Chapter 19 Brooke
Brooke
It’s a perfect summer night. It was a stunning day, too. Warm but not humid. The sky a gorgeous blue scattered with puffy white clouds. By evening, the temperature has cooled down and the mosquitoes are miraculously at bay. The perfect day for a wedding.
Kent and I were the perfect couple. Or so I’d thought.
We were great on paper and even better in pictures.
Mom loved Kent. How could she not? He checked all the boxes on her eligible bachelor list. She’d hand-picked him for me.
Plucked him like he was a Ken doll in the Barbie aisle. Though I hadn’t known that at the time.
We may have looked perfect on the outside, but we were putting on a show.
I wish I could say that I didn’t know what Mom saw in him when she set us up, but they were all the same things I saw and liked at first. He was a good-looking guy, if not a little cookie cutter.
Had a successful, well-paying job in finance, but wasn’t a total finance bro.
Smart and charismatic. And, less important to me but hugely important to Mom, he came from what she considers a good family. By good she means wealthy.
I spent our whole relationship trying to be the perfect girlfriend. Then the perfect fiancée. I went to the country club dinners and had superficial friendships with the wives of his friends. I created a version of myself that fit into his life instead of being myself and creating a life together.
We didn’t work, but that’s not what hurt. It was the aftermath.
It’s the reason I didn’t want to take on a wedding tonight.
It’s what kept me at home, away from anyone who might remember the date and the tacky over-the-top save-the-date Mom insisted on sending.
The relief on Kent’s face when I called it off made that part easy, though his ego took a bruising.
I’m so much happier to be sipping sauvignon blanc in my sunroom instead of at my own wedding reception right now.
Relieved to not be marrying Kent. But I still had to mourn the day and process the fallout.
A knock on the door makes me jump, spilling wine on my summer nightgown.
Who the hell is at my door this late? Maddie and Jordan are both working, and I don’t know for sure, but I’d guess Mom is wallowing somewhere about the grand wedding reception she had planned.
I check my doorbell app, thankful I have the blinds pulled down so I can hide.
Honestly, who comes over unannounced anymore?
I look closely at the night vision on the screen and my heart skips at least two beats.
Caleb.
I haven’t spoken to him in days. I haven’t figured out what to say to him about my reaction—or overreaction—and shutting the door in his face like a petulant teenager.
I owe him legitimate information about work and I’ve been completely ignoring him.
That’s not like me at all. The day after Kent and I broke our engagement, I booked two new clients, ran a wedding rehearsal, and prepped a venue for the next day’s wedding.
I should be able to find my way through this.
It's now or never, I guess.
“Caleb, what are you doing here?” I ask, through the app.
“Hey, you’re here,” he says, relief filling his voice. “Could we talk for a minute?”
I look down at my floral, objectively not at all sexy, cotton nightgown. My hair is pulled in a messy topknot, and I’ve already completed my skincare routine for the night.
“I’m in my pajamas,” I say.
“And I’m in a greasy, sweaty chef coat.” I watch him look down and take stock of the mess. “Actually…” He unbuttons the coat and takes it off. The crisp white shirt he’s wearing underneath rises to show his toned stomach as he pulls his arms out of the sleeves.
“Whoa,” I say.
He smirks directly at the camera and drops his coat onto the grass. “Excuse me?”
Shit. I didn’t realize I’d been holding the talk button.
“Brooke,” he says. “Are you going to let me in?”
I pad to the front door and open it wide. I hope the dark hides the heat in my cheeks. Surely he can’t see my heart thumping in my chest, right?
“Hey, babe.” Caleb smirks, leaning on the doorframe with casual confidence.
I want so badly to roll my eyes, but I can’t. Caleb is here. And happy to see me despite me ignoring him when we have actual work to do.
“Hi, Caleb.” I smile, feeling exposed in my nightgown as he gives me an excruciatingly slow once-over.
The floral print is something my grandmother would have worn, and the thick straps and overall silhouette give off major ‘90s mom vibes. There’s a ribbon woven through the trim for heaven’s sake!
But when his eyes finally meet mine, I swear he’s biting the inside of his lower lip.
“What?” I ask, my cheeks even warmer.
“Nice pajamas. Is that vintage JCPenney or—?”
“Shut up,” I cross my arms over my chest as if that’s going to hide the embarrassment that is this dowdy nightgown.
“I’m kidding, Brooke. It’s cute and exactly what I picture you wearing to bed.”
Cheeks on fire. “You picture what I wear to bed?”
He pushes himself off the door frame to stand, shoving his hands in his pockets. “No, I, uh, just meant that they seem like…um…on brand for you.”
A laugh escapes me. A JCPenney circa 1996 floral nightgown is absolutely on brand for me. I am who I am.
“I’m kidding, Caleb,” I say. Though I’d like to know the real answer. “Come inside. You’re going to let a bunch of bugs in and then you’ll have to stay to kill them all.”
He follows me into the house and closes the door. “You can’t kill them yourself?”
“I can, but I’d prefer to have someone else do it.
” I walk to the kitchen and Caleb follows.
“Mr. Edwards next door would, too. Last time I saw one of those disgusting millipede thingies that get away super fast, I yelled so loud he came over in his walker with a baseball bat. He thought I was being robbed. I killed it myself but then he had to rest here for an hour to gather the strength to go home. I told him he shouldn’t be trying to rescue his single female neighbor at the age of eighty-four. ”
“Poor Mr. Edwards. He was probably milking it so he could hang out with his single female neighbor.”
“He gets to hang out with me every Monday. We have a standing date to garden together. Plus, he only has eyes for the late Mrs. Edwards. It’s sweet, actually.” I lean back on the counter and cross my arms again. The only armor I have for this conversation. “What are you doing here, Caleb?”
“Brooke,” he says, running a hand through his hair. It’s more disheveled than usual, wavy pieces falling across his forehead. The summer sun has lightened it a bit. Some people pay good money for those highlights, it’s not fair. “I had no idea what I was looking at in that room. I didn’t realize.”
“Did Jordan tell you?” I ask with more bite than I intend, even though she wouldn’t tell a soul. That girl is a vault. “I know you two were working the same wedding tonight.”
“She didn’t, but I figured it out. I think.
I shouldn’t have snooped around your house.
I don’t know, it’s just…this home feels so you, and I wanted to see more of it.
I thought I’d just found your secret disorganized room.
You’re always so polished and organized, I thought it was your…
I don’t know…like I said, your Monica Geller closet. ”
“It kind of is, or was, in a way,” I say.
“We haven’t talked in years, Brooke, and I needed to be so far from this place. I didn’t keep up with what was happening back here, I stayed off socials and barely talked to Joey. I had no idea you’d been married—”
“I wasn’t,” I say quickly, looking at the floor. “We didn’t make it that far.”
“Oh.” He sounds relieved.
I look into his honey brown eyes. “Today was supposed to be our wedding day.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah…” I say. “Shit.” We hold each other’s gaze. Is this the part where I tell him everything? He’s looking at me like it is. Like he wants to know. “Are you hungry?” I ask.
“Starving.”