Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
FARRAH
Saturday morning comes and I’m up early to get ready for our fifth official Melarrah event. My garage-turned-studio-apartment is small, with just a bathroom, minimal kitchen, and bedroom/living room combo, but after living in a large suburban home with my ex that always felt cold and empty, I prefer the cozy space. It feels warmer and homier than my big, beautiful house in Ohio ever did.
Remy was willing to shell out the money for contractors to transform the space since it meant having more privacy with his new wife. And I love having my own space, and my own entrance, so it feels like I can get away when I want.
My queen-sized platform bed is right in front of a cute, round window covered with gauzy curtains. A white canopy hangs over the bed and flows down to the floor. The flooring is black and white tiles, and a single shiplap wall ends just before the bathroom door, where a small bathroom holds the basics: a shower, a toilet, and a pedestal sink. The opposite wall is mostly covered with sage green built-in shelves and a half kitchen takes up the wall across from my bed with cabinets the same color as the bookshelves. The kitchenette has a tiny sink, and an even smaller stove top and slim fridge. It feels like a European cottage, and Remy let me pick everything out.
I take a few steps away from my bed to my armoire and select a pair of black pleated trousers I bought last week, pairing them with a black bodysuit. Mel and I agreed an all-black look would be professional for events.
I brush my long hair and braid it back so it won’t get in the way. My braid falls past my bra strap, I make a mental note to ask Amber for a haircut soon. Perks of having a hair stylist as a sister-in-law.
Walking to the bathroom, I take my time doing my makeup. It’s nice to have an excuse to get ready, as going from a corporate job to nannying hasn’t allowed me many opportunities to get fancy. I do a full face, complete with highlighting, contouring, and eye. “Not bad,” I murmur to my reflection.
Right before I head out the door of my apartment to walk to the big house, I slip on a pair of black flats that will keep my feet comfortable all day as I set up the venue with Mel and West.
Unsurprisingly, when I enter the big house, Remy and Nella are already awake and in the living room. That girl is an early riser, much to her parents’ dismay.
“Well, good morning,” I singsong, causing Nella to look up from her TV show and come running into my arms. Goodness, I love this girl.
“Morning, sis.” Remy runs a hand through his short hair, his eyes droopy like he just woke up.
“You look tired,” I tell him, letting go of Nella and heading into the kitchen to finish the last touches on the General’s cupcakes. Everything is done except for the tiny, American flag toppers and placing the tiers of the tall cake together.
“Gee, thanks,” he grumbles.
“Do you guys have plans today?” I ask, gathering the supplies I need from the cabinet.
He follows me into the kitchen, little Nella on his heels. “Daddy!”
My brother smiles and lifts Nella into his arms. “Yeah, West and I are part of the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the new park the Eagles built. Amber and Nella are coming along.”
I hum as I listen and remove the cakes from Remy’s side-by-side refrigerator. It takes a couple seconds for his statement to register. “Wait, West will be there too?”
“Yeah.” Remy sits on a bar stool and settles Nella on his lap. “We’ll be gone most of the day.”
I blow out a deep breath. “I thought West was coming to help us set up the venue.”
Remy thinks for a moment. “I’m sure Mel has it all planned out and has someone coming to help you two. And if she doesn’t, you call me, and I’ll send one of the guys on the team.”
My shoulders relax. “Okay. You’re right. I’m sure she has it all planned.”
An hour later, Remy helps me load the cake and cupcakes into boxes and into my small car. Then I make my way from our suburb in Virginia to the urban venue in downtown D.C. It’s one of those older buildings that’s been stripped down to its exposed brick and open beams.
After parking in the temporary loading zone, I text Mel to let her know I’m here and get out of my car to open the trunk and get the cupcakes.
I nearly jump out of my skin when an all-too-familiar deep voice rumbles behind me.
“Hello, Yeux bleus,” Bruce says in his French-Canadian accent. I don’t always notice his accent, only when he speaks French. And he seems to only speak French when he’s creating names for me. Because whatever he just said is definitely not French for Farrah.
I turn and look at him over my shoulder and my face heats just like it did in that bar a year and a half ago. Why does my mystery man—and the best kisser in the universe—have to be my brother’s teammate and one of his best friends? Not to mention he’s too young for me. Bruce still has years ahead of him to date and fall in love. I’ve been there and done that, only for it to go up in flames. I’m in no hurry to do that again.
But my, what a beautiful twenty-something male he is. The blond hair that’s shaggy on top and shorter on the sides—allowing me to see his ear piercing—does something to me. Something tingly. I never would’ve considered a piercing to be attractive, but he makes it look so dashing. The small diamond stud completes the whole wild look of Bruce McBride. His skin doesn’t have a single wrinkle yet—only taut, smooth flesh just like, I’m sure, the rest of an annoyingly perfect body.
“Bruce,” I say finally, giving him a slight nod.
“I’m here to help for the day since West can’t be here,” he offers, moving closer to me and trying to make eye contact.
I cannot look into those eyes. The first time I looked into those sky-blue orbs, I invited him to join me in a corner booth…the second time, I scooted closer to him in said booth…and the third time, I allowed him to kiss me like I’ve never been kissed in my life. I haven’t recovered since. So, who knows what would happen if I looked into Bruce’s eyes for a fourth time? I swear he’s some sort of Medusa with those things.
“Are you ever going to look at me again?” he asks, his voice quiet.
I carefully hand him the tall cake box, remembering the way his muscles felt beneath his shirt and knowing he has plenty of strength to carry it inside for me.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
He chuckles. “ Looking at me?”
I look at his nose, but not his eyes. “You know what I mean.”
He leans in. “I’m just a big, dumb blond. Spell it out for me.”
A cool spring breeze passes us and draws Bruce’s masculine scent with it. Even the wind is against me.
“Despite all those pucks to the head, I know you’re smarter than people give you credit for,” I say, meeting his gaze for a fraction of a second. Not long enough to throw myself into his arms or anything.
I grab the cupcakes and march quickly past him. I can hear Bruce laughing behind me as he follows me to the main room in the venue where we’re setting up the desserts for the party.
Mel is already in the center of the room, kneeling and taping the cement floor where she wants the tables placed.
“Farrah! You’re here!” she gets up and gives me a big hug then turns to Bruce. “You can put the cake on that round table over here.” She points and he follows without argument.
Bruce transfers the cake easily, not balking at the weight of the five-tiered masterpiece, then he bounds back over like a happy puppy wanting to take orders on what to do next. Goodness, but this man will make some girl a fine husband one day. That eagerness to please will go a long way.
Mel tells him to set up a table anywhere he sees tape on the ground, and he gets to work quickly. I watch him for a second, noticing how his grey, athletic shorts ride up on his thighs every time he bends to pop the table legs out. And his arms… my mouth goes dry as they bulge and flex through his black tee with every motion.
Mel’s voice draws me back to reality. “Hey, Farrah, do we need to move the center table, or do you think it’s fine where it is?”
I blink a few times, forcing myself to look away from the very enthusiastic blond goalie. “I think it’s fine as is,” I answer, even though I don’t know what table she’s talking about. Mel is the detail person here anyway; I’m just the baker.
“Great!” she grabs the pen from behind her ear and checks something off the list she’s holding under her arm. “You look cute by the way, love the pants.”
“You’re just not used to me wearing anything but sweats,” I tease. “You look great too,” I tell her, glancing down at her cute black dress that has short sleeves and hits just above her knees. She’s wearing black flats with it, and I feel like a giant beside her. Mel is five-feet-two to my five-seven. She’s cute and petite and I could be jealous… but instead I’m focusing on the fact that I can reach things off the top shelf of the pantry, and she can’t.
We all have our strengths, you know?
“Thank you! Why don’t you park your car, then we’ll start decorating. Here’s the ticket for the parking garage.” She hands me a ticket with a barcode from the venue and I head that direction.
I don’t realize Bruce is following me until I’m buckling into my seat, and he slides into the passenger side. I jump. “What are you doing? You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“I didn’t let Mel walk through the parking garage alone, and I’m not about to let you do it either. I’m here for a reason, so let me help.” He’s all long limbs and heavy bulk, dwarfing the seat of my small car. It’s like watching Buddy the Elf trying to fit at an elf-sized desk.
I open my mouth to argue then snap it closed…because honestly, I hate parking garages.
“Fine,” I say, putting the car in drive and pulling inside the parking garage entrance. It’s dark and dreary, the way all parking garages are, and I’m grateful for Bruce being here.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
Did I just say I was grateful for him being here? I changed my mind. The man is nothing but trouble.
“Aren’t you going to compliment me, too?” he asks.
I whip my head over to stare at him. The audacity.
“I saw you staring at my legs earlier.” He winks at me before I can look away.
I gape at him, and I can feel my cheeks burning. A horn honks behind me and I realize I’ve come to a stop in the middle of the parking garage. I start driving again and park in the first spot I find.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and turn to open my door, but Bruce reaches out to stop me, gently placing his hand on my forearm. “Wait,” he says, and I turn to look at him. His face is serious. “It’s been a year and a half, Farrah. I get that you’re not into me, or whatever. But can’t we be friends? I’m tired of things being weird between us. It was just one kiss.”
I sigh in resignation. He’s right, we have to see each other a lot. We have the same friend group. My brother is his best friend and team captain. There’s no avoiding each other. But the word friend also leaves a heavy feeling on my shoulders. Friends implies we’ll never be anything more, and that’s what I wanted. Bruce clearly didn’t put much weight into that kiss if he says it was just one kiss , so I shouldn’t either, right?
Right.
“Okay,” I tell him with a nod. “Let’s be friends.” The word friends tastes sour on my lips.
He sticks his massive hand out in front of me for a friendly handshake and my mind goes back to the way it felt cradling my face, how the rough calluses against my smooth skin gave me goosebumps that night over a year ago. Just the memory gives me goosebumps all over again.
But I can be friends with someone I find attractive. Just friends. I’m not ready for anything more, and I’m not sure I ever will be.
I shake his hand quickly, not wanting to linger on the way his swallows mine up.
“Friends,” I say, ignoring the warm sensation of his hand in mine.
“Friends.” He smiles with that familiar twinkle in his blue eyes.
Once we’re back inside we make quick work of setting up for our lunch time event.
At a quarter to twelve the general and his family walk through the entrance. Mel and I watch their faces with bated breath to see if they like the décor. General Williams is serious, probably around fifty years old, with dark skin and cropped grey hair. He smiles in a stern, professional way and nods as he takes in the room. His wife is much more exuberant. She’s a cute woman with black hair and a curvy figure draped in a dark red dress that matches his dress blues nicely.
Mrs. William’s eyes find me and Mel, and she beams. “Oh, girls you outdid yourselves!” She rushes toward us and hugs us both. She smells sweet and comforting and reminds me of my mom. It hits me how much I miss her, that’s the worst part of not living in Ohio anymore.
“I’m so happy you like it!” Mel tells her. “Just wait until you taste the desserts.”
“They look delicious,” General Williams tells me. “Thank you both.”
Two younger women follow closely behind the general and his wife. They both appear to be in their mid-twenties with flawless dark skin. One has box braids and the other has a sleek, black bob. I notice their attention isn’t on the decor or the cakes…instead, they’re both focused on a certain handsome hockey goalie who’s helping the D.J. put the final touches on the lights and sound equipment.
Bruce’s gaze flits over to the newcomers and when he notices their attention he smiles before going back to what he was doing before.
The girls titter and whisper to each other. This shouldn’t bother me. Not at all.
But the evil monster called jealousy tries to make her way into my mind, anyway. The jealousy monster tries to convince me that because I kissed Bruce, he’s mine.
But he’s not. In fact, we’re just friends. Great friends. We shook on it.
The D.J. starts up the music and this is when Bruce is supposed to leave. But the Williams girls wave him over. He lumbers toward them, a smirk on his face, looking out of place in his athletic clothing. The girls immediately start up a conversation, but I can’t hear what they’re saying. However, Bruce appears to be enjoying himself. He’s charismatic and engaging, just like he was the night I met him. He’s magnetic. I can’t blame the girls for wanting to bask in his charm. And I can’t blame him for enjoying their company. They’re nice, gorgeous, and young.
I feel a hand on my arm and turn to see Mel looking at me with a strange expression. It almost looks like pity. “Hey, Farrah. We need to get the serving line ready.”
“Oh, sure,” I tell her, thankful my only job in our company is baking. She’s the eyes and ears and I’m glad I don’t have to pay attention to all the nitty gritty details. Although if I did, it would probably keep me too busy for my eyes to find Bruce every ten seconds.
An hour later the guests have all arrived, been served lunch by the catering company, and are now in line for dessert. General Williams takes some photos with his patriotic retirement cake and then we cut into the masterpiece.
And has Bruce left yet? No. The older of the two Williams girls invited him to stay, despite him being severely underdressed.
He’s even sitting at the family table with General Williams. Every time I glance over, he’s leaning in to say something and the daughter is touching him flirtatiously.
Mel keeps giving me strange looks and asking if I’m okay, which is weird. Of course I’m okay. Everyone loves my cakes.
I serve a slice of cake to a party guest, smiling and nodding appropriately, and when I look back at the William’s table, the girls are gone, and Bruce is striding toward us.
The dessert line has come to an end, so he comes behind the table to stand with Mel and me and grimaces as he stares at the women’s restroom across the room. “I’m so sorry guys, I keep trying to get away.”
Mel hums. “Sure you are.”
“I’m serious!” He whisper-yells. “I’m way underdressed.”
I stare at him, amused at his admission. I’ve noticed his game day suits are always outlandishly flashy and unique. It probably does bother him to be underdressed when he’s arguably the best dressed guy on the D.C. Eagles team any other occasion. That’s something we have in common. I used to be really into fashion and dressing up, but I’ve gotten out of the habit since nannying. I also didn’t feel like dressing up after the divorce, but I think I’d like to start fixing myself up again.
“Well, this is your chance to escape from the beautiful women.” Mel winks.
He eyes me, then the cake. “I know. But I wondered if I could get a piece of cake first.”
“Are you serious?” I ask.
He nods. “I came to help, but also hoped to try Farrah’s baked goods. Not so I could find a date.”
The relief I feel in my chest is foolish. If he’s not going home with one of these girls, it’ll be some girl, eventually. Someone younger than me, with less baggage than me, and with better ovaries than me.
I slap a piece of cake onto a plate and thrust it toward him. “Here you go. Thanks for helping out today. Now you’re free to go.”
“See you, Bruce!” Mel says with a sassy little wave then turns to me. “Hey, speaking of dates. My brother Harrison is coming into town next weekend. He’s successful, decent looking, and a great guy. I wasn’t sure if you were interested in dating yet though.”
Bruce gapes at her instead of leaving.
Mel pops one fist on her hip. “Is there a problem, Bruce? I thought you were heading out?”
He blinks. “Yeah, I was. Sorry. See you guys.” He doesn’t smile or tease as he turns and walks away. There’s something pouty about his demeanor.
General Williams gets up on the small, raised stage to give a short speech, and Mel and I start to clean up the dessert table.
“So?” Mel asks quietly.
“So…what?”
She chuckles. “My brother.” Mel leans in closer. “Honestly, he lives in Philly and has no interest in relocating here to D.C. So, he might be the perfect practice date. See how dating feels, you know? Gauge if you’re ready.”
I consider the idea, biting my lip as I think. We live in different cities, so if the date went badly, I’d never have to see him again. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. A test date. You’re sure he’s not looking for anything serious? Just an enjoyable evening with good company?”
She smiles. “Oh yeah. Harrison would never move here. A casual date is his style.”
I nod. “Okay, set it up.”
“Perfect!” she whispers with a grin.
I don’t know anything about Harrison, but she’s right—this will be a good test run. And he’s not my brother’s teammate, so even better.
“Hey, Mel?”
“Yeah?”
I worry my bottom lip. “How old is Harrison?”
She looks up at the ceiling as she thinks. “He’s twenty-eight.”
I sigh heavily.
“Oh, stop! You’re only thirty-two. And you look twenty-five anyway with that gorgeous skin of yours.”
I roll my eyes.
“I’m serious! You’re a catch.” She playfully bumps her shoulder against mine. “I’ll text him your number.”
I nod once, my stomach flipping at the thought of going on a date. And not necessarily in a good way.