Chapter 27
After what was decidedly the best Monday morning to ever exist, we ate breakfast together, and El hopped online for her meetings while I lounged like a bump on a log with a book in my lap. I couldn’t help but watch her as she led her full staff meeting like the pro she was, as they evaluated their final location choices for the show. It seemed like they’d come down to Los Angeles or Seattle, which would at least keep her on the west coast.
“Commute time is about the same,” Chris pointed out. His voice had become familiar to me over the last few days, as he was her most vocal contributor to most group conversations. “But air quality is better in the Pacific Northwest.”
“If you don’t factor in endless fog and rain,” Mara contradicted, shaking her head. “LA puts us within two hours of Emerald Bay with Alice and the twins.”
“Valid point,” El said, weighing her words and reactions carefully, refusing to give too much away.
“You could plant yourself between the two and have an hour in either direction.”
“An hour commute to work every morning?” Chris challenged. “That’s fourteen hours a week in the beginning. That’s a part-time job.”
“Okay, so she stays in the city, and drives the two hours to Alice. It was just an idea.”
“An idea that needed to be vetoed for the sustainability of her mental health.” Chris’ protest made me chuckle, mostly because he sounded like Max with his need to look out for her. He wasn’t wrong. But I couldn’t help but wonder how this would play out for us. Was she going to live there year around? If she was following a traditional school schedule, it was at least nine or ten months of it. And those were the same months I’d be bound to Mistyvale. Suddenly, the idea of her pursuing this school made me anxious. But god, she needed it. Needed to build that dream. For her and her future students. A sinking sensation in my gut matched the dread pinching my brows as I attempted to force my eyes back to the book in my lap. The words seemed to blur into some other dimension, because all my brain could understand was that I couldn’t derail all of that. The rational option was staring me in the face; I would be the one to uproot my life and follow her. But that meant leaving my family. My parents and surviving grandparents. Jameson and Noel as they started their family. As he was the closest thing I had to a brother left on the island, that one hurt the most.
El was happy to wander from place to place never growing roots as she rode wherever the wind took her, where I was like a coastal redwood, every ounce of my being settled in the mountains of Mistyvale Island.
But, for El… I could start over. So what, if I’d dedicated six years to Mistyvale University? I could start that run for tenure over. Even though my chest felt heavier just thinking about throwing that away.
My phone lit up with an incoming call, and I sat up, a bit relieved when I saw my dad’s name on the screen. As quietly as possible, I slunk from the room before answering.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Brod!” No matter how long or short our absence, the thing I loved most about my father was that he possessed the enthusiasm of a Labrador Retriever at a Fourth of July barbecue when he answered the phone. As far from the stereotypical, solemn lawyer as you could get outside the courtroom. “How’s my son?”
So much to unpack there. Opting for the simplified version, I said, “I’m great. How’s the trip?”
“Your mother says I’ve caught a tan,” he supplied with a chuckle I couldn’t help but echo. Of the two of them, dad’s South African bloodline made the concept laughable next to Mom’s light skin. And the joke was one she never seemed to tire of.
“So, the island hopping is going well, then?”
“I’ve gained ten pounds,” he said with significance.
“Congratulations, you can be black Santa again this year.”
“Always my greatest honor,” he said, tone entirely jovial. Mistyvale had come a long way as far as diversity went in the last few decades, but logically speaking, Filipino Santa would have made a lot more sense. Regardless, Dad had played the role for five years running, and loved every moment. Every hug. Every affirmation spoken over kids that might just need to hear they were good and shown that they were loveable. “How is everything back home?”
I weighed the question and decided it wasn’t a lie to skirt my current whereabouts. “Home? Home is good.”
“Mmm,” he said, tone astutely suspicious. Good luck lying to a lawyer. “And my son? How is my son?”
“Your son is good.”
“Should I ask where is my son? Would that be more accurate?”
Dammit. “Uh, I’m in Chicago at the moment. Fly out tomorrow morning.”
“Now, with all due respect, you lead the conversation with something like that. Why the hell are you in Chicago?”
“I got to watch Paxton throw a game-winning Hail Mary pass yesterday.”
“Ahh, the Wolves won again. Pax is about to get himself another Super Bowl ring, isn’t he?”
“Pending the playoffs, it’s entirely possible.”
“Good. Very good news for a talented kid. But you didn’t answer my question.”
I palmed my face, dragging it down across my mouth as I groaned, and he laughed at the sound.
“You used the same deflection techniques as a teenager. I asked why you’re in Chicago, not what you’ve been doing.” I glanced back at the room door, thinking that those were details he certainly didn’t need. “Is there a new woman in the picture?”
“Now, why do you sound so hopeful?” I pushed back when his voice was just a tad too cheery for my liking.
“Seriously?” he husked back. “Sarah was a real piece of work, Brod. Tried to warn ya’, but you weren’t open to advice.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“And then you moved her in with you, and it became poor form to remind you.”
“Mom wasn’t exactly subtle,” I contradicted lightly.
“She wasn’t particularly fond of her,” he allowed as mom’s voice snarked in the background.
“That snake was a real cunt.”
Dad choked on a laugh as I covered my mouth, eyeing two mid-forties women as they passed me by.
“Marley Allen,” Dad scolded as I re-composed myself. She wasn’t… wrong?
“What?” she croaked indignantly.
“Nice small-town mayors don’t talk like that, mother,” I interjected, my sentence likely swallowed by the two of them squabbling.
“Bitch brought another person into my baby boy’s bedroom, and I’m not allowed to call it like it is?”
“I’m not saying that, but can we at least pretend to have some decorum in public?”
“Guys?” I chuckled, shaking my head as I paced down the hall on bare feet, the soft threads of carpet brushing against my skin. They didn’t seem to hear me.
“Decorum belongs in town hall and inside the courtroom, Robert. Not sitting in a bikini sipping margaritas in the Dominican Republic.”
“My love, our son had his heart stomped on, I don’t think he needs you poking your nose in?—”
“Guys,” I attempted again.
“Like you weren’t inserting yourself in his love life not thirty seconds ago?” she protested, and I heard the faint click of ice in a glass.
“Mom has a point,” I said, laughing as her triumphant voice cut through the background.
“Hah!”
“That’s different,” my dad protested.
“Oh really? Tell me, Robert, how that’s different from his mother butting in?”
“Mine was a sneaking suspicion about his future.”
“So, speculating about future women is acceptable, but criticizing past women is not?”
“Guys.”
“It was the language used.”
“Was it inaccurate, your honor?”
Snickering, I said, “Alright, it’s been great chatting with you.”
“Wait, baby! Hold on,” Mom protested. I shook my head but stayed on the line. My mother was nothing if not predictable. “Why are you in Chicago? Your father has my interest piqued.”
Sucking down a long breath that released in a sigh, I glanced up at the sleek, chrome, wall-mounted sconce and admitted, “I came to see Elora speak for a local business.” When silence beyond the crash of waves was all that crossed the line, I cleared my throat. “Guys? You there?”
My father’s resonant laugh filled the line as my mother said, “Dammit, Brod.”
“What?” I barked. “You like El.”
“Love her. Winner. Totally not a cunt-a-saurus. But you just lost me twenty bucks.”
“What?” I startled, choking on my saliva.
“When she moved out of state and Sarah moved in, I thought you wrote the whole thing off. Last summer, your dad swore up, down, and sideways you were ‘looking after Miss McShane,’” the air quotes in her voice were irrefutable, “in order to make a move on Elly. I told him the ship had sailed, but he insisted you two would finally get together this year.”
“Woah, woah, woah, who said anything about getting together?”
“Because grown men regularly fly four-thousand miles away to see a platonic friend? I don’t think so,” Dad supplied, voice high like he was still laughing to himself.
“I fly to see Rhyett all the time,” I argued.
“And is that what this is, son?” Dad pressed. “Flying to see a friend?”
Throat thick, I admitted, “Not this time.”
A smacking sound amputated dad’s victorious laugh, followed by harder laughter.
“Mom, did you just five-star Dad?”
“That’s neither here nor there?—”
“Right on the ass,” Dad protested through his rumbling humor, but my mother carried on like he hadn’t said a word.
“I’m happy for you, baby.”
“Well, don’t run off getting too excited. We’re just…feeling this out, seeing where it can go.” Understatement of the year award goes to… “I haven’t gotten to talk to the guys about it yet.”
“Don’t wait too long on that front, son. Jameson especially won’t take well to you hiding this from him. Rhy… he’ll get on board as soon as he processes it.”
“Very astute,” I said flatly, heart heavy, knowing I’d already let it go on too long. “We’re going to tell them together at Christmas.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Dad said sagely.
“As much as I want the whole scoop, sweetie, we’ve got to run. We were just in port for a quick stop and hunted down some internet with our food to give you a buzz. We have to head back toward the ship.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll fill you guys in when you’re back.”
“Sounds good, sweetie. Give Elly our love.”
“Will do. Love you guys.”
“Love you too,” they said in unison, smiles dripping from their tones. Albeit Dad’s was a little more obvious. The line clicked off, and I was still shaking my head when I came back into the room, feet stuttering to a halt when I spotted El bracing her head in her hands.
She rubbed tight little circles into her temples and didn’t look up as I closed the gap. Cautiously, I crouched beside her chair and asked, “What’s up, baby girl?”
She took a very long, unhurried breath before softly telling the tabletop, “Decision fatigue, I think. I’m just… very overwhelmed.”
“With the show?”
“With… life. I think? Too many choices needing to be made and time is of the essence.”
“Well, I do evaluate human nature for a living. Maybe I can help.”
“You’re one of the decisions,” she mumbled into her palms, voice cracking as my stomach dropped.
“Okay. Well. Especially then, I’d like to be a sounding board.”
“Start having babies in my mid-thirties, or skip that phase and adopt? Skip it all together? Honestly, I’m growing tired of the travel life. Hell, I’m just… too old to sleep on shitty hotel beds ninety percent of the time. I miss my apartment. The cracks in the bricks. The creak of the wood on those first steps in the entryway.” She huffed out a tired sounding breath. “Now, the network really loves the idea of basing in New York but will accommodate the West Coast. I just have to decide where I want to plant roots for the foreseeable future. And I have to have some kind of family nearby. Alice would at least be close to LA. But I need to decide quickly, because they need to get the ball rolling on all the legal shit.”
“Ahh. That’s where I factor in?”
“Obviously,” she groaned, her defined shoulders curling in. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted for me. But… this show is more than I even dreamed of for the vision.”
“And you’re worried about the distance?” She nodded into her hands, and I settled my fingers around her wrist, gently guiding one away from her face. “Look at me, Pix.” Slowly, eyes downcast, she lifted her face before tentatively meeting my gaze. “For once in my life, my decision is perfectly clear, and I need you to hear me. Are you listening?” When she finally nodded, I said, “I come to you.”
“What?” she squeaked, eyes going wide. Wider, when I shrugged my shoulders. “Your life is Mistyvale.”
“My life is sitting in this chair, stressing over losing me or her dreams. That’s not a choice I’m willing to compromise. I’ve been thinking about this a lot the last few days, and the answer is easy.” My palm settled against her back. “I’ll move where you move. I have an exceptional track record at Mistyvale U. I’ll put in my notice, finish out the academic year in the spring, and find a new placement in whatever city you decide to build our life in.”
“Brod, that’s too much. Your family, your job, your gym, your team. The vision for the youth center. You’d be losing too much.”
“No, baby. Continuing life without you now that I know what it feels like to wake with you in my arms and call you mine… that’s losing too much.”
Elora
Hand-in-hand,we walked down the icy streets of Chicago on our way back from the restaurant down the block. Broderick’s declarations had scrambled my brain like eggs, and after one too many minutes of me resting in his arms without speech, he pulled me to my feet and declared it was time to eat. He wasn’t wrong. I’d been so focused on my meetings, on planning and researching, that I’d skipped right past lunch time into early-bird dinner. Luckily for me, my man didn’t mind a lunch-dinner combo, and said nothing about how quickly I inhaled a plate full of food before asking the server for seconds.
“Better?” he finally asked as we passed by a rather ruckus bar, despite it being an early Monday evening.
“Mm-hmm,” I assured, even though I wasn’t feeling remotely better about his proposition. Broderick and his family weren’t Rhodes family intertwined, but he was close with his parents, and even closer with his surviving grandfather. He coached the high school football team with Jameson and volunteered around town when he wasn’t occupied by filling the minds of the next generation. Taking him from all of that… it planted this white-hot kind of pain in my chest. Guilt, I realized. But he seemed so sure. So damn certain that I was worth hocking everything he knew aside.
“You bullshitting me, Rhodes?”
“Mm-hmm,” I repeated, shooting an apologetic glance his way and earning a laugh.
“Cut it out, baby. I overthink enough for both of us. Don’t do that. And definitely don’t tell me you’re okay if you’re not.”
“It’s just…a lot. There are solutions for this. I know there are. I just…haven’t found them yet.”
“You know one constant I’ve learned in all my reading, El?”
I shook my head before deciding the crack in the concrete was particularly fascinating as we stepped over it.
“In all my books. Philosophy. Plays. History. Literature. Fantasy and romance and historical fiction. The one constant is this; love isn’t a fixed resource, El. It’s not going anywhere. It never dissipated when you left town, or when I hid behind Sarah?—”
“The bimbo,” I cut in, shooting him a pointed glance. God, how I’d loathed that woman.
“Yes, that. When I hid behind the bimbo,” he chuckled. “And it won’t diminish now, no matter how tricky it is for us to get situated. I’ve loved you for nearly as long as I can remember.”
“Same.”
“So, trust me, when I tell you I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to stay beside you now that I have you.”
The bridge of my nose burning, hands shaking, I nodded before tugging him to a stop and stealing a kiss as the air nipped at my icy skin. When, at last, it seemed the oxygen returned to my lungs, I turned to continue our walk, but Broderick held steady, jerking his chin up. I followed his gaze to a tan sign that read The Happy Potter.
“Wanna throw some clay?” he asked, a chipper little hop between his words.
“I think I’m good,” I said, shaking my head.
“Come on El. Let me teach you something for once. To many firsts, right?”
“I suck at arts and crafts,” I protested, but didn’t resist when he stepped past me and led me over to the front door. “This is a terrible idea. My junior high turtle looked like a Picasso painting gone very, very wrong.”
“Oh, I remember,” he said cheekily, and I peeled my hand from his to smack him on the ass. “But I’m actually decent.”
“Not helping. So, you can sculpt some custom vase to sell at auction and I can make deformed Dumbo, the fucked-up turtle?”
The snow swallowed his laugh, but he didn’t slow down before opening the metal door with a clang and motioning me inside. Shaking my head, I followed him into the warmly lit space.
“Hey, dudes,” the very white, very scrawny twenty-something with teenage acne and questionable dreads said as we stepped into the warm studio. Every raging stereotype of a stoner was embodied in this one grinning human, with his half-hooded, bloodshot eyes, surrounded by hippy decorations, wearing a Rastafarian beanie, and setting a matching hacky sack on the counter. As though we’d interrupted his game in our attempt to patronize the establishment.
“Hey,” Broderick said back, squeezing my fingers when I didn’t immediately follow him in or greet him back. Frankly, I wasn’t sure which offense earned the pinch, but mustered the energy to both follow him and speak words.
“Hi there,” I chirped in a too-sunny voice. Broderick’s ensuing smirk and not-remotely-subtle side eye had me laughing to myself as he forged on ahead, as if I wasn’t a begrudging captive. A begrudging captive now staring at that perfect bubble butt as he walked in. I left the men folk to talk, turning to study the plates and bowls, and little jewelry dishes that were glossed and awaiting pickup on metal shelving to the side of the room. When Broderick materialized beside me, he held up two steaming mugs of tea.
“Happy tea,” he said, grinning. “Bobby promised it’s just Kava, not weed, despite his chosen aesthetic. Also, evidently it aids in relieving anxiety and insomnia, both of which I feel would be beneficial today.”
Shaking my head, I snagged a cup from him before eyeing the potter’s wheel Bobby was motioning us over to with the same level of distrust I’d allot to a coiled snake.
“I might prefer weed for this,” I muttered. “Tell Bobby to stop bogarting the good stuff.”
His grin was fantastically contagious as he shook his head. “I ever tell you that youre dramatic, baby?”
“Probably not often enough,” I laughed, looking to my steaming mug before taking a sip and grimacing at the bizarre taste.
“Ahh, man, that’d be the valerian,” Bobby said sagely as he eyed my displeasure. “Works miracles but tastes like gym socks.”
“Got a lot of experience ingesting gym socks, Bobby?” I asked, laughing when Broderick knocked his shoulder into mine.
“More than I’d like,” he admitted in his dopy little voice, grinning up at me under sleepy eyes. “Got bullied a lot as a kid.”
“Oh good, I’m the asshole,” I said, more to myself than them, but both of the guys laughed.
“Nah, it’s a fair assessment,” he said, bobbing his head as he set a crate of clinking supplies beside the wheel. “Stuff tastes nasty but does the trick. Hella chill, and you should sleep like a baby.”
“It’s not even six o’clock,” I pointed out.
“Didn’t say your timing was fabulous. I’d plan an early nap.” I was still laughing when he said, “Alright Mr. and Mrs. Allen. You two are set. Enjoy.”
“Thanks, Bobby,” Broderick said, not bothering to correct his assumption. Mrs. Allen. That did something crazy inside my chest. Judging by the satisfaction in his smile, Broderick liked it too. I could have sworn he winked at the little hippy dude before he sauntered off like there was no rush in the world. A beat later, Tom Petty started over the speakers, and I turned and grinned at him. He shrugged and said, “Cool kid. Now, come here, baby.”
Eyes narrowed, I shook my head. “I’m sipping my dirty sock tea.” I did. And it was just as terrible the second time. Broderick was still shaking his head as he stepped forward and gently pried the mug from my grip, set it up on the bar top, and returned to snatch my hands in his.
There was a row of beige aprons hanging from pegs on the wall, like we’d stumbled into a grown-up Montessori school. Mara’s kids went to one, and I could swear the canvas smocks were identical, just on a larger scale. We slipped out of our coats and Broderick set his tie and button-up shirt aside, leaving him in his undershirt, looking way too hot to sit at a pottery wheel.
He hooked an apron around my neck, smirking as I begrudgingly tied it while he got his own. After going through the motions of washing hands, and bopping to the music, he led me back to the stool and had me sit before dragging a second one behind the first. Wordlessly, he returned to the wall, swiping his tie off the hook before closing the distance. Nerves skittered through my chest as I eyed the silky fabric warily.
“Whatcha’ doing with that, Professor? I don’t think we can implement it in this adventure, although I have alternates in mind.”
“You’d be surprised,” he said, tone dripping with too much satisfaction as he straddled the apple box behind me, scooting in tight so his front was flush with my back. Of course he’d just leave my bait hanging on the hook. He pressed a kiss to my cheek and whispered, “Follow my lead for once, baby.” I nodded stiffly, and then he said, “Close your eyes.”
With butterflies going manic in my center, I burst out laughing as he brought the tie around my face. “Is there a pi?ata I don’t know about? Or am I pinning a tail on a donkey?”
Evidently ignoring my nerve riddled questions, he asked, “Ready to get your hands dirty, baby?”
“Born ready to get dirty, but I can’t say blindfolds were part of the plan.” Even as I said it, I felt him tug it snug over my eyes. The sudden sensory deprivation sent my heart sprinting.
“Just adding a little mystery to the experience.”
“Because stumbling around blind with clay covered hands is everyone’s idea of excitement?”
“Because if we eliminate the possibility of perfection, you won’t be so hard on yourself.”
Well. That was…an interesting theory. “Of all the hobbies you could have taken up in the last decade, this was the last one I would have expected.”
“Don’t knock it till you try it.”
“Not knocking. Just…surprised,” I admitted as his breath went hot against my neck, long arms looping around me.
“Just, relax. Trust your hands—and me—and let your instincts take over. It’s not like the clay is going to bite… hopefully.”
I snickered, my limbs a little shaky as I leaned back into his chest, anchoring myself in the heat of him. I’d give it to Broderick, for a man who thrived on routine, he did spontaneous surprises rather well.
“So, if I end up with Dumbo, the misshapen blob, I blame the blindfold?”
“Precisely.”
I turned my face to the side, where his lips brushed over mine, listening as he moved around my body. Something whirred to life—I assume he’d woken up our wheel—and then wet kneading sounds told me he was prepping the clay. Every so often, his stubble grazed over my cheek, or his lips brushed over the shell of my ear, sending goosebumps down my arms.
“Ready?” he breathed softly as Listen To Her Heart took over on the speakers and I gave a little shrug.
With mock bravado, and absolutely no expectations to speak of, I quipped, “Tell the clay to prepare to be dominated.”
Sliding his hands around the back of mine, Broderick ran what felt like his thumb across my knuckles. “That’s the spirit, baby. Let’s see what kind of masterpiece we can create… or destroy,” he said with a chuckle.
“A disaster-piece is more like it,” I muttered, but still followed his lead as he brought my hands forward. My nose wrinkled when he led my palms around the wet ball of clay, the slick blob melding where we softly braced around it as it spun against my hand. “That’s fucking weird,” I said, but followed his lead as Broderick’s fingers gently guided mine into the cool, silky mass as it yielded beneath the pressure. A chill wracked down my spine as goosebumps pricked across my skin.
“Who knew all I had to do was blindfold you, and you’d be rendered silent?” he whispered, nipping at my earlobe.
“Throw in some ice cubes and candles, and you have inspiration for later.”
“Noted,” he chuckled. “Do you always just say what you’re thinking?”
“It’s been my rule of thumb for quite some time now, and I find it serves me well. You certainly seem responsive.”
“Baby, you could ask me for just about anything, and I’d break my back to comply.”
“Please don’t,” I quipped. “I quite like you exactly as you are, spine and all.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“The feeling is mutual. Here, relax your hand.”
Breath quicker than the situation warranted, I did. Silencing my mind, I followed his lead, allowing Broderick to guide my hands, my thumbs, each finger against the smooth surface as a subtle, wet squelch and rush of material told me we were making larger changes.
“Good girl, just like that.”
I barked an obnoxious laugh before regaining control of my faculties. “This is not a scenario where I ever expected hearing those words from your lips.”
“Do I not praise you enough in the bedroom, baby?”
“Is there such a thing?”
His breath coasted over my shoulder in a rushed exhale, I assumed in humor, but trusting my ears in the absence of my eyes was daunting. “Apparently not. Because you’re perfect, El. My new life goal will be to make sure you know it.”
“Nobody’s perfect,” I argued.
“Perfect for me, baby. Perfect for me.”
The earthy scent of clay-in-motion filled my nose, and I smiled as I asked, “New life goal, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Not world peace?”
“Nope.”
“Solve world hunger?”
“My future wife will solve that,” he teased, thighs giving my hips a little squeeze.
My laughter punctuated the rhythmic sound of our hands across the wheel as he continued to act as puppeteer, the blob submitting to our joined hands.
“Future wife, huh?”
“She’s pretty brilliant.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Everyone should. This is Elora Rhodes’ world. We’re all just living in it.”
That was the sentence that sent me cackling, and Broderick yanking my hands off the wheel until I wasn’t shaking with amusement. “You’ll do well to remember that,” I teased, leaning my face toward him and smiling when he brushed his lips across the tip of my nose before bringing them to my ear.
“I’ve waited since I was sixteen to live in your world, Pix. I’m not going to forget now that you’re here with me. I meant what I said. If you asked me to steal the moon, I’d find a way to scale the stars to do it.”
“There you go, spitting prose again.”
“Did it work?”
“My mouth says no but the state of my panties has a different tale to tell.”
His chuckle caressed my neck as he said, “One stolen moon, coming up.”
“How very Despicable Me of you.”
“Always did want a villain era.”
“Good. Now let’s finish fondling this pile of mush so I can take you home and show you just what you do to me.”
“Hell, woman?—”
“My mouth?” I cut in teasingly.
“Is both my favorite feature and greatest source of anxiety.”
“Didn’t your dad say that once about your mother?”
Broderick was quiet for a long moment, just the squish of clay and whir of the machine accompanying the rotating playlist as he molded our project. The clay almost seemed to come to life beneath my fingers, shifting and growing, bending and curling.
After a while, he said, “You know. I think he did.” He pecked my cheek before adding, “But taking you home sounds so much better than sitting here. Let’s wrap this up.”
At some point, he placed a cold, slender rod into my fingers—I assumed it was some sort of metal based on the feel—and gave me instructions to be very gentle. But broad hands and steady fingers guided every motion.
He said little, just guiding my hands as I nervously broke out in spontaneous giggles. I was well aware I likely looked ridiculous and could feel the splatters of wet against my forearms but found that I didn’t particularly care who else existed in the world… so long as Broderick Allen did.
To my surprise,the blob was actually impressively bowl like, with elegant curves like flower petals.
“To many more firsts,” he breathed against my ear before pressing a sweet kiss to my cheek. “Thanks for trusting me.”
Something so simple, but as I washed the residue from my skin, I realized outside of my siblings, there weren’t many people I actually trusted enough to relinquish control to. Broderick handled shipping information with Bobby, and then wrapped me against him when we ventured back into the cold.
It wasn’t until I’d stripped the jacket back in our room that I realized just how much fun it had been to relax in his arms and let him lead. Which, naturally, meant the universe would conspire to bring me back to reality.
Laying across the bed, he’d just cracked open our book when his phone rang, and he scowled over at it before jerking upright.
“Give me a sec, baby. This could be important.”
I nodded sleepily, the consequences of the dirty sock water evidently in full effect as I drifted out of consciousness. The door quietly closed, and I peeled my eyes open to see Broderick with a focus furrow carved deeply enough between his brows the fog cleared from my head.
“Babe?” I asked as unease brought my feet to the floor. He palmed his mouth, opening it twice only to close it before tugging at the back of his neck.
Broderick’s mouth was still parted, his eyes wild in what appeared to be disbelief, when I rushed over to him. My heart ratcheted up, convinced somebody must have died. Looking more than a little stunned, Broderick brought those rich brown eyes to mine and said, “I uh… I just got offered tenure.”