Chapter 34 #2
“Mom, that’s all the bedrooms,” Liza says. “Unless you want Brandon and Kate to sleep in the craft room and office? Or the gym equipment room?”
Mom titters. “Don’t be silly. You’re forgetting the pool house.”
Brandon lowers his head. “There’s a pool house?”
I mutter, “Focus.”
“There’s two bedrooms in the pool house for Katherine and Brandon.” Mom tries to smooth down her frizzled bob, smiling with all her teeth.
“Mom,” I say, “wasn’t the pool house’s AC broken last summer?”
Mom flaps a wrist toward me. “They told me it’s fixed.”
“Who’s they?” Liza and I ask.
“The maintenance staff.” Mom says this like we are toddlers draining her sanity. “Speaking of which, the kitchen staff will be here soon to prepare dinner. Let’s clear out these suitcases before they arrive.” Mom waves her hands with a pointed look at Brandon, who springs to life.
I stunt his path with a palm to his chest. “Brandon is not staff,” I say calmly to my mom. “He’s our guest, and my boyfriend.” I turn to him. “Shmooksy-poo, let’s take our things out to the pool house.”
Brandon tries not to laugh but has the audacity to nuzzle his nose across mine like we’re baby fawns in a forest.
“Alright, cupcake,” he says.
We drag our suitcases out the back door, down the stilted steps, and onto the stucco pathway. Brandon’s neck almost dislocates as he takes in the opulent poolside. The staff Mom hires must have already been here, because beach towels sit folded neatly on each padded lounge.
I don’t usually like this pool, since I’ve always favored the jetted hot-tub on the private raised stucco deck behind us. But the sparkling pool reflecting off Brandon’s shining eyes makes me want to jump in right this second with him.
We continue on our way, and I push open the door to the pool house. There’s a small living area with a sectional, a kitchenette, and a bathroom. Each step I take feels hotter and hotter, and that’s not innuendo.
It’s almost scorching in here.
After fiddling with the thermostat, which is still very much broken, I swing a look to Brandon.
He shrugs and says, “Tent camping at Starved Rock in July is way worse.”
I consider telling my mom. Going in and demanding an air conditioned room that Brandon and I can share.
But I can practically hear the shouting match that would ensue, and I don’t want to pop this shiny bubble of excitement Brandon has encased me in.
Plus, I don’t want him to see my family like that just yet.
I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I don't mind the heat. Not in hot yoga class, not in the hot tub, and not here. Besides, if this means I get even more space from my parents, all the better.
I swipe the strands of hair from my neck as I unlatch a nearby window. The salty air immediately permeates the space, creating a nice breeze. Plus, it’ll be much cooler at night.
“If you’re good with it, I’m good,” I say.
“I’m good.” Brandon smiles.
The sun is a glowing beach ball atop the sea crests as we make our way to the main house.
Brandon ditched his black t-shirt for a partially unbuttoned linen shirt and matching shorts.
I try to still both the fluttering in my stomach and the hem of my pale yellow sundress.
The naughty breeze is intent on fanning it straight up.
Brandon’s eyes skim over me for the third time as we walk.
“You look beautiful, Kate.”
His smile is so boyish, so genuine, that I suddenly want to doodle it inside a notebook.
“You clean up well too, but you probably already know that,” I tease, using the same words I chose on our first date years ago.
“I know, but it’s still nice to hear,” he repeats. Quiet smiles follow, and I’m surprised at just how many details we both seem to remember about our time together.
Brandon turns, walking backward toward the house. He brushes his fingertips across the tied bows holding up the straps of my dress.
“I like these. They’re cute,” he says.
I swallow under the full weight of his magnetism, the brush of his fingers across the skin on my shoulder. “Thanks,” I say.
We traverse the stairs up to the stilted patio and find that my parents are already seated outside.
The staff must have moved the indoor table for us to dine al fresco before my mother instructed them not to.
She now sits with a slanted frown beneath a frizzy mane of natural waves that neither Liza nor I got.
Three staff members bustle around, opening wine bottles, turning on overhead twinkle lights, and pulling out chairs for Liza and Cam as they approach. Cam is in a polo and chino shorts, and Liza wears her favorite pink gingham wrap-around dress.
Cam’s cropped brown hair looks slightly mussed, Liza’s lips slightly swollen as they apologize for their tardiness.
I bite back a snort, waggling my brows at her behind Mom’s back. She flushes brighter than her dress, dragging a quick thumb across her neck. I hold up my hands in mock surrender.
A staff member goes to pull out my chair, but Brandon steps in front of him. His dimples pop as he sweeps my chair out. I sink into it with a shiver as his palms graze the skin on my arms.
I look up to find Liza smirking at me.
I drag my own quick finger across my neck, and she snorts.
But heat continues to scald my cheeks as Brandon drapes an arm around my shoulders. He bro-chats with Cam while twiddling the bows on my straps between his fingertips. I shiver again, and I swear the corner of his mouth twitches.
The staff steps around us, placing platters of coconut-crusted shrimp and seafood linguini in front of us.
Half-loaves of crusty bread and herb butter appear beside them, and Brandon’s eyes almost bug out of his head.
I smooth a palm across his knee beneath the tablecloth, and his hand covers mine with a squeeze.
Mom strikes up a conversation with Liza about Liza’s particularly frustrating hospital supervisor. To Liza’s credit, she fights valiantly to include me in the conversation. After Mom fires a series of extremely targeted questions, I fall silent.
Brandon squeezes my hand beneath the table, and I relax against his shoulder.
The conversation eventually lulls after Liza finishes telling us about an especially depraved patient whose raunchy requests she had to manage with a professional manner.
Brandon’s and my eyes find each other in an instant.
“Creepy Tom,” we both say with a laugh.
We’re met with bewilderment, so Brandon launches into the tale. I chuckle to myself, nestling against his cedarwood scent and enjoying the weight of his arm around me as I listen.
Mom frowns. “Why go that far in the first place? That didn’t seem very smart. Amantha should have skipped him and moved onto someone more worthwhile.”
Brandon’s jaw pulls taut.
I sit straighter. “The museum needed that mural to display in Amantha’s exhibition. It’s famous, and without it, well, it would have been disappointing.”
“Sounds to me like the whole affair might already be disappointing if she has to go to such lengths to convince people to comply,” Mom titters to absolutely no one.
The atmosphere grows stagnant, the spell before a lightning storm.
I set down my fork, and Brandon rubs tiny circles between my shoulder blades.
“Far from it, actually. Disappointing.” I spit the word out. “I should know, since I’m taking the photos for the mural reproductions. It’s going to be an amazing exhibition.”
Mom arches a brow, and Dad—well, he’s still here, moving his fork to his mouth and converting oxygen to carbon dioxide.
“You’re taking the photos?” Mom asks.
Brandon’s voice is so low it makes the hairs on my neck vibrate. “She is. I’ve seen them, and they’re incredible.” His eyes meet my downcast ones, and his tone softens to velvet. “She’s incredible.”
I’m lost in the sunlit dappled trees that are his gaze. A summer patch of grass so soft and fragrant that it’s like I’ve finally found home. A sudden burn behind my eyes makes my smile quiver. He cups my cheek, thumb brushing the corner of my trembling mouth.
I swear I see a tear leak out of Liza’s eye.
“Katherine has no official training for photography,” Mom prattles on. “Using that silly camera James’s mother gifted her can hardly be considered sufficient.”
Brandon twirls a fork through his linguini and shrugs. “Hmm…A bachelor’s degree in fine arts and—what would you say, pumpkin? Fifteen-ish years spent in a photography studio? That could be considered more than enough vocational training, but who’s counting?”
Mom’s jaw lands in her lap, Liza grows still, and Brandon takes happy bite after happy bite of pasta.
I could kiss him right now, I swear. Sweep the insufferable crystal from this table and knot the tablecloth around his neck like the superhero he is. We could fly far away from here and make out on the moon.
But instead, I blink.
Brandon grins, wipes his mouth with his napkin, then presses a chaste kiss to my temple. “Sock puppet, you promised me a tour of the beach town before it gets too dark.”
Liza nods so fast her bangs flop. “Go, go! Before it gets too dark.”
Mom’s tongue is either encased in stone, or she’s giving Brandon the silent treatment. I wince, recognizing the same knee-jerk reaction in myself when I get upset. But I don’t have time to unpack that before Brandon scoots my chair backward.
“Sorry, pattie-cake. I completely forgot,” I say as I hop up.
Brandon wraps an arm around my waist, steering me past the patio chairs and toward the staircase.
“Thanks for dinner, you guys,” Brandon calls cheerily over his shoulder. “We’ll see you all in the morning.”
I pick up my pace as I slip my hand into Brandon’s.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“For what?” He feigns innocence.
“Being the best fake boyfriend ever.”
For the first time, I’m escaping my family drama with an accomplice. Someone who even helped orchestrate my rescue. I glimpse the corner of Brandon’s mischievous grin as we run away from the house, hand in hand, toward the twinkling beach town.