Chapter Forty
Brandee
T he fish is delicious. The company is fantastic.
As I look around at this motley group of friends, both new and old, I think back to the day we buried my mother.
How small I felt and how big and scary the world around me seemed.
It was just me and my father—what was left of him.
The months and years that followed were hard, but when Isley Paysour found me and took me under her wing, I realized that family wasn’t always the people you’d been born into, but the people who found you and claimed you along the way.
It’s human nature to isolate ourselves when we are broken, but if we open ourselves to love, it will find us—on a mountainside or on a tiny island. So, why am I so scared to let another kind of love in?
I don’t need a man. I know how to work, initiate, execute, and survive all on my own.
I can carry any weight, and I have. Sometimes, I even carry the weight of the people I care about.
However, it would be nice to have someone who could take the reins now and then so I don’t always have to be the one to take the lead and plan every detail.
I want someone who can handle a crisis, allowing me to fall apart if I need to.
I want to feel safe and cared for enough to let my guard down and just exist. I want someone who pays as close attention as I do—who notices my likes and dislikes without needing me to instruct him on how to love me.
Someone who understands and takes action to show that he sees me, that he’s invested in our relationship, and that we’re in it together.
I want someone who will be my safe space, where I’m allowed to break down, rant, and cry. Be a refuge I run to when life is cruel or overwhelming, where I can find peace and assurance. I will be his.
It’s not about who pays for what, but who pays attention. All I’m looking for is a genuine effort. Love is action, and action is love.
No, I don’t need a man, but if he’s the right kind of man, I damn sure want him.
I refuse to settle for any other kind.
Brewster Cartwright III is that kind of man. I know it in my bones. He’s the one. I knew it from the moment I met him. When I thought he was just a bartender with torn jeans and busted kicks.
“Wow, you must have some serious internal dialogue going on in that head of yours,” Ansley says as she sits beside me.
“Yeah, just trying to wrap my head around some things,” I admit. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, ask away.”
“How hard is it, being away from Garrett so much?”
She smiles knowingly. “It’s not always easy.
The key is constant communication. Sometimes, it’s an early morning conversation while I’m tucked in bed and he’s just coming offstage, full of energy.
Other times, it’s a video call where I model the new lingerie he sent me after seeing it in a boutique while on tour in Europe.
Occasionally, it’s just a text in the middle of the day that says, I miss you .
Just knowing that no matter where he is or what he’s doing, I’m on his mind.
Our family is on his mind. And he’s always on my mind too.
As long as I know he’s coming home to me—to us—and I trust him, it’s all worth it.
I have a big, beautiful life at home—the café, the baby, my parents, and all of you. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“Yeah,” I say as my eyes find Brew.
He’s in the pool, playing a game of water volleyball with the boys.
“And being able to fly out to some exotic new place for a weekend getaway with your lover is a huge bonus,” she adds.
“Oh, I bet it is.”
“Good night. See you guys in the morning,” I call as we enter the elevator.
“That was a fun day,” I say as I rest against Brew’s side.
“It was. I can’t remember the last time I spent a day on the boat with the guys,” he says as he wraps his arms around me. “And there was just something about knowing you and the girls were here, at my house, waiting for us.”
“Yeah,” I reply, burying my nose in his neck.
“I liked it. I like you in my space,” he says into my hair.
I tilt my head back and look up at him. “I like being here.”
The doors open, and he walks us into the bedroom. Turning me around, he gestures to the windows that overlook the ocean.
“Look, a shooting star,” he says as he points to the night sky. “Make a wish.”
I close my eyes and do just that. I wish for courage. Courage to open my heart and take a chance.
Brew swoops down and lifts me into his arms.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he carries me into the bathroom.
When he opens the door, Felix and Snowflake bolt from the room, and he sets me on the vanity before he turns on the shower. Steam fills the room as he takes his time undressing us both.
“There’s a lot I want to say—need to say. Out loud, not just whispered confessions in the middle of the night,” he says as he tugs me onto my feet and leads me into the warm spray. “But first, I’m going to show you.”
And he does. He takes his time, washing my hair and body, lovingly kissing every inch of my skin. His touch is gentle and reverent. Showing me that I’m precious.
The words are important, but the action is what proves their value.