Chapter 14
Luke woke the next morning with an uncomfortable feeling he couldn't quite name. He stood beneath the shower longer than usual, replaying the previous evening in his head.
Brooklyn sitting outside his apartment.
Grace saying nothing.
His own hand turning the phone facedown.
He had made the right choice. He knew he had. So why did it feel as though he'd disappointed someone? He frowned at himself in the fogged bathroom mirror.
That was exactly the problem.
For twenty-nine years, Brooklyn's disappointment had felt like his responsibility. He'd never questioned it before.
Grace was already at work when his phone buzzed.
Brooklyn: I'm sorry about last night. I shouldn't have come over. I wasn't thinking clearly.
He stared at the message. A second one appeared.
You were right to stay with Grace.
Luke let out a slow breath. That, at least, made things easier. He typed back.
Thanks for understanding. Is everything okay?
The reply came almost immediately.
It is now. Bad day. I'll be fine.
He hesitated. Then he set the phone down without asking another question. For the first time in years, he consciously chose not to keep pulling on the thread.
Grace had just finished presenting a new branding concept to a client when her cell phone rang. The screen displayed an unfamiliar number. She almost ignored it. Instead she answered while walking back toward her office. "Hello?"
"Grace? Hi. This is Hannah."Grace searched her memory.
"I'm sorry..."
"Hannah Foster. Brooklyn's friend."
Recognition flickered. Brooklyn had pointed Hannah out at the engagement party.
"Oh. Hi."
"I hope I'm not bothering you."
"Not at all."
"I actually wanted to ask a favor." Grace stepped into her office and closed the door.
"What kind of favor?"
"It's Brooklyn."
Grace's shoulders stiffened. "What about her?"
Hannah sighed. "I think she's struggling more than she's letting on."
Grace stayed silent.
"She's trying so hard to be happy for you."
Grace closed her eyes.
"I know this probably sounds strange coming from someone you've only met once."
"It does a little."
Hannah laughed awkwardly. "Fair. I just..." She hesitated. "...Brooklyn doesn't really have anyone else."
Grace frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Her dad's in Arizona now. Her mom passed away. She and her boyfriend broke up a few months ago."
Grace hadn't known about the boyfriend. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"She's been leaning on Luke a lot less since you got engaged."
Grace listened carefully.
"Which is healthy," Hannah continued quickly. "Don't get me wrong. I think it's healthy."
"But?"
"I think she's grieving a friendship she thought would always look the same."
Grace leaned back in her chair. "What exactly are you asking me?"
Another pause.
"Nothing, really." Hannah sounded embarrassed now.
"I just hoped... maybe if Brooklyn seemed awkward, you'd know it isn't coming from a bad place."
Grace thanked her politely, ended the call, and sat staring at her desk for a long moment.
It was such a strange conversation.
Had Hannah called on her own?
Or had Brooklyn confided in her, never imagining Hannah would reach out?
Grace couldn't tell.
And that uncertainty was becoming the defining feature of every interaction connected to Brooklyn.
That evening, Luke arrived carrying groceries instead of takeout. "I thought I'd cook."
Grace looked into the reusable bags. "You bought basil."
"I bought a basil plant." He held it up proudly. "So we can keep using it."
She laughed.
"Look at us."
"What?"
"Domestic."
"I like domestic." He kissed her before carrying the groceries into the kitchen.
An hour later, pasta simmered on the stove, garlic bread browned in the oven, and music drifted quietly through the house.
Grace chopped tomatoes while Luke grated parmesan.
"This," he declared, "is infinitely better than wedding planning."
"I agree."
He looked sideways at her. "I also have an idea."
She raised an eyebrow. "Should I be worried?"
"Probably."
He smiled. "I want us to take one night a week where wedding talk is banned."
"I thought we already tried that."
"We did."
"And?"
"We were bad at it."
Grace laughed. "So your solution is..."
"We make rules."
"Very romantic."
"I'm extremely romantic."
"You alphabetized my spice rack last weekend."
"It needed it."
"It absolutely did not."
"It absolutely did."
She nudged him with her shoulder. "You are impossible."
"So I've been told."
For the first time in weeks, the conversation flowed without effort. Grace found herself relaxing into the easy familiarity that had made her fall in love with him in the first place. Luke wasn't grand gestures.
He was grocery stores.
Sunday morning coffee.
Remembering how she liked her tea.
Quiet consistency.
That was why Brooklyn frightened her.
Not because Grace believed Luke would cheat.
Because Brooklyn kept interrupting the ordinary moments that built a life together.
The doorbell rang.
Both of them looked toward the front hall.
Grace frowned. "Were you expecting someone?"
Luke shook his head. "No."
She wiped her hands on a dish towel. "I'll get it."
When she opened the door, a florist stood on the porch holding a large arrangement of white hydrangeas and eucalyptus. "Delivery for Grace Samson."
Grace blinked. "I didn't order flowers."
"Your name is on them."
He handed her the arrangement. Nestled among the blooms was a small card.
Thinking of you. I know planning can be overwhelming. One bride to another... well, almost.
Love,
Brooklyn
Grace stared at the signature.
Luke appeared behind her. "What is it?"
She handed him the card without speaking.
He read it once.
Then again.
His expression tightened. "That's..." He didn't finish.
Grace carried the arrangement into the kitchen and set it on the island. "They're beautiful."
"They are."
She looked at him. "I don't know what to do anymore."
Luke rested both palms on the counter. "I do."
Grace waited.
He picked up the card again. "I need to talk to her."
"Luke—"
"No." His voice remained calm. "But this isn't about flowers."
He looked around the kitchen.
"It's about the fact that she keeps inserting herself into moments that belong to us."
Grace searched his face. "You really see that now?"
"I do." He looked almost disappointed in himself. "I should've seen it sooner."
He pulled out his phone. "I'm calling her."
Grace caught his wrist before he could dial. "Please don't do it while you're angry."
"I'm not angry."
"What are you?"
Luke looked down at the little white card in his hand. He thought about it for several seconds. "Resolved."
The word settled quietly between them.
Grace slowly released his wrist. "Okay."
Luke stepped into the dining room to make the call.
Grace remained in the kitchen, staring at the flowers.
They really were lovely. Brooklyn knew that hydrangeas were her favorite because Grace had mentioned it once during lunch.
She remembered details. She paid attention.
She always chose gifts that made refusing them impossible.
Grace ran one finger lightly over a white bloom.
From the dining room, she heard Luke's voice. "Hey, Brook."
A pause.
"We got your flowers."
Another pause.
Then, very gently but unmistakably, Luke said the words Grace had been waiting weeks to hear.
"I need you to stop doing things like this without asking us first."
Grace closed her eyes. She couldn't hear Brooklyn's reply. Only Luke's silence as he listened.
Then, after nearly a minute, he spoke again. "No."
Another pause.
"This isn't about Grace being uncomfortable."
Grace's heart began to beat faster.
"It's about me setting a boundary."
She stood perfectly still.
Outside, a breeze stirred the leaves of the maple tree in the front yard. Inside, Luke listened for another thirty seconds. When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter. "I know you didn't mean to hurt anyone." He closed his eyes briefly. "But intent doesn't change what keeps happening."
Grace heard nothing else.
Only the soft click as Luke ended the call. He remained standing in the dining room with the phone still in his hand. When he finally looked up, there was sadness in his expression, as though he had just accepted that one chapter of his life had finally come to an end.
Grace walked to him without saying a word. He wrapped his arms around her. For a long time, neither of them spoke.
Across town, Brooklyn sat in her own kitchen staring at the phone she'd just set down. Slowly, she reached for the vase of fresh tulips on her table. With one sharp motion, she swept it onto the tile floor. Water exploded across the kitchen. Glass shattered against the cabinets.
Brooklyn stood in the middle of the mess, breathing hard.
Then, just as suddenly, she became still. She looked at the broken glass around her feet.
A slow smile spread across her face. "So," she whispered into the empty room. "We're doing boundaries now."
She bent to retrieve her phone.
"If that's the game..." She opened her contacts. "...then I suppose it's finally time to stop pretending."