Chapter Ten
I DID MY BEST NOT to stare at Brooke while she sat with Sophie, her eyes closed, looking so content as the artist painted tiny strawberries down her lovely cheek. Internally, I winced, knowing I’d admitted she was beautiful to her face. Something about seeing Brooke with that tool, Jake, had me feeling off-center and saying things I shouldn’t.
But it wasn’t really Jake who vexed me. It was her . The woman had me so wound up. The more I tried not to think about her, the more I did.
I wished I could blame Eden for today. Sure, she’d asked me to bring Sophie to the festival, and I knew she had ulterior motives, but I was almost glad for the excuse. I’d known Brooke was going to be there, and damn it if I didn’t want to see her. It had been two days since she’d come to the house to help Eden learn the ins and outs of starting a podcast. In her absence, I’d found myself dreaming about her and wondering what crazy things she was up to.
Friendship was all we could have. I knew that. I wouldn’t be a walking midlife crisis or disappoint my wife. Erica. Her memory had haunted me more intensely since Brooke had crashed head-on into my life. It seemed as if she were begging me not to let her go.
And I wouldn’t. Ever. She would always be a part of me. Erica wasn’t the first woman I had ever loved, but she taught me more about love than anyone ever had. And we’d shared a life together. I could never forget that; nor did I want to .
So, why had this strange younger woman I’d only known since Monday infiltrated my thoughts and senses? Why did I want to punch Jake in the throat?
Maybe it had something to do with how adorable she was, holding Sophie’s hand at the moment and whispering out the side of her mouth for intel on what she’d heard me say about her. Maybe it was her passion for music and how her soul seemed to resonate with every word of every song, offering her a unique way to touch people’s lives. Or perhaps it was how she made me feel unsettled, yet alive, after feeling numb for so long. Whatever it was, it irresistibly drew me to her.
“Are you sure you don’t want a cute strawberry painted on your chiseled cheek?” Brooke taunted as she peeked at me.
“Do it, Uncle Logan,” Sophie joined in.
The two women operating the booth snickered.
“I think I’ll sit this one out.”
“Fine, but I’m not letting you off the hook when we make strawberry charm bracelets.”
“If I must,” I faux grumbled. Part of me was kicking myself for refusing the face painting, but if I started agreeing to Brooke’s every whim, I would have no hope of resisting her charm in the long run.
“You must.” Brooke took the offered mirror so she could see the artist’s handiwork. She delicately touched each strawberry as if they were precious to her. “I love it. It’s perfect. Thank you.” Her voice held more emotion than I believed painted strawberries warranted, but I knew this festival held meaning to her because of her mom.
Even her T-shirt was an homage to the mystical woman who was her mother. I’d wanted to tell Brooke how good she looked in the tight tee and her cutoffs—she apparently owned a pair of cutoffs for every day of the week, not that I was complaining—but it seemed too bold and more than friendly. Especially since I enjoyed her toned, shapely legs more than I should have.
Brooke handed the mirror to Sophie. “You are the cutest.”
Sophie grinned and admired herself.
While Brooke and Sophie were complimenting each other, I handed my card to the cashier. “I’m paying for both.”
Brooke’s head whipped my way. “You don’t have to do that. ”
“I want to.”
Part of me expected her to argue, but she just smiled and said, “Thank you. The bracelets are on me.”
She grabbed Sophie’s hand. “Let’s take a picture. Would you mind?” She handed her phone to the artist.
“Not at all.”
Brooke scrunched down, and she and Sophie put their nonpainted cheeks together and smiled for the camera.
The artist started snapping photos at all different angles, finding the flattering ones. It seemed to be something women instinctually knew how to do. Erica had tried to teach me how to snap the perfect photo of her and her friends, but I’d never been able to get it right.
Brooke waved me over. “You have to be in at least one.” Her tone said not to argue, and at this stage it seemed pointless to, so I walked over, trying not to feel guilty about how I was looking forward to seeing how we looked in a photo together.
“Stand behind them and put your arms around them,” the artist directed me. She must have thought Brooke and I were together, or at the very least on a date.
For a moment, I froze, unsure what to do. I’d touched Brooke enough while teaching her how to paddleboard to know that I enjoyed it more than I should. And that was with her wearing a wet suit. This would require me to touch her bare skin.
“Hurry, Uncle Logan,” Sophie snapped me out of my stupor.
“Okay,” I mumbled.
I crouched down behind them and carefully draped my arms around them, at first letting my fingers barely graze Brooke’s smooth skin. But then I caught a whiff of her golden hair, scented with jasmine, and I felt her flesh raise. It only made me crave more. It had been too long since I’d felt the touch of a pretty woman. My fingers, almost of their own accord, danced down her arm until I held it, clinging on in a desperate attempt to quell the desire for Brooke that surged within me.
The artist took a few more pictures. “You’re beautiful together.”
Those words threw cold water on my careless thoughts. I immediately stood and blew out the breath I’d been holding. I could almost picture Erica rolling her eyes and telling me I was on the verge of becoming one of those guys .
Brooke took her phone back and scrolled through the recently taken photos. She stared long and hard at them and whispered, “Wow,” before clearing her throat and saying, “These are the cutest.” She held up her phone to show me one of the three of us. “This one is for sure going in my summer photo album. What do you think?”
I barely glanced at it, too afraid of how much I might like it. “It’s nice,” I said offhandedly.
“I’ll send these to you.” Brooke beamed. “You should smile more often, friend.”
Now, I regretted giving her my number. I knew those photos would torture me, just like Brooke did. It was maddening that she had no idea what she was doing to me. Using the word friend proved it. She was treating me like her BFF or whatever acronym women were using nowadays. We were barely friends and hardly knew each other.
Not that I didn’t want to know her better. Heaven help me, I did.
“Charm bracelet booth next,” she announced, grabbing Sophie’s hand. Sophie grabbed mine, and they pulled me through the crowd. I hardly noticed where we were going. My thoughts wrestled between my wife and the feel of Brooke’s skin. Guilt consumed me. I got a reprieve when a Latina woman manning the Harrington Ventures booth called out to Brooke.
“Hey, chica, I love your T-shirt!”
Brooke halted, forcing Sophie and me to almost stumble. Thankfully, I was able to steady Sophie before she fell.
“Thank you!” Brooke called back. “My mom was the lead singer and drummer for the Roxannes.”
“Get out of town. It’s my dad’s favorite band.”
Brooke’s face lit up like someone had just handed her a little pink dragon. “Are. You. Serious?”
“Totally. He has one of those T-shirts and some of their old cassette tapes,” the woman replied. “Sometimes he still listens to them on his retro stereo.”
“Logan, can you believe this?” Brooke asked before prancing over to the booth with a large banner reading, Proud Sponsor of the Strawberry Festival for over 40 Years .
I recognized the company’s name. Harrington Ventures was a huge land developer. They probably owned a third of the town. If memory served correctly, one owner had been the governor, and one had served for years as Aspen Lake’s mayor. Mayor Maxwell Harrington was his name. His dad had been the governor.
Sophie and I followed Brooke over to the booth, which was actually an elaborate tent with well-designed displays prominently touting their mission— Building the Future by Shaping One Community at a Time . Free chocolate-covered strawberries wrapped in cellophane and tied with fancy red silk bows lined one of the tables. Brochures and pictures of the communities they had developed in Aspen Lake and the surrounding areas covered the other tables.
Brooke paused as she neared the woman, who could be no older than twenty-five, although she dressed as though she ran the place in a red wrap dress. Brooke tilted her head and studied her.
“Do we know each other?” she asked.
The young woman blinked a few times. “Maybe. You seem familiar.”
“Ever been to Nebraska?” Brooke joked.
“No.” The woman laughed. “I’m Lola Harrington, by the way.”
“I’m Brooke Crawford.”
“Is this your husband and daughter?” Lola pointed to Sophie and me.
“Uh, no.” Brooke giggled like it was a ridiculous question, and I found myself a little offended. Hadn’t she wanted me to be her fling just a few days ago?
“This is my neighbor and friend, Logan, and his niece Sophie,” Brooke introduced us.
“Hi,” Lola said.
“Hello,” I returned the greeting.
“I wish my dad were here, but he and my mamá are in Mexico visiting my abuelo,” she said with a hint of a Mexican accent. “He would awkwardly say he was stoked to meet you. He swears at one time he was cool and a rebel, but I don’t believe him.” Lola smiled .
“If my mom were still alive, she would have been totally stoked to know that she still had a fan.”
“I’m so sorry about your mom.”
“Me too.” Brooke smiled. “But the fact that there are still people besides me listening to her music means she lives on. I’m really glad I met you.”
“Me too,” Lola replied.
“Well, we’ll let you get back to work.” Brooke waved, but as she walked away, she kept looking back, and, oddly, Lola kept staring at her too.
“It’s so weird. I feel like I know her. Anyway.” She shook her head and strung her arm through mine. “Let’s go make some bracelets.”
I stiffened at the way she casually touched me. Not because I didn’t like it. It was the opposite. I enjoyed it too much.
“You need to relax.” Brooke shook my arm, having no idea how she affected me.
“Yeah, Uncle Logan,” Sophie agreed. “You used to be a lot more fun.”
Those words were a punch in the gut coming from my niece.
Brooke squeezed my arm in response, like she knew that would sting.
I ruffled Sophie’s hair. “I’m trying, kiddo. Should we make some bracelets?” I tried to sound enthusiastic.
“Yes.” Sophie hugged my side.
I wrapped my free arm around her. Being between Brooke and Sophie made me ache for the family I’d wanted to have with Erica. For the family I’d thought I would bring to the festival one day. My parents used to take Eden and me every year before we turned into teenagers who thought we were too cool for it.
“So, what do you think the rudest animal would be if they could talk?” Brooke said before the ache swallowed me whole.
Without thinking, I barked out a laugh. I never knew what was going to come out of her mouth. “Giraffe,” I responded. “They look down on everyone.”
“Ooh, that’s good.” Brooke leaned into me .
Her praise made me feel prouder than I should have been for answering such a ridiculous question.
“You know,” Brooke whispered. “I’m really glad I get to spend the day with you and Sophie.”
I braved patting her hand, knowing I was playing with the fire she’d stirred inside of me. “Me too, Brooke.” Me too.