Chapter 10
Brooke
Holy shit. I can breathe through my nose.
I pull in a lungful of air, appreciating the way it easily passes through my nasal passages. It’s one of those things you really don’t appreciate until you can’t do it.
Like making choices about your own life.
I shift around, testing the achiness that was the first indication I was getting sick. It’s still there, but not nearly as bad as it was when I called Titus to tell him I wouldn’t be coming into work.
“Ugh.” I groan, bringing one arm to rest across my eyes. “Titus is going to kill me.”
“He better not fucking try.”
Uhh…
Lifting the arm over my eyes, I peek around the room that is not the bedroom I’ve been sleeping in at Deidre’s. A foggy recollection worms through my brain. Memories of Tobias holding me. Helping me drink. Tucking me in and gently touching my face.
“How are you feeling?” His voice is filled with concern as he comes into view, lowering to a crouch next to me. “You ready for something to drink?”
I run the tip of my tongue over my fuzzy teeth and grimace. “Maybe?”
I start to sit up, but before I can make much headway, Tobias’s strong arm is banded behind my back, angling me upright.
His other hand brings the rim of a plastic bottle to my lips, tipping it back until the icy cool liquid inside teases against my tongue.
It’s not super sweet, but still tastes so freaking good against my dry tongue.
I swallow down a few greedy mouthfuls, but then Tobias pulls it away.
“Not too much until I know your stomach can handle it.” He gives me a grin. “Don’t want to have to hold your hair while you puke it all back up.”
I lick my lips, wanting every last bit of the cool liquid. “My hair’s already back.”
Tobias’s eyes skim across the messy bun hanging crookedly at the top of my head. “Barely.” He sets the drink down on the coffee table next to a box of tissues and a jar of weirdly shaped dog treats. “Come here.”
His long fingers dig into my bun, gently loosening the strands from the scrunchie holding it in place.
Once it’s free, he begins raking through the waves, working out most of the tangles.
It feels so good, my eyes slip closed. No one else has done my hair but a hairstylist since I was little, and this is totally different from the salon experience. It’s soothing. Relaxing.
Intimate.
My eyes snap open just as Tobias finishes wrapping a fresh bun into place.
“There you go.” He shifts away, getting to his feet. “How’s that drink sitting? You feeling okay?”
“I feel much better than I did this morning.” My eyes go to the closed blinds. Not even a little sunlight warms the wood or tries to peek between the slats. “What time is it?”
“Time for you to eat.” Tobias adjusts the rolled cuffs of his sleeves.
Why is he always doing that? Just to torture me by dragging my attention to the forearms that haunt my dreams?
“Do you want to eat here on the couch, or would you rather come sit at the island?” He thumbs over one shoulder. “I can also set us up in the breakfast room.” He flashes me a heart-stopping smile. “Or the dining room if you’re feeling fancy.”
I look down at my current state. “I think it’s fair to say I’m not feeling fancy.
” I peel back the blanket covering me and work my legs over the side of the overstuffed couch I’m occupying.
“But I should probably go back to your parents’.
” I manage to get on my feet, blinking as the room sways. “I don’t want to get you sick.”
“Or…” Tobias comes to my side, resting a hand on my back. “You could eat some soup and go back to sleep and not worry about whether or not I get sick.”
“I should definitely worry about you getting sick.” I snort. “You’ll end up with a man-cold, and I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“If I get sick, it will be my own fault.” He all but lifts me into the same stool I occupied the night he made me dinner. “And I’ll take it like a man.”
“I know. That’s what I’m worried about.” I yelp a little as he scoots me closer to the counter, the movement unexpected. “I know how men act when they’re sick.”
“No.” He rounds the counter and lifts the lid on a large pot. Steam escapes, along with a glorious savory scent. “You know how certain men act when they’re sick.” He opens another pot, this one filled with cooked orzo. “You’ve never seen me sick.”
“I’ve seen you hungover,” I remind him as he adds a scoop of pasta to a large bowl. “And it wasn’t pretty.”
“You saw me hungover when I was twenty-two.” His eyes come to my face, voice serious as he says, “I’ve changed a little since then.”
I swallow hard, because I’m not sure I can deny that.
The old Tobias is still there. Funny. Easygoing. Teasing. But now there’s a shadow of something else as well. A maturity he didn’t have before. His words come slower. They’re more thoughtful. Careful even.
And if Tobias is different, then what he wants could be different too, and I don’t know how I feel about that.
“See how this tastes.” He slides the bowl he assembled in front of me, along with a slice of crusty sourdough bread coated in a thick layer of butter. Herbs and spices float in the amber broth, along with carrots, celery, shredded chicken, and flecks of seasoning.
Feeling hesitant—I don’t know why—I scoop up a little of the broth and bring it to my lips.
The flavors explode on my tongue. Even with the flu, I can make out everything from cinnamon and nutmeg to lemon juice and thyme.
Never in a million years would I have thought the contrasting tastes could go together, but it’s so much better than basic chicken noodle soup.
And, based on the way Tobias is grinning at me, he freaking knows it.
“Good, isn’t it?” He goes to work composing a bowl for himself. “I wish I could take full credit for it, but all I did was assemble the pieces Mariah told me to.”
That makes sense. This is definitely an elevated soup. One I wouldn’t expect a single man—no matter how handsome, charming, and impervious to the man-flu he might be—would know how to make.
“That was pretty nice of her to go to all that effort to teach you how to make soup.”
Tobias’s mouth drops open. “For your information, I know how to make soup.” He adds broth over his pasta.
“I just didn’t know how to make this particular soup.
” He comes around to sit next to me, elbow brushing mine as he takes his place.
“And Mariah is pretty nice. She’s the one who taught me how to make the treats I give Copper. ”
My next spoonful hovers in front of my mouth, frozen in place as I slowly turn to look at the man next to me. “You make Copper homemade dog treats?”
“I didn’t really have much of a choice. Mariah made her a batch once, and after that she wouldn’t touch a Milk Bone.” He tips his head at where Bruno is curled up. “He likes them too. I’ll make a batch tonight, so we have plenty to bribe him outside with.”
Oh no. No, no, no, no. “You don’t have to do that.” I take a deep breath, because I don’t really want to say what I have to. “I’m going to go back to the big house tonight, so Copper can have her treats all to herself.”
Tobias leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest as he studies me. “Is that really what you want to do? Go back to lying in an empty house feeling like shit?” He tips his head toward my puppy. “Run him in and out all night with cold medicine coursing through your veins?”
No. That’s not what I really want to do. But I’m self-aware enough to know that being around Tobias is not the best idea, all things considered.
I’m supposed to be starting a new life, not wishing I could go back to an old one.
“You can sleep upstairs, and I’ll stay down here with the dogs. Get a good night's rest, and then in the morning, if you’re feeling better, I’ll drive you and Bruno right back up to the big house.” Tobias lays it out like it makes sense.
And unfortunately, it does.
If I go back to the big house alone, either I won’t take medicine so I can make sure I get up with the puppy—and that plan did not go super well for me the last time I tried it—or I take medicine, put him in his crate, and snore while he cries and shits himself.
Not a great option either.
“Just tonight.” I have to put a limit on it. One I stick to.
Tobias might be different, but so am I. I’m just not sure I’ve changed for the better. I can’t fix the damage that’s been done to me by falling all over a different man.
Even if, so far, it seems like this one might actually deserve to be fallen over.
“Just tonight,” Tobias agrees. He tips his head at my soup. “Finish up. It’ll make you feel better.”
I don’t know if that's true, but I eat it anyway. Because it’s really freaking good.
I’m just polishing off the last mouthful of buttery bread when someone rings the doorbell. My head swivels toward the front of the house. “You get visitors out here?”
Tobias's expression is flat. Almost angry. “No.” He stands from his seat. “I don’t.”
I twist in my seat as he stalks out of the kitchen toward the door. I hear it click open, followed by hushed voices I can’t quite make out. He comes back only a few minutes later, carrying a storage container. Inside it is a giant slab of peanut butter colored cake.
“I hope you left room, because Mariah has decided to grace us with a piece of her coveted caramel cake.” Tobias pops the lid on it, grabs two forks out of the drawer, and comes back to my side.
He holds one of the forks out for me, waiting until I take it before dropping his eyes to the dessert. “You get the first bite.”
I haven't eaten much cake over the past few years, and my willpower is pretty much nonexistent, so I don’t argue. I scoop up a chunk and shove it in my mouth, moaning around the sweet, buttery, rich flavors. “Holy shit, this is delicious.”
Tobias’s eyes are locked on my lips. “Is it?”
I stop chewing, confused. “Haven’t you had it before?”
He shakes his head. “Titus is a little territorial about the caramel cake.” He takes a small bite for himself, tipping his head as his jaw works, flexing beneath the stubble covering his cheek. “And I think I see why.”
“You should get Mariah to teach you how to make this.” I steal another bite even though I’m technically full. Because I’m sick. And because my whole life has fallen apart. I don’t know if caramel cake will fix anything, but I do know it’s worth a try.
Also, holy shit why did I ever let a man make me give up cake?
“I’ll see what I can do.” Tobias takes another small taste. “But it makes a pretty big cake that I won’t be able to eat by myself, so you’ll have to come over and help me.”
I swallow, the mouthful of smooth frosting and moist cake thick as it works down my throat.
“I can’t keep coming over here, Tobias.”
I mean for it to sound strong. Serious. Finite.
Instead, it’s barely a whisper. Like I don’t actually mean it. But I do. I have to.
“Why not?” Tobias takes a sip of the beer he’s been nursing through dinner. “Are you married?”
I shake my head, relief at being able to answer negatively washing through me.
Tobias's eyes are sharp as they pin me in place. “Are you engaged?”
Again, I shake my head
He leans closer, deep voice lowering as his arm drapes across the back of my stool. “Are you otherwise committed and or entangled?”
I can barely breathe, but still manage another headshake.
He’s so close. He smells so good. Last time he was fresh from a full day of work, and while he didn’t stink, the scent of motor oil and grease clung to his clothing.
I didn’t mind, because it was so different from the way Matt always smelled, and I like that.
Tonight, he doesn’t smell like work, but he also doesn’t smell like my former fiancé. There is no cloying heaviness of expensive cologne clogging the air as I breathe. Just clean, fresh man. A hint of laundry soap. Tiny notes of some sort of spicy body wash or maybe deodorant.
It draws me in, and before I know what I’m doing, I’ve leaned closer. Pulled in a deep breath, eyes closing as it wiggles into the deepest parts of my brain, wrapping around a memory of how it felt when he used to hold me.
Tobias’s touch skims down the side of my neck, barely a whisper, just like his voice. “Then I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you being here with me whenever you want.”
That is exactly the problem. What I want isn’t identifiable. Not in any trustworthy capacity.
“I can’t.” I keep my eyes closed, because I know if I look at him it’s going to be so much harder to stand my ground.
“Why not?” His fingers move to brush against my cheek, rough but gentle at the same time as his calluses scrape my skin.
My chin wobbles, and I suck in a shaky breath. “Because it’s not right. I can’t—”
“Shh.” He strokes over my cheek again, and his fingers feel wet. “If you can’t right now, that’s okay.”
I finally open my eyes, blinking fast as I register the tears falling free. “I just…” Sniffing, I try to rein my emotions in. “Now is just not the right time. I’m sorry.”
Part of me expects him to be mad. Upset that he’s gone to all this effort and I’m not giving him what he seems to want.
But Tobias just gives me a slow smile that doesn’t look even a little bothered when he says, “I’ve waited for you for almost ten years, Brooke. I can wait a little longer.”