18. Brooke
18
brOOKE
Nova: Need your help. It’s a friend emergency.
T he cryptic message came through after I got out of the shower. Miles was gone at practice, so I had the condo to myself.
As I pull up to Nova's house, I can't help but admire the beautiful exterior that she and Clay fell in love with months ago. I walk up to the front door and ring the doorbell.
Nova opens the door, her eyes wide and expression worried. “I'm so glad you're here.” She pulls me into a warm hug before ushering me inside.
I step into the living room and pause. The furniture has been pushed to the center of the room.
“Was there an earthquake I didn’t know about?” I ask.
“Close.” Sierra is in the kitchen, pulling coffees and donuts out of a brown paper bag.
“Very funny.” Nova stands amidst the chaos, her hands on her hips. “Clay’s parents called, and they’re coming to visit this weekend. You know his mom.”
“She’s that extra, huh?” Sierra asks.
“Her heart is in the right place.”
“It’s just made of ice,” I add helpfully. “So that’s the emergency?”
“Yes. I've been trying to rearrange this room for hours, but nothing seems to feel right.” Frustration seeps into Nova’s voice.
I set down my bag and take a closer look at the space. “Don’t sweat it. A fresh perspective can make all the difference.”
Nova's shoulders relax slightly. “I just want this house to feel like home. We've been here for months, but something's missing.”
We move the furniture around, trying out different layouts.
I suggest moving the couch to the opposite wall, but Nova hesitates. “I'm not sure. I think it needs to face the fireplace.”
After half an hour of pushing and pulling furniture around, it’s not better.
“Carb break,” Sierra suggests.
We pause and make our way to the kitchen. I pop a bite of sticky sweetness into my mouth.
“I haven’t seen you guys in forever,” Sierra gripes. “It’s been a sausage fest at Mile High the past couple of weeks.”
“No Kodashians?” I laugh.
She waves a hand. “They don’t count.”
“I’m sorry,” Nova says. “I’m so preoccupied with this Coastal Gallery show.” She fills Sierra in, finishing with how the gallery owner has very strong opinions on what pieces she brings.
“But it’s all fine, right?” I finish. “I sent him options for new paintings and he can choose one and we’ll be good to go.”
I guess I’m worried because this is possibly my biggest show ever and we haven’t heard back.” Nova sighs.
“Can you give him what he wants?” Sierra asks. “Customer wants a Bud Light when we have perfectly good real beers on tap, I’ll give it to them.”
“You’re comparing art to beer,” I point out.
“Don’t be a snob.” She picks a sprinkle off her donut and tosses it at me.
I grin and catch it in my mouth. “Me? Hell no.”
“Maybe I should have offered to paint something new for him. I could make it similar to the piece he wanted, in the style he liked so much.”
“Don’t do that,” I plead. “He just needs time to adjust.”
Nova nods slowly. “You’re probably right. Enough work talk.” Her expression brightens. “How are things with you and Miles since you moved back in?”
“Wait, back?” Sierra demands.
I catch her up on all of it, finishing with how I moved my things back in. Somehow, I managed to score an entire extra closet in the deal. Miles had already cleared it out for me, saying it was the only kind of “space” he wanted me to take.
Can’t say he’s not cute.
“I would’ve put money on the two of you a year ago,” she sighs when I’m done. “There’d be ten of you in a booth, but I swear that man only looked at you.”
“I mean…” I lift a shoulder in fake modesty.
“Oh, it went both ways.” Sierra cuts my ego down to size.
I wave a hand in protest. “He fell harder. And first.”
“Mile High’s been crazy lately,” she says when we stop laughing. “Lots of gossip and speculation about the team. And Miles.” Sierra cuts a look my way.
I take a deep breath, deciding how much to confide.
In the end, I tell them all my suspicions, what we know.
“Do we need to start a murder board? With suspect photos and string?” Nova’s expression brightens.
“Okay, Selena Gomez. There have been no murders in the Kodiaks’s building, and there won’t be. In fact, everything is going to be boring right up until playoffs.”
“If we make it,” Sierra says under her breath.
We finish our donuts in silence, staring at the furniture.
I can’t solve Miles’s mystery today, but I can help Nova.
“What if we angle the armchairs toward the couch? It could create a more inviting conversation area.”
I notice a large, ornate armchair sitting awkwardly in the corner, out of scale with the rest of the room.
Suddenly, an idea strikes me. “We’ve been approaching this all wrong. We've been trying to force together pieces that don't quite fit.”
Sierra looks at me, her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
I gesture to the armchair. “This armchair looks out of place on its own. If we integrate it with the other pieces, it will make sense.”
We implement the idea, and it’s better.
Nova drops into the armchair with a relieved sigh. “Yes. That’s it.”
Sierra’s phone rings, and she hops up. “Duty calls. Enjoy your day, ladies.”
We hug her and wave her out before I sink onto the couch opposite, studying Nova. “I know Clay’s parents visiting is a big deal, but work hasn’t been the easiest either. I'm sorry for pushing you so hard about your new artistic style. We'll take it one step at a time, and I promise to help you find the right opportunities that will make it easier, not harder.”
Nova returns my smile, her eyes shining with gratitude. “Thank you.”
I pull her into a hug, feeling the last of the tension melt away. “That's what friends are for.”
“You can take one more,” Miles coaxes.
“I don’t think so.”
“Come on, Princess.”
I hold up the line of thread, eyeing the multi-colored beads already on it.
The retirement home is having an activities afternoon, and we’re making friendship bracelets with Miles’s grams.
“Coco Chanel always said to take off the last thing you put on,” Grams offers from her chair next to me.
“See? Thank you.”
“What if this is the last thing you put on?” Miles holds out a bead with a heart on it.
It’s cute. It would look pretty good with the pattern I’ve already made.
“Fine,” I relent.
The lounge is full of residents and family members clustered around tables.
Some are making beaded accessories, others knitting, a few creating scrapbooks with photos and brightly colored paper.
“This is nice,” I say.
“They have family activities every weekend,” Grams says. “I like getting to meet new people and introducing them to Miles.”
“You aren’t ashamed of me?” Miles asks with a smile.
“Well, there was a pool going over whether you actually did it.” Her whisper is conspiratorial, but her words set me back.
I’m not the only one. Miles stills, and it’s only for a second, but it’s enough that I know he’s thinking about it.
“I hope you made some good money on it,” I tease.
But I reach under the table and squeeze Miles’s hand to let him know I’ve got him.
When I start to pull back, he holds on. His blue eyes are a thousand feet deep.
I could lose myself in this man.
I already have.
The past few days, the feelings are so big I could explode from them.
“Speaking of families”—she turns to me—”I see your mother on TV. I’m planning to vote for her.”
“She’ll be delighted to hear that,” I say solemnly.
Grams leans toward me, lowering her voice. “But more than her, I have confidence in you. You’re good for him you know.”
My throat gets tight. I’m grateful to be spending this time with the woman who raised Miles. She’s so supportive of him and welcoming of me.
Before I can respond, another lady calls Grams over to show her the scrapbook she’s working on.
“She’s really great,” I tell Miles, my voice unusually rough.
“Yeah. I’m glad we moved her.” Miles releases my hand and goes back to his work. “I’m guessing your mom isn’t my biggest fan right now.”
“It’s not you.” I recall her expression when I packed my things to return to Miles’s, unsurprised and yet somehow disappointed. “It’s her stubbornness. She thinks her way is the only way.”
“She also wishes you were with some hotshot lawyer.”
“You’re a hotshot too,” I tease.
“Hot shot bracelet maker you mean,” he responds.
“Oh yeah? Let’s see it, then.”
He’s been sneaky about his project, but now he holds it out.
I LOVE YOU brOOKE ELLIS.
My heart stops as I read the words spelled out in letter beads.
He’s looking at me as though I’m everything that matters. “It’s not Van Cleef or Cartier or whatever, but I thought you might like it.”
I lean closer. “I love it.”
Miles rubs a hand over his jaw. “Only the bracelet?”
I kiss him, and cheers go up.