Chapter 9
NINE
CARI
I wake up alone.
Cold.
Lonely.
After the best sex of my life, I wake up to the bedsheets beside me twisted and cool. I knew it would be a one time only thing, but fuck, I didn’t think it would hurt that much.
I slump against the pillow, trying my hardest not to sulk.
It makes sense. He probably snuck out as soon as I fell asleep. Why risk getting caught sneaking out of my room? Why invite gossip amongst our friends and family? No, it was smarter this way.
Even if it fucking hurts.
With a sigh, I force myself out of bed and pad naked to the bathroom.
Brody marked me up pretty well; my cheeks and neck are pink from his beard, the burn trailing down my chest in patches.
A hickey marks the skin around my right nipple.
I trail my fingers over it, letting myself get lost in the memory.
Noise in the hall startles me into action, and I quickly wash my face and brush my teeth before turning on the shower and hopping in. The hot water is luxurious on my tired, sore body. Despite the water pouring down in the shower, I can hear the hallway noise even louder.
Guess someone else got an early start, too.
When my fingers turn pruny, I reluctantly get out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my hair and another around my body. I open the bathroom door and am greeted by a cool burst of air. Goosebumps raise on my skin, and I turn the corner—
And scream.
Brody is sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed in his clothes from last night.
“What are you doing here?” I shriek.
He winces. “Can we lower the volume a little?”
“No, I fucking can’t!” I tear the towel off my body and whip him with it. “You left!”
“I went to get you coffee,” he says, dodging the damp terrycloth rope. “Room service was taking too long.”
I stare at him.
He stares back.
“You left,” I whisper.
Standing, he comes toward me, taking the towel out of my hand. That’s when I realize I’m naked before him.
Brody threads his arms around my waist, tugging me into him.
“Good morning,” he murmurs, before ducking his head to kiss me.
I push him away. “You left.”
“I went to get you coffee.”
“But you left.”
“You were dead to the world. I tried to wake you, but you wouldn’t respond.” He nuzzles my neck. “I thought I’d be back before you woke up. I miscalculated. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well, you should be,” I say petulantly, though some of my anger is thawing.
On the desk are two coffee cups and a paper bag. Something smells delicious, with warm spices. Cinnamon? Maybe cardamom?
My stomach rumbles, and I relax a bit more. “What did you get?”
“Those pastries you liked from yesterday’s breakfast.”
“How did you know I liked them?”
“Because I notice things about you.”
“You do, don’t you?” When he comes in again, I allow him to kiss me this time.
“Carolina,” Brody murmurs against my lips.
“Hm?”
“I like you.” He says it like it’s so easy. Like it’s a given.
For a second, I just stare at him. Not because I don't believe him.
Because I do. That's the problem.
If he'd said he had fun, I could've handled that. If he'd told me last night was a mistake, I'd have hated it, but at least it would've made sense. Those are things people say after a vacation fling.
"I like you" is infinitely more dangerous.
"You say that awfully casually," I finally manage.
Brody's lips twitch. "Should I have prepared a speech?"
"Maybe."
"I had one. Then you tried to assault me with a towel."
Despite myself, I laugh.
The sound seems to relax him. His shoulders loosen as he reaches for one of the coffee cups and presses it into my hands.
The coffee is exactly how I take it. Not close. Not approximately.
Exactly.
I glance up at him over the rim. "You remembered."
"Of course I remembered."
The answer comes so quickly that my chest squeezes. Like it never occurred to him that he wouldn't.
We spend the next hour tangled together on the hotel bed, drinking coffee and splitting pastries from the paper bag he'd brought back.
The pastries are still warm, flaky layers giving way to sweet spice and buttery filling, and every bite reminds me of breakfast yesterday morning when I'd made the mistake of saying I liked them.
Apparently Brody had filed that information away, along with a hundred other things.
The realization is both flattering and terrifying. Noticing someone isn't the same thing as wanting a future with them, and I don't know which category Brody falls into yet.
His phone buzzes on the nightstand. Then again. And again. He picks it up and groans.
"What?"
"Your brothers."
I immediately wince. "Which one?"
"Both."
"Oh no."
"Oh yes."
He drops backward onto the mattress dramatically. "Tony is off in la-la-land. Al needs help setting up for brunch. Chuck somehow has opinions about both."
A laugh bubbles out of me. I love that he lumps Chuck in with my actual siblings, even though we aren’t really related. His sister is my brother’s wife. That’s family. That’s all that matters now.
"Sounds serious."
"It's a crisis."
The smile fades from his face a little as he looks over at me.
Reality has finally found us. The wedding is over. The trip is almost over. In less than twenty-four hours, everyone will be heading home.
Different cities.
Different lives.
Different routines.
The thought settles between us without either of us saying it aloud.
Brody reaches for my hand. His thumb brushes across my knuckles once. "You okay?"
I should say yes. Instead, I shrug. "Thinking."
His expression softens. "Yeah. Me too."
For a moment neither of us says anything. The room feels different now than it did an hour ago. Not worse. Just heavier. More real.
Last night was easy because last night only existed inside itself. This morning comes with consequences. Questions. Possibilities.
A knock at the door interrupts whatever either of us might have said next.
Brody closes his eyes. "Saved by the bell."
"Coward."
"Absolutely."
He stands and pulls me up with him. I expect a quick kiss goodbye. Instead, he wraps his arms around me and holds me there.
No jokes, no teasing, he just holds me.
My cheek rests against his chest while his hand settles at the back of my neck. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat does absolutely nothing to help the situation.
"Come find me later?" he asks quietly.
My stomach flips. "Yeah."
"Good."
He presses a kiss to my forehead before stepping back. Then he grabs his jacket and heads for the door.
Halfway through opening it, he pauses and looks back at me. The smile he gives me is small and entirely too genuine.
Then he's gone.
Kiana stands on the other side of the threshold, a smirk on her face. “Really?”
“Shut up,” I mutter, turning on my heel and half-dragging her into the hotel room.
Once the door is closed behind her, I discard my towel for a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and start patting at my damp hair.
After being in a locker room together for the past few years, a bit of bare skin doesn’t bother either of us.
“You slept with him,” she accuses.
"Kiana."
"You slept with him."
Heat floods my face. "Kiana."
"You slept with him."
"Could you stop?"
"No."
I bury my face in my hands. When I look up again, she's grinning.
"Finally!”
"That's your reaction?"
"What reaction were you expecting?"
"I don't know. Concern? Judgment?"
"Cari, you've been flirting with that man for years."
“Four years." Maybe five.
"An eternity."
I groan. Kiana takes a sip of coffee.
"So?"
"So what?"
"How was it?"
I point at her. "No."
“Prude.”
No. It meant something. I’m not going to gossip about someone important. Meaningless, casual fun? Sure, she can have all the details. The real stuff? I’ll keep it close to my chest, at least for now.
"You're impossible."
Her grin widens. The worst part is that she's enjoying herself.
Eventually the amusement fades enough for her to lean forward.
"Okay. Real question. How are you?"
I open my mouth.
Close it.
Because suddenly the answer isn't obvious.
"I don't know."
The smile slips from her face. "That's not a great sign."
"No, it's not bad." I pick at the hem of my T-shirt. "I just... don't know."
Kiana waits patiently, which somehow makes it worse.
"He left this morning."
Her eyebrows shoot upward. "He was just here."
"I woke up and he was gone."
"Oh.” The sympathy in that single syllable nearly undoes me.
"But then he came back."
"Okay."
"He'd gone to get coffee."
Kiana blinks. "Coffee."
"And pastries."
"Pastries."
"The ones I liked yesterday."
She stares at me.
I stare back.
Then she starts laughing.
"What?"
"Cari."
"What?"
"He didn't leave."
"He did technically leave."
"He left to buy you breakfast."
"That's still leaving. I woke up alone.”
"No." She points her coffee cup at me. "Buying your favorite pastries is boyfriend behavior."
I hate that she's right, because she's very right.
"He said he likes me." The words come out quieter than I intended.
Kiana's expression softens immediately. "Oh."
"Yeah." I stare out the window at the gray Icelandic sky.
"That's the problem."
"That he likes you?"
"That I care."
The admission hangs there between us.
Kiana sets down her coffee. "Cari."
"I know."
"No. Listen to me."
I drag my gaze back to hers.
"He likes you. You like him. That's a good thing."
"Not if we're heading back home tomorrow."
"Did you talk about that?"
I hesitate, and immediately know what her answer will be.
"You didn't."
"We were a little busy."
She rolls her eyes. "I'm shocked."
A reluctant smile tugs at my mouth, then it fades. Because she's right.
For all the flirting, for all the years, for everything that happened last night, we still haven't actually had the conversation that matters.
What happens next.
And as I sit there looking out over the city below, watching clouds roll across the harbor, I realize that's the question that's been sitting in my chest all morning.
Not whether Brody likes me.
Not whether last night meant something.
The scary part isn’t that it did.
The scary part is figuring out what we're supposed to do about it now.