are you doing here? ” I say, gesturing to the cafe around us. He’s the one that decided to come here, he shouldn’t be the one beating around the bush.
“Come on, Summer. You know why I’m here.” Is all he says and it fills me with irrational anger.
“I actually don’t think I do.” I move around him, heading out the door, into the main area of the cafe. Whatever feelings he stirred in me are overshadowed by the reminder of him neglecting to tell me important information.
He follows behind me and as I get to the staircase to me apartment, he says, “Summer, we need to talk about this.”
I turn, rounding on him.
“No. You need to talk about this,” I say in a near shout, pointing my finger into the middle of his chest, “I haven’t heard a single thing out of your mouth that sounds like an apology. You were the one that came here, you were the one that lied to me. You’re the one that needs to talk.”
“Summer, I’m sorry—” he starts but I interrupt.
“I want to know why. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He’s looking everywhere but me, trying to figure out his answer. “I couldn’t— I needed to…”
“Needed to what?”
He doesn’t answer and I scoff, turning around to start heading up the stairs but he grabs my hand pulling me back round to face him, pinning me to the counter behind us. His hands come up to cup my face, his thumb stroking my bottom lip, ripping the cap of his head and leaning his forehead on mine in one smooth movement.
If I wasn’t so angry with him, I’d probably be enjoying this more.
“Get off,” My voice is small. Weak. And despite my words, I’m not putting up much of a fight to get him off. In fact, my hands go to the edge of his t-shirt, balling it in my hands, my fingers slightly brushing the smooth skin of his hips.
“No,” he breathes, his eyes on my lips.
“Brooks… please.”
He shakes his head, and his lips are so close to my own that if I moved an inch forward they would touch. This is not what should be happening right now, I’m mad at him, I shouldn’t be wanting to kiss the guy but apparently I lack more self control than I thought.
“I didn’t tell you I played hockey because I was scared,” he admits.
I’m barely paying attention but manage to say “Scared of what?”
“You said you couldn’t be with a guy like your ex. Successful, well known. You said you couldn’t put yourself in the situation where someone could easily use their influence over you.”
His words resound in my head and my focus comes back to him, rather than how it feels to be this close to him.
“Brooks—”
“No, let me finish,” he says, his voice gravelly, almost pained and he closes his eyes, finishing his confession, “I don’t tell anyone who I am at first, not until I know I can trust them. But after what you went through, after what you said, I was too scared too tell you once that time came. I didn’t want to start something with you and risk losing you so I tried to stop it after I left and then you text and I couldn’t let you go and the more we carried on… the more scared I got. I was in a lose-lose situation, I couldn’t face losing you after telling you what I do, but I knew if I didn’t tell you, I’d lose your trust and… I froze. I couldn’t make the choice. I couldn’t lose you and I did anyway. ”
His admission hits something in me. I know how it feels to be caught in a decision, not knowing whats the best path to take. I faced the same thing when it came to Brooks. Do I let myself start something with him and risk something bad happening knowing my past and him being in a different province? Or do I ignore whatever is between us, unhappy, but knowing I saved myself from something that may have been worse. Or, I guess, may have been perfect too, which is the real regret.
His voice is quiet as he says, “Summer… say something.”
“I don’t know what to say,” I whisper. My hands move on their own accord, up to his waist, to his chest, feeling the strong heartbeat there. “I wasn’t expecting you to sound so rational,” I joke but I think it falls flat
It’s true, I thought his excuse would be just that. An excuse.
But I get it and if he had told me before I’d gotten to know him, I probably would’ve written him off, hell I thought he was a gym going frat boy before I got to know him and, well, I wasn’t entirely wrong, but he wasn’t like I expected him to be. But I’d spent time with him, I told him things I’d never told anyone before, not even Alex, and my feelings changed and had he been the one to tell me about his career, I would’ve accepted it eventually.
Brooks chuckles, his face moving to the crook of my neck and I can feel his breath fanning across the skin there, wrapping his arms around my waist, hips pressing against mine, caging me into the counter.
He tries to sober up and as he lifts his head to look at me again, a gentle smile on his face, he says, “I couldn’t lose you. It was hard enough for the half day I’d forced myself to believe this attraction had to end when I left, and then you text me that night, and I wouldn’t admit it then, but I’m glad as hell you did.” he says, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe it.
I understand where he’s coming from though, that day he left, when I thought it was a clear cut decision, that him driving away was the end of what could’ve been, I thought it was for the best. And at the time I hated myself for giving in and messaging him that night, but I couldn’t regret what happened since. Except maybe finding out about who he was the way I did.
“Brooks…”
“Summer.” He leans forward, resting his forehead against mine once again.
“I forgive you,” I whisper, my lips brush against his as I say the words.
It’s like that’s all he needed to press our lips together, finally. Finally. I would say it’s been long overdue.
His arms tighten around my waist, his head dips even lower, taking more, more, more of me. His body presses into mine tighter and I can feel the counter digging into the small of my back.
It’s as if his body is so attuned to mine that he notices this too, hands going to my waist, lifting me until I’m seated on the counter as if I weigh nothing.
He presses in between my legs, causing us both to let out a moan at the sensation. I thought about this moment with him but it doesn’t come close to the real thing.
I need more but I also know that might not be the smartest decision right now when we still have a so much to discuss.
I pull away breathless and Brooks continues down, kissing me neck and collarbone until he too stops, resting his forehead on my collarbone, taking a deep breath to level his breathing.
“I’ve been thinking about that for a while,” he says against my chest.
“So have I.” He’s holding himself up with his hands on the counter beside me and tilts his head up to press a lingering, gentle kiss to my lips.
“Go on a date with me,” he breathes, more of a demand than a request, smiling as he gives me another.
“I think you’re missing an important word,” I tease, chuckling as he rolls his eyes.
“Please,” he presses another kiss to my lips, “go on,” another kiss, this time to my cheek, “a date” another kiss to my other cheek, “with me.” He finishes by pressing his final one on my nose.
“I still don’t think thats a question,” I say, enjoying his exasperation.
He steps away, holding his hands up in surrender. “Fine, if you don’t want to go on a date with me, thats fine—”
“No!” I laugh, grabbing his hand and pulling him to me, placing a kiss on his palm and give him a sweet smile. “Yes. I’ll go on a date with you,” I say, kissing him one more time.
Despite it all, I forgive him. I might not forget, but I definitely forgive him.