Chapter 25 Brooke
Brooke
I wake up with the ache of regret. I let myself get in the way of having an amazing night, but I wanted it all to be perfect.
As soon as Caleb’s fingers skimmed beneath my underwear, I panicked.
How could I have explained it to him? Caleb, now that you know what girl dinner is, I’d like to explain an everything shower to you.
Because having sex with you for the first time requires an everything shower.
I was gross and sweaty from working and hauling ballroom chairs.
And I haven’t gotten a wax in who knows how long.
Now I’m in bed with Caleb curled around me—something I’ve fantasized about.
A lot. He toys with the hem of my nightgown, tracing circles on my thigh.
It doesn’t have to be perfect. I can get up to quickly brush my teeth (an absolute requirement) and we can spend the morning how we should’ve spent the night.
I’m about to stealthily visit the bathroom when my phone rings.
Caleb takes his hand off my thigh and searches for his phone on the nightstand. But it’s not his phone.
“It’s your mom.” He hands me the phone. The screen says JUDY—you can guess who insisted on that—with the picture she selected.
I groan.
Caleb laughs. “My thoughts exactly.”
The last thing I want is for anything to interrupt the pure bliss of this morning and how I’d like to spend the rest of it. Leave it to my mom. I consider silencing the call, but there could be a client emergency.
“Hi Mom,” I say in a put-on, chipper voice.
“You sound like you’re still in bed. We have breakfast scheduled, dear. You didn’t forget, did you?”
“Breakfast?” I shift out of Caleb’s embrace so fast I almost kick him right in the groin, which also seems interested in picking up where we left off. Sorry, I mouth.
“Yes, I’m picking you up.”
“Right, sorry. I didn’t forget, I just…I, um…overslept…ah…breakdown took a while last night, I didn’t get much sleep.”
Caleb grabs my waist from behind and plants kisses on my shoulder. Distracting me entirely.
“Mom, I’m a little beat. What if you head to Soundview and pick up coffees and croissants to go, and we can catch up here? That’ll give me a few minutes to get myself together.” I shoot Caleb a hopeful look over my shoulder.
“No, dear. I’d like to breakfast there like we planned,” she says, voice filled with annoyance.
I shake my head and Caleb’s eyes drop in disappointment.
“Of course, I know how much you love eating there. Okay, I’ll see you in…exactly how far away are you?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes?!”
Shit.
Caleb’s hands fly off my waist. All I want is for their firm grip to be on me again. He’s up from the bed and searching for his jeans.
“See you soon.” I end the call.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, getting out of bed.
I walk over to Caleb as he finishes putting those fucking jeans on.
What I’d give to be the one taking them off, rather than him undressing when we finally agreed to stop making out and go to sleep.
What the hell is wrong with me? “I completely forgot she’s picking me up to go out for breakfast. I usually check my calendar before I go to bed, but we were…
ya know…and oh my god, if she sees you here…
I mean maybe you’re dying to leave, and we haven’t talked about anything… ”
“Hey, hey.” He gently grabs my arms and my hands land on his chest. He smiles wide and pulls me flush against him.
“You do not need to be sorry. The last thing I want to do is leave. What I want to do is get you back in that bed for a long while and then cook you breakfast, but I agree that it wouldn’t be ideal for your mom to see me here. ”
My core aches at his words. Damnit, Mom.
He gently presses a kiss to my forehead.
I sigh, breaking away from him to check the time on my phone. She’ll be here any minute. I try not to panic. We walk to the door. Caleb grabs the handle, then stops and turns to face me. I don’t want him to leave but also, I need him to leave.
“Brooke, I do want to talk about this, and we will, but what I want you to know right now is that I am going to get you back in that bed. Very soon.”
He grabs my face and kisses me deeply, slowly. It’s intoxicating.
“Is that a promise, chef?” I ask, with a smirk.
“Yes, babe, it is.”
I’m going to kill my mother.
“Hellllooooo,” Mom sings, letting herself into my house with her emergency key. I need to change the locks as soon as possible.
“Hi, Mom!” I yell from the bathroom. “I’ll be right out.”
I don’t need to see her to know she’s walking through my living room like a forensics agent.
Taking stock of what is or isn’t clean. Checking if the frame she gifted me is still where she suggested it’d look best. Taking a finger and swiping it across the mantel to check for dust. She won’t find any. It’s spotless.
“You know dear,” she says, raising her voice so I can hear her down the hall. “I think I saw Caleb Foley in that awful car of his as I turned onto your street.”
Shit. “Did you?” I ask, emerging from the hallway.
It’s amazing how presentable I manage to make myself in the five minutes I had between Caleb leaving and Mom arriving.
Thankfully, Soundview is a casual neighborhood eatery, and I can get away with athleisure and a baseball hat—the only option for the tangled mess that is my hair this morning.
No doubt she’ll have something to say, even if it is Spencer Soirees branded.
Hats are not ladylike, dear. Maddie ordered them for the staff after a lot of negotiation with Judy.
“I wonder what he’s doing in this part of town?”
I shrug.
“Perhaps he’s been demoted to deliveries,” she says. “Makes me worried about him leading the Quincy wedding.”
It shouldn’t worry her at all. Foley’s has always had glowing reviews. With more pouring in since Caleb’s been back.
I need to make absolutely sure she doesn’t suspect anything, though I don’t know why she would. This isn’t going to help my cause when I have to tell her the truth. If I tell her. I don’t have to tell her. But I’ve rarely kept anything from her. She always gets it out of me.
“I’ve got it under control,” I say. “Caleb’s a pain in the ass to work with but, as much as I hate to say it, he knows what he’s doing.” My stomach turns telling this lie. Feeding into her narrative.
“Exactly like his father,” she says.
Caleb was right. She’s always looked down on him and anyone else who doesn’t fit her absurd standards. That’s why he thought he’d be bad for me.
I’m getting ahead of myself. Caleb did confess some pretty big feelings last night, but that doesn’t mean I have to make Judy aware of whatever is happening between us. At least not yet. Not before the Quincy wedding. Not before Mom retires. Nothing can jeopardize that.
Despite its name, Soundview Café doesn’t have a view of the Long Island Sound.
It’s tucked in a sweet residential neighborhood on Soundview Avenue, which leads to a street that leads to another street that does have a Sound view.
Once a local grocery store, it’s now a quirky place loved by locals.
Tables of all shapes, colors, and sizes fill the cozy room, each with several mismatched chairs around them.
You can spot someone who isn’t a regular because they’ll claim a table before placing their order at the counter.
That’s not how it’s done at Soundview. Order first, then find a seat.
On a summer Sunday, it’s packed. The outside patio is filled with families brunching or couples with their dogs. We get in line to order.
“Morning, Judy!” one of the cashiers calls from her station.
“Judy, how have you been?” a diner calls from her table.
“Is that Ms. Spencer?” an older gentleman asks, looking up from his paper.
This is exactly why she loves to come here. She’s a local, but maintains a schedule of appearances that gives her the illusion of local celebrity.
We order, and while Mom says hello to her adoring fans, I take my iced coffee to find us a spot at one of the large communal tables. When I sneak a look at my phone, there’s a text from Caleb.
Caleb: I’d like to invite myself over to make you dinner on Wednesday night. A real dinner this time. With fresh ingredients provided by me.
I’m smiling at myself as I text him back.
“Brooke.”
I drop my phone on the table. When did Mom sit down?
“I hope you’re posting some of last night’s wedding on the Instagram page, dear,” she says. “You forgot to last night.”
Shit. I never forget to post. Mom eyes me, bringing her coffee mug to her lips.
“Who was the photographer? Was it someone new? I hate that you try out these young up-and-comers. They don’t know what they’re doing.
Did you forget to explain to them that we expect to receive the sneak peeks as soon as possible? ”
It was a new photographer. A brilliant new photographer who knows exactly what they’re doing. They sent over photos late last night. I’m not about to lie and throw someone getting their start under the bus. One mistake and you’re off the Spencer Soirees recommended vendor list. She’s ruthless.
I’ll have to throw myself under the bus this time.
“I was going to, but I read something the other day about the algorithm. About Sunday morning posts getting a lot more engagement versus late on a Saturday, so I thought I’d try that. I can find the article if you want to take a look.” A white lie that I hope my boomer mother will accept.
“Interesting,” she says, tapping her chin. “Well, I’ll leave that to you zillenniums to figure out.”
“It’s zennials, Mom.”
“That’s what I said.” She takes a long sip of her coffee, holding out her pinkie like she’s an extra on Bridgerton. “Make sure you’re staying on top of things, Brooke. I have a lot to consider come the end of this season.”
“Of course, Mom,” I say.