Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
They parked on a gently sloped hill overlooking a field dotted with a kaleidoscope of wildflowers. In comparison, it made even the bucolic sights from The Sound of Music look like a Home Depot garden department.
“This is straight out of a fairytale,” Brinton said, unable to believe what felt like a mirage. “You really are a prince.”
He smirked that sexy-ass smirk. “Since I was little, I’d come here when I needed a break from…the king’s reign.”
Jamie toted the blankets and wicker picnic basket from the truck bed and set them on a low, long table beneath a sugar maple tree. “When my dad first purchased the land, he took my mom here. She loved it too.”
He placed electric lanterns strategically around the table, flicking them on as he went. “Every so often, he talks about selling it. But I don’t think he’s got the heart.”
“Hell of a date night spot, Crawford,” she said, spreading a pillowy quilt on his side of the table.
This was indisputable: he had dated many, many women, meaning that while she’d never experienced this brand of affection, she accepted that there were very few firsts left for him.
He pulled a Michelin Star–worthy charcuterie plate from the picnic basket. “Well, I wouldn’t know. Never brought anybody up here before.”
“Oh,” she whispered, attempting to sound casual as her stomach tumbled to her ankles.
“Oh.” He’d done all of this for her.
“It’s gorgeous,” she added. “I thought—well, I assumed…”
He winked at her. “I know what you assumed.”
Brinton knelt next to him at the table. “I…don’t know what to say.”
She was so grateful that her heart felt too big for her chest. Her adoration surged at hurricane strength. No man had ever made her feel so acknowledged, and rare. He must have seen it on her face, but he didn’t seek validation or make it about himself.
Instead, he held a wine bottle in each hand, eyes glinting with anticipation. “How about we start here: You in the mood for red or white?”
Unsurprisingly, they were in the mood for more than wine.
They enjoyed one exceptional glass of Sancerre before she yanked him on top of her. They kissed fervently, if not sloppily. Greedy hands over needy, sun-warmed skin. Clinking teeth and hushed laughter until the promise of eye-crossing bliss sambaed alongside earthy-sweet notes of summer grass.
The sky was an arresting swirl of fuchsia, streaked with the deep purple of impending nightfall. Stars poked through stretched cotton wisps of clouds.
Brinton’s phone pinged. Immediately, her senses dulled.
“You wanna get that?” Jamie asked, kissing the shallows of her throat and stroking her back. She didn’t answer.
Without opening it, there was no way to know for sure, but the email notification had to be from Rich. The thought of it was a Doc Martens boot on her trachea. While Jamie’s date had been a sedative for her nerves, she couldn’t avoid Rich forever.
Yet, Jamie was there with her. In such a short time, he made her feel less alone. He was somebody she could confide in. She needed that now more than ever.
Her phone pinged again. She sat up, and Jamie followed.
“I couldn’t tell you last night because I was way too stressed out, but I’ve been expecting this email from my editor, Rich,” she said. Her throat bunched like a zip tie, making her voice shake.
“That’s why I freaked out at your show. He wanted to read a draft of the article because, frankly, not many people back home take me seriously either. I think he wrote to tell me he hates it.” She gripped her temples, shook her head. “If that happens, I have no plan. I’ll be screwed.”
Jamie’s usual carefree smile grew more solemn. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, which trembled under his weight. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together.”
She nodded and sucked in a deep breath, then retrieved her phone from her purse. Shit, she was right. There was a new email from Rich. Her hand shook as she tapped a few more times on the screen, opening the message.
She exhaled deeply, then read aloud: “‘Great fucking work. I knew you had it in you. We’ll run a teaser article online tomorrow, before the print issue drops next Friday. With your cover story.’”
She gasped. Her heart could have blasted through her chest. “I can’t—oh my God…”
Jamie pulled her tight against his body, his warmth bringing her back to Earth. “I knew you could do it. I swear, the article was perfect.”
“You read it?”
He nodded, grinning. “Last night. Congratulations, honey.”
She released a grateful breath. Unfortunately, there was more to Rich’s email.
Still shaking, Brinton squeezed Jamie’s hand to anchor herself so she could keep reading.
“‘I can’t lock this in without proof that Crawford is striking out on his own. Need something substantial for the fact-checking team ASAP. Send along with your coverage notes.’”
Somehow, Rich had found one last fucking hurdle to fling in her path. When would she ever be enough? Brinton dropped Jamie’s hand and buried her face in her own, her ragged, hot breaths dampening her palms.
“Fuck,” she croaked. “How am I supposed to do that without talking to your father? He’ll never agree. It’s impossible—this was a colossal waste of time.”
When she looked up, desperate for air, her eyes burned from the pressure of holding back tears, regret. Everything.
Inexplicably, Jamie was smiling.
“Brinton,” he breathed, his palm slowly circling her back. “The contract.”
“What?”
“This morning, my father agreed to cancel my new songwriting deal. It’ll be in writing. It’s proof.”
She grasped his shoulders. “What?” she exclaimed again.
“I got a copy at my place. You can send it to your editor,” he explained, sincerity emanating from his body like a shimmering aura. “Bee, you did it.”
“Thank you, Jamie,” she said. Burning hope spread across her cheeks and down her chest. She had done it.
There wasn’t anything left to say, but she knew what to do. She flung her arms around his neck and pressed a searing kiss to his lips, euphoria stoking the flames. Her hands glided through his hair, and their tongues communed like a vow.
He caressed her jaw, barely touching her but making her feel both so cared for and hot, hot, hot all over. She angled her chest forward, showing him where she wanted his hands most. Instead, he moved his to her shoulders.
“Patience, Bee, we got all night,” he murmured against her lips, his curved into a devastating smile. He slid next to her, flicking his signet ring around his pinky. “I wanted to talk to you about something too.”
She watched his ring spin. He was nervous, which made her nervous. Was he breaking up with her, before they truly began?
“I know you’re leaving tomorrow, but I couldn’t let that happen without saying this.”
Brinton picked at her cuticles to distract herself from her mounting panic. Was it his father or Kendall or any number of telltale signs she must have missed, proving that Jamie had grown tired of keeping track of all her nagging, inconsolable needs?
He blew out a long breath. “My mom’s death ripped my family apart. It didn’t matter how much my father and I loved her, she was gone. So I decided I wasn’t ever gonna let myself feel that kind of pain again.”
Jamie laughed bitterly as sweat beaded the small of her back.
“I thought I didn’t wanna be vulnerable again, but the way I feel about you…I wanna give you all of me,” Jamie continued, taking her hand. “I want us to have a real future together, no more hiding.”
Finally, she exhaled.
“Yes,” Brinton said, body humming with relief. “We should tell our families, friends. My mom will be happier than me.” She laughed. “But maybe we still wait until after the article comes out to go public?”
“I’m gonna do everything in my power to protect you.” He frowned, then shook his head. The words seemed too excruciating for him to vocalize. “No matter what people say.”
Brinton squeezed his hand. Their new reality, outside this safe Iris bubble, was always lurking, waiting for its moment to leap from the shadows. She had to face it, even as the Grammys fallout had nearly destroyed her.
Jamie couldn’t protect her from that heartbreak. She didn’t need him to. Having him in her life was enough.
She exhaled, laughing to ease the discomfort. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but I’m a Black woman in a country that puts diminished value on my existence.”
His dejected expression throttled Brinton’s heart.
“But I’m stronger now,” she went on, lifting his chin and meeting his sparkling eyes.
“I think you helped make me stronger. My whole life, I molded myself into somebody else because I hated the things that I couldn’t control.
I didn’t want to see those parts of myself, but even the scary shit—it makes me who I am.
So I want to do this for us, and myself. ”
He smiled, pressing her so hard into his chest she was winded as she laughed. “Woman, you make me so damn happy.”
Brushing her braids off her shoulder, he kissed her neck, setting off little sparks behind her eyes.
His fingers marched down her hip to the top of her boots.
“These look good on you. Even though I kinda miss the combat boots. Made you look like you stepped out of a Wes Anderson movie, in a good way.”
“Mm, and what else do you miss?”
Their faces inches apart, he nipped at her bottom lip, prompting her sharp intake of breath. Jamie cradled her head, anchoring her and slipping his tongue between her parted lips. On contact, she moaned into his mouth.
“That. The way you moaned for me in that alley.” His voice dropped an octave, making her stomach corkscrew. “Music to my fucking ears,” he said, still cradling her head.
This was another first for her: a man she was crazy about, admitting his true intentions and making space for her in his life. And wanting nothing but her heart in return.
That, and a few kinky extras she was more than willing to supply.
“You can have me,” she said, untying the halter straps around her neck.