Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
K elly swore loudly, and not for the first time. “Sorry, Ike.”
Reagan’s grandfather waved a gnarled hand. “You’re not offending me none. You talk like a golfer.”
It was a lovely, if windy, day on the course. It was rare that Reagan came out to play, but she’d decided to give herself the weekend off. A rare occurrence, but after what had happened with Brody on Friday, she needed a minute to collect herself.
He hadn’t reached out to her since The Kiss , which was for the best. She had no idea what the kiss meant—if anything—and hadn’t had a chance to talk to Kelly about it yet. Golf was the perfect excuse to hang out.
“It’s the last hole. Take a mulligan,” she told Kel.
“That would be my third do-over of the day,” her friend said, looking somewhat abashed.
“I won’t report you to the onsite golf pro, I swear.” Ike grinned.
“You are the epitome of ornery.” Kelly hoisted an eyebrow, and Ike grinned wider.
They played the final hole, Reagan’s grandfather scoring a bogey, Kelly coming in at an ugly six over par, and Reagan, despite this being her first time out this year, managing to par the hole.
“Are you coming to the clubhouse for a beer, Ike?” Kelly asked. “I’m buying. Least I can do since I played so poorly.”
“You girls go ahead. It’s time for my Sunday nap.”
Back at the clubhouse, Ike drove the golf cart home and Kelly and Reagan grabbed two ice-cold beers from the cooler and poured them into plastic cups. Inside, they found a table in a sunny corner. Reagan was glad to be out of the wind.
“I didn’t think I’d drink again after Friday. As you may have noticed, my hangover was not pretty yesterday. But hey, back on the horse.” Kelly tapped her cup against Reagan’s.
“I drank beer on Friday.” Reagan took a sip of her light beer. “At Brody Crane’s house.”
Cheeks filled, Kelly made a show of swallowing before asking, “Excuse me, what? ”
“I went over for a late-night call…sort of. I left my ice cream behind when I was there earlier.”
“Wait, what!” Kelly waved her hands in front of her face. “You are going to have to back way the fuck up. How did you manage to keep this to yourself for so long?”
“You were out on Friday, and I ran errands on Saturday. I hardly saw you!” Reagan said in her own defense. Then she told Kelly the story about Jean calling while Reagan was leaving the grocery store, showing up at Brody’s to save the tree, and going back to his house for pizza. “I installed the sink while I was there, and then he did some writing. And then”–she took another hearty sip from her cup, stalling before blurting out—“we kissed?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“I’m telling you. We kissed.”
“How hot was it?” Her friend was grinning from ear to ear. “I know it was hot. I know it was absolute perfection. He has a mouth made for sin.”
Reagan could not argue that fact. “It was hot. And he asked if I could work on the house alongside running my monthly client calls. He offered to pay me double my normal rate.”
“And you accepted. Correct?”
“I accepted.”
Kelly let out a loud whoop. “He’s paying you double and he’s kissing you? Home run, babycakes!” Kelly lifted her palm for a high five, which Reagan gave her.
“I obviously have to stop kissing him if I’m working for him.”
“Why?” Kelly narrowed her eyes. “Is he married?”
“No! Oh my God.” She decided not to mention Brody’s sister being none too happy to find him and Reagan in a clinch. “I want to keep things aboveboard in case he decides to sell the house when he’s finished writing his book. I could have a chance at buying my old house back.”
“Have you shared this plan with him?”
“No. He doesn’t know I’m Ike’s granddaughter, so it’s kind of a peel-the-onion reveal. I can’t lay out everything at once.”
“But you can make out with him on his couch after installing a sink. Don’t get me wrong, Ray, I approve of the kissing, especially kissing a gorgeous Crane man who’s in town temporarily, but if your plan is to bribe your childhood home out of him?—”
“It’s not bribing. I am going to be there working. What better way to show him I’m the perfect person for the house than by taking excellent care of it?”
When and if he moved. Her plan had holes, she’d admit.
“Do you think he’s big-hearted enough to sell it to you at a reasonable price? Or will he be an opportunistic asshole and jack it up to take advantage of the real estate boom in this area?” Kel gestured at the pristine golf course outside the windows. “Merriweather is about to be swarming with wealthy residents. He’d be crazy not to quadruple his price and put the house on the market for the highest bidder.”
“Quadruple?” Reagan’s heart sank.
“Unless you’re really good in bed.”
Reagan blanched.
“I’m kidding! And listen, I could be wrong. Maybe he’s a billionaire with a big heart who isn’t after a quick lay and a huge profit. Maybe he’s writing a heartfelt memoir and needs a great ending. What better ending could there be than selling the home he purchased back to the woman who was raised in it?”
“Sounds like a fairy tale,” Reagan said glumly. In other words: unlikely .
“I’m in no position to give relationship advice, but I am feeling all my feels. Swearing and crying and yelling to anyone who will listen. Can you say the same?”
“What do you mean?” Reagan frowned, not following her friend’s train of thought.
“Since you and Dustin went kaput and he moved to Missouri, you’ve been extra hard on yourself. You have been withdrawn, not leaning on the people around you.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“A convenient excuse. It’s okay to admit he hurt you.”
“He didn’t hurt me,” she argued too quickly. “It hurt to end our relationship, sure, but your divorce was harder. You and Matt were together for eight years. And he cheated.”
“Allegedly.”
Reagan blinked in shock. This was the first time she’d heard that . Kelly gladly ran him down at every opportunity. Rarely did she speak in his defense. “What do you mean, allegedly ?”
“He’s always proclaimed his innocence, but until recently I had no idea that two of his coworkers do too. Anyway, not the point.” She brushed aside the topic with one hand. She wasn’t going to talk about it until she was damn good and ready. “We’re talking about you missing out on a lifetime with Dustin. The sex tiger.”
Mid-drink, Reagan spit beer on her shirt.
“Dammit, Kel.” After she semi-dried her polo shirt with a napkin, she shook her head. “To be honest, I was more disappointed to lose out on buying my grandparents’ home than I was about Dustin moving to St. Louis. Which makes me an awful person.”
“It doesn’t make you an awful person. It makes you a lucky person. You could have wasted two more years with that schmuck.” Kelly patted Reagan’s hand. “You know your own feelings better than anyone in the world, Ray, and you are allowed to trust them. I also want you to know you’re allowed to offload some of the feelings you’ve buried.”
“Nothing about my former relationship was deep enough to bury. Sadly, it was shallow and very surface. We were friends who slept together on occasion, and then we parted ways. The end.” It sounded sadder out loud. “I’m not looking to hitch my wagon to anyone else’s.”
“Hitch your wagon.” Kelly snorted. “You are truly a product of another time.”
“Thank you.” Reagan smiled.
“By the way, you can hitch your wagon to Brody without labeling him as your boyfriend. This is a new century.”
“How unconventional.”
“To say the least, but so is being a billionaire’s dedicated handywoman.”
A zing of excitement sizzled over her skin as she thought about returning to the house. Not only because she was considering kissing Brody again, but also because she’d be spending more time in her former house. And maybe, just maybe , he’d consider taking a below- or at-market offer on the house when he moved.
“Before you ask, yes , you can crash on my couch for as long as you need. No sense in wasting your extra income on an apartment. What if the you-buying-the-house thing works out? You’re going to need a downpayment.”
“Aww. Thanks, Kel. I never pegged you for an optimist.”
“Tell no one,” her friend warned. Then her face broke into a grin, and they both started laughing.
Brody ignored the stitch in his side as he pounded the pavement in an effort to keep up with Zander. His thirty-six-year-old art curator brother who was more the pencil-pusher type should not be outrunning him, for Christ’s sake. And yet, here they were on a sunny, breezy April day, and Brody had been left in the proverbial dust.
When Zander had called to ask if he wanted to see the new apartment downtown and then go for a jog in the neighboring park, Brody had immediately said yes. Beat the hell out of spending the rest of his Sunday afternoon staring at a computer screen.
What he’d neglected to consider as he’d pulled on his Nike track pants and a T-shirt with a hoodie over top, was that he hadn’t been on a run in, oh, six months .
“How…often…do you…do this?” he panted when he finally caught up. Either that or Zander had slowed his speed a bit, which was an unfortunate but likely possibility.
“Five days a week.” Zander wasn’t nearly as winded as he eased into a fast walk. Brody happily joined him, taking his pace down to match. “You’ve been focusing too much on weights. Cardio is important.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“How’s the book coming along?”
The dreaded question.
“Great.” He gripped his side, sucking in air through his teeth before slapping on a smile. “Right on schedule. How’s Chloe?”
Zander stopped walking and gestured to a park bench. The wind kicked at his dark blond hair, a few shades lighter than Brody’s. When they sat, his brother spoke. “Don’t make me drag it out of you.”
“What are you talking about?” Brody eyed a water fountain some yards away from where they sat, either because he was thirsty or desperate to flee this conversation. Zander was regarding him with what looked like not a lot of patience. “Oh, the book.”
“Yeah. The book.”
Brody leaned back on the bench and offered a brief shrug. “It’s off to a slow start, but then so is acclimating to homeownership.”
Zander’s expression lost some of its intensity. “I can understand that. It’s not a natural leap for you.”
He could say that again. Brody was used to living in a penthouse part time while attending parties part time while traveling part time. Now he was glued to his laptop when he wasn’t nailing pieces of wood trim in the master bedroom. Quite the contrast.
“I’m used to keeping busy.”
“You’re used to not stopping for longer than five minutes,” his brother countered.
“I hired help for the repairs, which frees me up to write.” If he managed to find time in between making out with Reagan.
“I heard about your handywoman .” Zander hoisted an eyebrow, proving he knew more than he’d originally let on. “Jaylyn said you two were dating.”
“Reagan and I are not dating. I just met her. And I will bet you a million dollars that J didn’t use that phrase.”
“ Going at it was the phrase she used.” Zander’s lips curled with uncertainty. “I had to ask her to clarify whether that meant having sex or fighting. She amended that you were making out.”
“Hardly making out.” He was making out with Reagan before Jaylyn busted into the house unannounced. And he would have enjoyed resuming what he’d started if not for his sister’s interruption. “We ate dinner and drank a beer. Which sounds great right about now. Where’s a good post-run bar around here?”
“Sounds like a date to me.”
“We didn’t label it.” Which had left him in an interesting position. Was he supposed to call and ask her to come over, or was she planning on popping over as part of her workday? When did her workday start? He had no idea. All he knew was that he’d hired her “exclusively” save for the standing customers who paid monthly, and that he’d agreed to compensate her double for her time. She’d left Friday night promising to see him “tomorrow” but then had texted to say she couldn’t show up after all. Had he been stood up? “ Should I label it?”
It was weird to feel uncertain about women—weirder still to ask Zander’s advice, who knew next to nothing about dating.
“You’re both adults. Presumably.” Zander slid him an arrogant glance and Brody flipped him off. “You can do whatever you like.”
“Jaylyn’s feelings are hurt. She went on and on about us not being a family and then mentioned that if I’m not careful I’ll burn the Reagan bridge and skip town.”
“She…what?”
“Oh, she didn’t share that part of the evening with you?”
“No. She didn’t.”
Figured.
“She has this idea that we—as in you, me, Dante, and Jaylyn—aren’t close enough. Now that you are living in Chicago and I’m here for a while, she wants Dante to visit so that we can have dinner together on Sundays or some shit.”
Zander didn’t say anything, but Brody could read his blank expression. They’d never shared weekly dinners, nor had they spent time together doing normal day-to-day stuff like most siblings did growing up. Even when they’d been under the same roof at Octavius’s home, they’d each had their own nanny. They’d often spent mealtimes and activities separate from each other. Which had seemed strange after he’d learned how most of the world lived. And it wasn’t like living with his mom had been normal, either.
“Jaylyn’s always wanted that closeness. It’s why she stops by to visit us and doesn’t leave,” Zander said with a tender smile.
True. The last time Jaylyn had crashed in on Brody she’d ended up staying for two months. But even then, he’d been out of the penthouse most of the time, leaving her on her own in the large space.
“Dante’s work schedule is usually booked a year or more in advance,” Zander continued. “I’ll clue him in to what’s going on with Jaylyn in case she calls. Maybe he can find a charity event in Chicago to add to his calendar. That would give him an excuse to write off the trip.”
“That’d be the only way to get him here.” If it wasn’t related to working, Dante didn’t do it. He made Zander look like a part-timer and Brody look unemployed. To be fair, if Brody didn’t get his ass in gear on the book and make some progress, “unemployed” might not be far off the mark. Writing was his current passion…or it was, anyway, before the applecart had been majorly upset. “Guess we don’t have to worry about Jaylyn crashing on us now that she found an apartment downtown.”
“That’s my fault,” Zander said. “She wanted to stay with me, and I told her I don’t have the room.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t.”
Brody looked at his brother like he’d suffered a memory lapse. “Zan, I was just in your massive apartment. You could fit two and a half of my houses inside of it. What are you talking about?”
A sly smile crept onto his brother’s face. “Chloe’s moving in. We need every inch of the place to ourselves.”
“Moving in?”
On New Year’s Eve, Brody had specifically warned Zander not to get carried away with Chloe. Being a guy who had been married for years, was recently widowed, and hadn’t dated since, Zander would have been smart to date for a while, no strings. Though that didn’t sound like him. He was a one-woman kinda guy.
“That’s soon,” Brody muttered.
“It’s what we both want. We’re going to have a housewarming party soon. Maybe Dante will come if he’s here. Then Jaylyn can have the family reunion she’s vying for.”
“You’re sure about this?” Brody would be uncomfortable with the prospect for himself, but Zander was a family man—the first and only of their siblings to marry. He and Emily had made it look easy.
“The housewarming party?”
“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Worried about me?” Zander grinned. He didn’t appear uncertain or lost. Just happy. “Once you meet her, you’ll understand. Chloe made me fall in love with Chicago through her photos. And when I met her, I fell in love with her. She’s the reason I’m here. Which is the reason you’re here. Jaylyn too.”
He wasn’t wrong. Brody hadn’t had a clear picture of where to write his book. Zander living conveniently around the corner was a good excuse for Brody to move to Merriweather Springs. Like Jaylyn, had Brody been subconsciously angling for a family reunion with his siblings? He was getting older. Maybe it was natural to want to put down firmer roots at his age.
A shiver crawled up his spine at the notion. He hadn’t been a successful “settler downer” in the past and wasn’t sure of his capacity for it now.
Zander slapped Brody’s arm. “Lighten up. I’ve never seen you this serious.”
It was true. Lighthearted Brody had made a life from leaping before he looked.
“But then you’ve never fucked up before.”
“What are you talking about?” Brody snapped his attention to his brother. “I fuck up all the time.”
“No, you don’t. You keep moving forward so you don’t have to look back. It’s easy to be successful when you don’t have goals.”
Offended, Brody curled his lip.
“You had no idea your first book would be a hit. Being a bestseller set a target goal for the second book. Why do you think you’re scared to death of writing it?”
“I’m not.” Was he? He considered his recent superstition about the dreaded two-word phrase, and asking Jaylyn to smudge his house. Twice.
“You have it in your head that this book has to outperform, or at least live up to, your previous one. You do not have writer’s block.”
“Fuck, Zan.” He wished he had a bundle of sage in his pocket. He would whap his brother across the face with it. “Did you have to say it?”
“Where’s your lucky coin?”
Brody hesitated before giving in and fishing the gold coin their father had given him from his track pants pocket. That, he never left home without. He tested the weight in his hand before rubbing the crest with his thumb. “How’d you know I had this with me?”
“You’re superstitious. Everyone knows that.”
“I told Reagan that she was my muse. The night she fixed the sink, I wrote a chunk of words that came from the ether.” He missed those days. The ease of writing—the flow . “It felt damn good. Natural.”
“Sounds like Reagan is the key to getting you unstuck. Focus on allowing the words to come. Stop forcing everything.”
“Did you take up meditation or something?”
“Yeah. After Emily died.”
Whenever Zander mentioned losing Emily, a sharp pang stabbed Brody’s chest. She was the best. At a loss for how to help after she passed, Brody had moved to London to be closer to Zan. His siblings hurting was his Achilles’ heel.
If the man who had lost his wife was able to see a silver lining, Brody’s seeing it was a walk in the park—figuratively speaking. Why couldn’t Reagan be his muse? If it felt true, then it was true. The more she was around, the more words he’d write. It seemed there was a silver lining after all. He flipped the coin into the air, caught it, and shoved it back into his pocket.
Zander stood. “Sadly, Reagan can’t help you run this last mile. That’s on you and your sorry excuses for leg muscles.”
“What about beer and pizza?”
“The sooner we’re done here, the sooner you can order a deep-dish cheese.”
Brody’s stomach growled.
Zander jogged in place backward, far too chipper about finishing this run. “With Italian sausage and black olives.”
“That’s cruel.” Brody loved sausage and black olives, so he forced himself to his feet and chased after his brother once again.