Brooke
Chapter
Fourteen
Since the festival ran until around nine last night, Dutton didn’t come over.
A part of me still wanted to invite him, but it was approaching the late hours, and I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.
Or maybe I did.
I don’t know.
Something happened between us yesterday.
I wish I had the words to explain it so that I could at least talk to the girls about it, but I don’t.
Even then, I wouldn’t want to say something in front of Grace that might complicate things.
And I’d feel guilty asking the other girls to keep something from her until I know what I want to do about it.
Right now, all I know is that Dutton is my friend. My ridiculously attractive friend. Before all this, I’d let my mind occasionally have some fun and think of him in a way friends don’t think of each other, but then we actually became friends and that part of my mind shut down.
Until yesterday.
I close the sliding glass door to the display case, then take a lemon bar to the customer who ordered it.
“Thank you,” she says kindly.
“You’re welcome.”
I make my way back to the register, then a breeze hits me.
I look up to spot my dad standing in the doorway, and my heart races the way it would as a kid when I knew I was about to be in trouble.
I hated being in trouble.
We haven’t spoken since he saw me with Dutton yesterday.
In fact, we haven’t spoken in a couple of days.
Do I find it odd that Dutton and I have been friends for a couple of weeks now and my father hasn't asked me about it once? Yes. But I also haven’t brought it to his attention when we do talk, so there’s that.
I know he’s heard the rumors, and I wanted to give him space to come to terms with it.
For years, he’s been very open about how he feels about Dutton and the fact that he wants me to stay away from him. He voiced it a lot more when I was a teenager, but the scowl on my dad's face right now says his feelings haven’t changed.
Which is unfortunate, seeing as he’s one of the people we need to convince that Dutton has changed.
Ugh. Convince isn’t the right word. We need to show it. Dutton has changed. It’s time people saw that, including my dad. It’s time people realized how much they’ve misjudged a young kid all these years.
“You've been avoiding me,” Dad says, taking a step closer.
You'd think that with him standing there in his entire uniform, belt and all, I'd be a little intimidated by his attire alone. But he is my dad. Outside of the random dinners we have together, this is the outfit I've seen him in year after year.
“I'm not avoiding you,” I say as I scrub the counters and, indeed, avoid looking at him.
“Is that why I had to find out at the festival yesterday that you have made a friendship with Dutton Richford?”
“As if you didn't know about it beforehand,” I say as I fiddle with the cups and straighten things on the counters to keep busy.
“Yeah, but this time it came from your mouth.”
I shake my head but don’t say anything.
“Brooke.”
I freeze, slowly turning to look at him. I wait for him to speak first.
“I don't like this.”
“I know you don't.”
“Which is exactly why you didn't tell me about it.”
“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d tell me not to hang out with him.”
Which would then have led me to not hang out with Dutton and not get the bakery, and I couldn’t have that.
“And I stand by that. You’d know that if you’d talked to me about it first. Instead, you've been hanging out with Dutton in all your free time, not finding five minutes for your dad.
You forget this is a small town sometimes, Brooke girl.
People talk. Now, tell me the real reason why he's at your house every single night. Are you sure this is just a friendship?”
I pause to think over my words. I can see where someone observing his truck at my house each night would make someone think it’s more than just friends.
“Yes, positive. Dutton and I have never done anything that is more than platonic. In fact, I have him reading a romance novel with me. We're buddy reading.”
I’m not really sure why I just told Dad that. Maybe adding a little insight as to what we do in my house will help ease his thoughts.
My father holds my gaze.
“He wants more than a friendship.”
“What? Because we're reading a book together?”
“Because he's reading a romance novel.”
“Some guys read romance novels.”
“Yeah, the guys who are looking for more than just friendship read romance novels, especially a romance novel that a woman picks out for them. I don’t trust him.”
I groan. “That's not true.” I fold my arms in front of me. “Men read romance novels all the time and not solely for the purpose of getting into a woman's pants.”
My father shrugs. “So you're telling me that Dutton Richford, a six foot something man who glares at everyone he sees in town and barely shares two words with the locals who aren’t his close friends, is just casually a romance reader.”
I try not to smile at the accuracy. Dutton just likes his space. It’s nothing personal to anyone else.
“Yes, he is now.”
“Sure,” is all my father says.
We find ourselves in a staring contest for about thirty seconds before he says, “I just came to tell you that you don't need to avoid me. While I'm not pleased with this new friendship you have formed, you are still my daughter, and when things change in your life, I want to know.”
I nod. “I just figured you'd be a little bit more upset.”
“Oh, I'm fuming on the inside and I’m disappointed in this decision of yours, but you are a grown woman, and I have to let you make your own choices. Even if I can tell already that this is going to be a bad one.”
“You’re wrong,” I quickly defend Dutton.
“No, Brooke, I’m not.”
My gaze narrows on my father.
He might not trust Dutton, but he should trust me. I want to tell him as much. That I'm disappointed in him, too, for not giving someone a second chance. For not believing that I’m smart enough to know what I’m doing.
And that if he should be worried about anything, it should be about Tony and how he messaged me again this morning online begging for me to change my mind.
I ignored it like the other messages he’s sent me and shoved it into a part of my brain that can keep pretending it didn’t happen.
He’s bound to be bored with my lack of response soon, right?
I should tell my father about that at least, but I don’t want him to use it against me and the choices I’m making with Dutton right now. That dating app was a poor choice. Me and Dutton are not.
So I don't say anything.
I never do.
Dutton's going to have to win my father over in a different way. It can't be me telling my dad that he needs to like him, that he doesn't understand him.
Hell, if my dad can’t even understand me, how can he understand someone he’s despised for more than a decade?
“It's like you said, I'm a grown woman. And I promise you, I know what I'm doing.”
Dad shakes his head and then backs up to the door.
“I sure hope you’re right.”
“I am,” I snap and my sharp tone surprises me just as much as it does him.
His mouth opens to say something, but then he sighs. “You look so much like your mother right now.”
My teeth grind, but I have nothing to say back.
He leaves on that note and the last of the customers in the bakery follow him out.
We don’t technically close for another ten minutes, but I flip the lock on the door and do the same with the sign on the door so that everyone knows I’m closed now.
That hurt.
I know my relationship with my dad hasn’t been the same since my mom and then my sister left us, but usually there is a bit more softness to him.
Not a lot, but some.
That was clearly not the case today.
Once again, I've done more to annoy him than impress him.
A part of me always thought that if I could finally get all of this in my name and make something bigger out of it, he’d tell me how proud he is of me.
Looks like I’ll be waiting a bit longer to find out.
I've barely made it one step before my phone vibrates in my pocket. I don't know why my heart races, thudding behind my ribcage as I pull it out, hoping that it's Dutton.
As if I need him to be here for me even if it’s through text.
The screen lights up with his name, and I crinkle my nose over a smile.
I shouldn't want to be this excited that he's texting me. And I sure as heck shouldn't feel like my entire mood has shifted from seeing his name.
Ignoring my internal thoughts, my thumb swipes up to open the message. It's a picture of the bottom half of a book page. I grin, seeing that he's about thirty pages ahead of me in our second book together. But my smile drops as soon as the text pops up.
Dutton
I have to ask again. Is this the kind of sex scene you're into? This style has been in both of the books we have read
I gasp.
Hiding my phone against my chest, I glance around the room as if everyone, in a room full of zero people, can see me right now.
Did it just get hot in here?
I glance back down at my phone and reread the line: I press my hand to her throat and thrust into her. Harder and harder. Her pussy shatters around me like a vise squeezing my cock until I still inside of her, releasing everything I have. When I pull out, I watch—
I look away fast. I can't spoil it for myself.
Quickly, I type out a reply, ignoring his question completely, because truth be told, no one has ever choked me. I’m not opposed to trying it, but voicing that to a partner is a struggle for me.
It’s all been pretty vanilla. You know, with the whole two guys I’ve ever slept with.
Brooke
Um, you're a bit ahead, so I can't answer until I get to this scene.
I wait here without moving, watching the three little dots appear, followed by another photo.
Dutton
Read the picture I sent you.
Brooke
And spoil something for myself? No thank you.
Dutton
Oh, you're one of those readers, aren't you?
Brooke
I don't read ahead.
Dutton
Well, go grab your book and get to reading.
Brooke
Some of us have jobs.