Chapter 34
thirty-four
PRESENT DAY
brANDON
When I was eleven, the Sandersons let me tag along to the county fair.
We spent the day traipsing across uneven grass between rides shrieking with metal grating on metal.
Heidi allowed Tuck, his sisters, and me to play rigged boardwalk game after game.
Eric introduced us to the magic of deep-fried Oreos, and I was a goner.
Tuck and I must have eaten twelve between us.
Right after, his sisters begged their dad to let them ride the Screaming Inferno—a flame-painted death trap that spun across the rails of a twisting roller coaster.
He finally acquiesced, and that’s how I found myself being strapped to a seat thanks to the assistance of a teenager with bloodshot eyes.
The worker slapped a button. The cart began to spin as it followed the rising metal track, and every cell of my body twisted with it.
By the time the contraption came to a halt and the teenager fumbled off my harness, I had point two seconds to make it to a garbage can before the Oreos found a new home.
I swore I’d never get on another roller-coaster in my life.
So why the hell am I dating Kate Chen?
Sorry, fake dating.
My wheeled suitcase catches on another divot on the airport floor, and I yank it so hard it almost takes out my knee.
Kate glances back from a few feet in front of me, the ends of her straight hair swinging in time with her hips. She offers a tight smile but simply turns back to navigate the crowds on our way to meet her family at the gate.
She’s spoken maybe nine words since we entered the airport, but she doesn’t seem angry. More like she’s lost in her wandering thoughts, not quite understanding how she ended up in this predicament.
I’m equally at a loss, and more than a little confused. I know we both carry our share of reservations about this facade, but there are maybe four more minutes before we need to act like the doting couple we very much aren’t.
“Kate, stop.”
I don’t have to ask twice.
Veering to the banks of the passenger river and popping a hip, she blinks up at me.
Her dark eyes are careful beneath the brim of her black baseball cap, her strawberry lips a tight line.
She’s wearing those dangerous black leggings with crew socks again, but this time she’s got on a cropped white t-shirt.
The orange, red, and yellow bomber jacket she often wears hangs tied around her waist.
“What?” she says.
I close my eyes for a second, praying to whatever god is responsible for complicated women with matcha addictions and daddy issues.
“You gonna tell me what’s going on inside that pretty little head of yours?” I say.
Her eyes dart everywhere but my face. “What do you mean?”
“Kate.”
Behind Kate’s mask, there’s uncertainty. It’s written in the curve of her shoulders, the downturned edges of her mouth, the slight shadows beneath her eye makeup. Her left knee bobs as she finally meets my eyes.
“You don’t have to go through with this, Brandon. Not really. I can just claim you had to work or something. Once we get to the gate, there’s…no turning back. I guess I’m giving you an out.”
The bold girl that stole my heart six years ago looks so incredibly small. So insecure.
And dammit if it doesn’t melt me.
I tug her into my arms, and she doesn’t resist. She fits against me like a long-lost puzzle piece, her curves pressing into spaces that were only ever hers to begin with. I can’t see her face beneath her ball cap, but I can feel her weight as she sags against me.
“I’m not going anywhere, Kate.”
“Are you sure?” she mumbles against my black t-shirt.
I know she can feel my chuckle, because she pulls back with a minuscule smile of her own.
“Yeah,” I assure her. “I agreed to be in this situation with you. Plus, why would I say no to a free vacation?”
She swats my arm, but she perks up.
“Oh,” she says. “I forgot I got you something for the plane.”
I cock my head as she rifles through her wide purse. She withdraws a medium-sized leather bound notebook and holds it out. Pink stains her cheeks, but her voice is cool as a cucumber.
I flip the soft brown cover open to find that it’s not a notebook at all, but a sketchbook. My stomach does some sort of dog trick, rolling over as a wide smile splits my face.
“You got me a sketchbook?”
She fiddles the ends of her long hair. “Yeah, I remember how much you liked sketching, and I thought since you’re going out of your way to come on this lame vacation, you shouldn’t have to be bored, too.”
I’m beyond touched that she remembered such a small detail about me from our time together.
She pulls a small pack of fine-grade pencils from her purse and places it into my palm.
“There,” she says. “Draw me something pretty.”
“Only if I can add bunny ears to it.”
She chuffs a laugh, knocking me on my shoulder as I stow her gifts in my bag. Grabbing the handle of her suitcase, she wheels it to my side as we walk toward the gate. Tentatively, she laces her bare fingers through mine, glancing up at me through the thick fringe of her lashes.
“Is this okay?” she whispers.
It is more than okay, but it’s also somehow not enough.
I’m still reeling from her thoughtfulness, and the sensation of her skin on mine is overwhelming.
The urge to make her blush in return becomes too strong to ignore.
I circle an arm around her waist, haul her against me, and plant a comedically juicy kiss to her surprised cheek.
“Is this okay?” I breathe against her skin.
Her flustered giggle is worth it, but I don’t have time to revel in it before the sound of clapping interrupts us.
We’re much closer to the gate than I realized.
Liza claps, beaming at my performance. Kate stiffens the tiniest bit, and I can practically hear her assumption that my kiss was all to sell the charade.
She breaks away to greet Liza, and I blow out a breath.
I didn’t think our situation-ship could get any more complicated, but I think we’ve just achieved the impossible.
KATE
Florida is eighty-one degrees and sunny. At least that’s what the stewardess announced over the plane intercom when we landed. I’m hoping she’s right. After an achingly cold Chicago winter, I’m looking forward to the sun and sand of Marisol Bay.
I’m also desperate to escape H.Y.
I shudder at the text that rolled in right after I switched my phone out of airplane mode.
UNKNOWN: Hope you have a great vacation! I’ll miss you. –Hopefully Yours
I finish washing my hands in the ladies airport restroom before gripping the sink.
My anxiety is still sky high, even though I know Brandon is waiting for me outside in the hall.
I’m safe here, aren’t I? Safe with him? The more I think about it, the more my chest relaxes.
If H.Y. will miss me while I’m gone, it definitely means they won’t follow me to Florida. Right?
Our party of six soon waits impatiently at baggage claim.
Brandon finishes showing me the impressive sketch he did on the plane, a sea of clouds and sky, complete with a glowing sun topped with fuzzy bunny ears.
I shove the sketch away with a laugh right as Brandon recognizes the orange ribbon shining on the handle of my suitcase.
He steps forward and lifts it off the carousel like it’s packed full of feathers and not a month’s worth of indecisions.
He shoots me a covert wink as he places it in front of me.
I have to give him credit; he’s much better at this whole thing than I am.
Any stunted conversation I produce, he smooths over with his wit.
When my body crawls with anxiety, he calms it with a caress to my left knee and a kiss to my hair.
His soft smiles at me are so convincing, even I almost believe him.
But I shouldn’t.
Because this is nothing but a friend helping out a friend.
Doesn’t prevent my gaze from wandering to the backside of his gray joggers, though.
I tip my head as Brandon heaves Mom’s Louis Vuitton suitcase off the conveyor belt without being told. Did he spend time memorizing our luggage earlier?
Mom gives him a prissy smile. Dad does nothing as Brandon sets his own luggage in front of him, because he’s still staring blankly across the concourse.
I swear, his fathering nature only ever activates if his reputation is threatened.
The rest of the time, he’s like a sleeper cell—emphasis on the sleeping part.
A few minutes later, Brandon spots Liza’s and Cam’s luggage on the carousel. He swipes it off and hands it to them, waving away their thanks.
I grin. He winks.
A forty-minute shuttle ride later, we arrive at the beach-front home Mom inherited from Grandma Rochester. It looks the same it ever has. And by that, I mean chic, spotless, and entirely impersonal.
Home sweet home.
Brandon’s green eyes blow wide as he spans the open concept living area, beach accents, and stainless steel kitchen. The wall of sparkling glass across the rear of the home can be retracted completely to convert the raised patio space into a sea-breeze haven.
Brandon’s fresh perspective of this vacation feels like a breath of salty air all on its own. I slip a giddy hand into his and tug him down so I can whisper in his ear.
“Just wait until you see the pool.”
He quirks a brow. “There’s a pool? Why? The ocean is literally right there.”
I laugh but catch Mom frowning in our direction.
“James,” Mom chides to Dad, drawing him out of whatever etheric plane he keeps trying to escape into. “What are we going to do about the sleeping arrangements?”
Dad shrugs.
Mom huffs, straightening her sculptured blazer with the big navy buttons. She looks like a politician’s wife on vacation, and her sleek bob is beginning to fray in the humidity. After a moment, her lips lift.
“Liza, Cam, why don’t you take the two bedrooms upstairs beside the master?”
Liza and I look at each other quizzically.