23. Chapter 23
Chapter twenty-three
Brandy
I’d changed into my most comfortable pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt that had seen better days. I twisted my hair into a bun on top of my head because, for some reason, and maybe it was the perimenopause, but my hair was seriously annoying me.
By the time I was done dressing, I was hot and irritated with everything. Remembering it was a cooler day and there was a nice breeze, I grabbed my dinner and headed out to the porch.
I was on my third spoonful of my dinner, ice cream and wine. To my credit, I’d also had the last piece of better than sex cake before I changed. The cake had flour and eggs in it, so I felt like that, plus the dairy in the ice cream, contributed to a well-rounded meal.
June in Denture at seven o'clock in the evening was its own particular kind of perfect. The street was quiet but not empty, a neighbor walking a dog two houses down, kids on bikes making the most of the last daylight, the smell of someone's grill doing something excellent somewhere nearby.
I tucked into the corner of my outdoor sofa with my ice cream and began scrolling social media to see what the community and the greater world were up to.
I was on my fourth spoonful and watching an old Bewitched video someone posted when I heard a vehicle slow down in front of my house.
I didn’t think anything of it until Cap took my porch steps in two bounds, saw me, pivoted, jumped, and landed on the sofa next to me.
“Whoa, hello to you too.” I saved my ice cream container from his large sniffing nose. Placing the lid on it, I set it to the side. “Where did you come from?”
"Cap!" Nick's voice drew my attention to the sidewalk.
Nick Carson was standing there in a green t-shirt and gray basketball shorts holding a bottle of something. He walked up the stairs.
“Geez, dog, just make yourself at home.” Nick rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Sorry, he took off as soon as I opened the door.”
"That’s alright," I said, petting Cap, who leaned into me.
"We were just driving by," Nick said.
I looked at Cap, who was now pressed against my entire left side, occupying two-thirds of the sofa. Then I looked back at Nick.
"Do you always take your bottles for a ride before you drink?" I teased.
He looked at the bottle in his hand like he'd briefly forgotten it was there.
"Okay." He said it the way people say okay when they're abandoning a plan that wasn't working anyway.
"You got me. I knew you'd be home. And I thought—" he stopped at the top of the stairs.
"I wanted to come by and say I'm sorry, again. I was hoping for a better version than the sidewalk one. And if that didn’t work, I brought bourbon.”
"Does bourbon go with ice cream?" I asked.
The corner of his mouth moved upward. "Probably better than you'd think."
"Well then, welcome."
He sat in the chair across from me because Cap had claimed the sofa entirely and was showing no interest in negotiating.
Nick set the large bottle of bourbon on the coffee table between us.
I wiggled my way out from under Cap. He and I went inside and came back with two glasses, a spoon, and a new container of ice cream, which I handed to Nick without comment. Cap and I then returned to our spots.
Nick looked at the unopened ice cream container, then at the one sitting on the side table.
"Not a word, Chief," I said. "Not a word."
He took the spoon. “Wasn’t going to.”
Nick spooned ice cream into both glasses, then poured the bourbon over the top. Handing me one, he sat back in the chair. Cap settled against me with a sigh so deep and satisfied it was almost theatrical. Like there was no place else on the planet he would rather be.
“Hey, we might be on to something.” I held up my glass and examined the contents. “This is good.”
Nick took a spoonful. “Too good.”
"The flowers," I said after a while. "That was a lot of planning."
"It was," Nick agreed.
"How long did it take you to work out the letters?"
He was quiet for a beat. "Longer than I'd like to admit."
"I thought it was creative."
He looked at me. "Thank you, I’ll take that."
“They really are amazing, thank you again.”
"And I’m sorry for all of it, the comment, blaming you when I had no reason to, and the half-assed apology." He looked at me directly. “I apologize.”
"Thank you. That means a lot." After a few spoonfuls, "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Why are you against Summerween?" I turned to look at him. "Not the official fire chief answer. The Nick one."
He dropped his gaze, watching as he turned his glass slowly in his hands. "I'm a creature of habit," he said finally. "I build something. It works, and I know how it works. I know what to expect from it." He paused. "So, when something comes along and disrupts my plan, I guess my walls go up."
“Wow, said like you’ve been to therapy.”
“Maybe I have,” Nick said, meeting my eyes.
“Nothing wrong with that. Sometimes people need help or someone to listen.” I smiled a sincere smile. "But if you never try anything new, how do you know what else might work?"
He looked at me.
"Things that are already good can still get better, Nick. That's not an insult to the good thing. It's just... more."
He was quiet for a long moment.
“And since you shared.” I took the last swig from my glass. “I went to therapy when I finally woke up and decided to file for divorce. All of our friends were couple friends. I couldn’t discuss it with one of them. So, I went to a therapist. She really helped.”
"Is that why you waited?" he asked. "Thinking it could get better?"
I considered that honestly. "For a long time, yes.
I tried everything I knew how to try. I wore different, more provocative clothes, and I did things at home to get his attention.
" I looked at my empty glass and snorted a breath. "Eventually, I figured out the marriage had been over a long time ago and that I’d given up on it too.” Looking at Nick.
“She helped me see that I couldn’t fix something the other person had already decided they were done with. "
“I have to say, you’re great. What was wrong with him?"
“The truth,” I started. “My ex was fully invested in screwing every other woman but me. My purpose in his eyes wasn’t being sexy or intriguing. No, I was there to take care of the home, cook, do laundry, you know all the fun things. While working a full-time job.”
“For what it’s worth, your ex is an idiot.”
I giggled. “Thanks, hearing it is worth a lot to me. To be honest, the relationship was over years before it was formally over.”
Nick nodded but didn’t say anything else.
"What about your ex?" I asked.
He stood and refilled my glass, then his. The porch light illuminated the liquid as he poured.
"She always wanted me to be more than I was.
Make more money, earn some fame," he said.
"Be someone I wasn't. Every call she would ask me, did you save anyone important or a child?
The press loves things like that." A pause.
"I found out too late that she and my chief were an item. Later, I had to admit that the relationship had been in trouble for a long time. I just didn’t see it. "
I closed my eyes for a moment. "Ugh, with your chief, that’s brutal! I’m sorry."
"It was a long time ago."
"It doesn't matter how long ago it was. That's a betrayal on two fronts."
He looked at me with an expression that said he knew I understood.
"I guess it added to my cautious side," he said.
"There's careful," I said quietly, "and then there's so careful you stay in one place and stop moving forward."
He held my gaze. "That's fair and true."
“To our exes.” I held my glass up. “May they wake up wrinkly and old, way before us.”
“Hear, hear,” Nick said, raising his glass.
We both slammed back the remaining amount in our glasses and Nick refilled them.
“How did you come to get this cuddle muffin?” I asked, rubbing the sleeping dog next to me.
“Actually, and I know this will come as a shock, the therapist said I might become obsessed with work.”
“No.” I said, teasing in disbelief.
“I know, huh? She suggested I should consider getting a dog because it would force me to have to take care of something other than work. The other chief had a Dalmatian, so that ruled that out. No way I was going to have the same breed as him. When I saw Cap, I knew he was it.”
“To Cap.” I raised my glass. Nick raised his and we both downed our drinks. He immediately refilled them.
"Tell me something," I said. The bourbon was loosening my normally loose tongue. "Something I don't know about you."
Nick thought about it genuinely. "I’m a bit of a fix-it guy for people in the neighborhood. Mrs. Garabaldi on Elm Street calls me every time something breaks. I've been doing it for years."
"That’s nice, is it like a second job?"
"She pays me in cookies."
"Yummy."
"Snickerdoodles mostly. Sometimes oatmeal raisin."
"And now the truth comes out, you go about fixing things for sweets."
"Aww, you figured me out," he said. “Alright, your turn, tell me something.”
"I hate broccoli," I said. "I have hated it my entire life with a deep and personal passion. Thompson put it on my plate at lunch and I force-ate every single bite rather than hurt his feelings. But I hated every minute of it. Spoiler, even ketchup doesn’t mask the taste of those little green trees.”
“Broccoli covered in ketchup sounds disgusting.” Nick laughed.
“It was, but I had to do something. And he kept asking me how I liked it. Like he was so interested in my broccoli consumption.”
“Thompson makes everyone eat broccoli. He grew it himself last summer and has definite opinions on people eating their vegetables."
"Damn, nobody warned me. I would have been more complimentary. Or at least lied about how much I liked it."
"Nope, nobody warns anyone." He shook his head. "It's a rite of passage. Wait till he brings a pickle tray."
“Are they bad? I like pickles.”
Nick took a drink. “I’ll just say, he likes his vinegar."
I cringed, then raised my glass again. “To Thompson and his green thumb.”
We downed the rest of our bourbon. This time when Nick stood to refill our glasses, he had to place a hand on the table to steady himself.
“Oof, I stood up too fast.”
I laughed and he smiled. Cap snored.
“Or the bourbon’s kicking in.” I pointed out. “Alright, tell me something else.”
"I sing Johnny Cash songs at the top of my lungs," he said. "When no one’s around."
I turned to look at him. "You sing?"
"Yes, very, very badly."
"But you sing."
"I sound amazing in my shower and the kitchen." He looked at me sideways. "Cap's the only witness, and I’ve sworn him to secrecy with bacon."
Cap snored on cue.
"Your turn," Nick said.
"I never wanted kids.” I glanced at him, expecting a typical shocked look, but I didn’t find one. “I know that’s appalling, me being a woman. I just never saw myself as a mom.”
Nick leaned forward. “Why should it matter if you're a woman or a man? If you don’t want them, then you don’t.”
“I agree. But society thinks if you have the parts, you need to use them.”
“Truth. I didn’t want kids either,” Nick admitted. “And I’m very glad I didn’t have them with my ex.”
He lifted his glass. “To knowing what you want.”
I raised my glass, then drank the rest of my bourbon shot-style.
“Wow.” I shook my head. “I’m feeling this.”
"Me too, I should probably go," he said.
"I better get the ice cream containers inside.” I pushed myself out from under Cap and stood up. “Whoa,” I giggled, gripping the armrest of the couch.
Pretty soon Nick was laughing too.
Cap snored along with him.
“We’re going to wake people up. Grab the glasses and come inside.” I picked up the empty ice cream containers and weaved my way to the door.
Nick picked up the glasses and followed me to the door. As soon as the door opened, Cap shot up, looked for us, then flipped himself off the sofa and joined us at the door.
“I’m giving you an eight point two for that dismount,” I petted Cap’s head. “Sorry, would have been higher, but you stumbled on the landing.”
“It’s a six from me.” Nick laughed.
“Geez.” I pulled Cap to me. “Don’t take it personal, boy, there’s no pleasing certain judges.” I opened the door, allowing Cap to go in first, glaring at Nick.
“What? Fine, he can have a seven.”
Cap proceeded into the living room, sniffing the floor.
I went to the kitchen, heard Nick behind me putting the glasses into the sink while I threw the ice cream containers away. I turned to face him, only to find I was inches away from him.
“Ah,” I said, staring up into his eyes.
“I should probably go.” He peered down at me, his already low-register voice even lower. And believe me, there were parts of me who definitely noticed.
“No, you can’t.”