Chapter 16
ANNALISE
“You’ve been holding out on us,” Bryce mutters, leaning her head on my shoulder.
My friends have been in a state of disbelief since they arrived with takeout in their hands and spied my new coat on the rack. Poppy nearly dropped the bag of burgers and fries all over the carpet while Bryce grabbed my shoulders and shook me twice, asking if I’m truly myself and not a clone.
“You guys better sit down for this one,” I told them before spilling all about Brody showing up to save me like a total hero. We’ve been cuddled on the couch ever since.
Poppy pops a fry into her mouth, her jaw moving against my shoulder as she chews. Our legs are all extended, feet crossed on the soft ottoman. I’m the middle of our sandwich, trapped between the two of them.
“This is the furthest thing from what I expected from the two of you,” Poppy says.
“And just what did you expect?” I ask.
She hums. “I was picturing something out of one of my favourite romance novels. An enemies-to-lovers storyline that had you at each other’s throats until you couldn’t deny your feelings any longer and fucked like crazed animals.”
I choke on a laugh, thankful there wasn’t a mouthful of pop in my mouth. “Your imagination is fascinating.”
“You should have heard her in our teen years. She would have lived in the pages of a book if it weren’t for me forcing her out into the real world,” Bryce says.
Poppy waves her off. “We’re not talking about me right now. We’re talking about Brody and Anna.”
“There’s no Brody and Anna. We’re hardly even friends yet.”
Bryce tries to hide a laugh behind her fist but fails miserably. I shrug her off my shoulder and glare. “Don’t give me that look, Anna. You think Brody Steele would give you his jacket if he didn’t like you? Don’t tell me Stewart ruined every romantic part of you.”
“Brody hardly speaks to the women around town. Other than what the tabloids claim they know, I don’t think he’s dated since college,” Poppy adds.
I stand firm. “Nothing good would come from catching feelings for this guy. Not only have we just barely buried the hatchet, but he’s leaving in a month. His stay here is temporary.”
“Temporary, my ass,” Poppy mumbles, and I scowl at her.
“Don’t start.”
She swings her hands before dropping them dramatically in her lap with a heavy sigh. “You never know unless you try. And ignoring the obvious isn’t trying.”
“You could still sleep with him,” Bryce says nonchalantly.
Until I met Bryce, I’d never known someone so at ease with sex and their sexuality in general. It’s a refreshing mindset to see.
I’ve never been opposed to casual sex, but I haven’t done it often.
I’m not equipped to handle that lack of emotional connection with someone.
I may not be a woman who’s spent her whole life dreaming of a fairy-tale love story, but I still want a real partner.
Marriage is off the table for me, but everything else is still something I’m interested in.
Who wouldn’t want someone to share their life with? Someone to love and to be loved by?
Even with everything Stewart did and broke within me, those wants remain untouched. I don’t want to remain single for my entire life. He didn’t break me or my dreams. Just my heart. The one I’m slowly but surely stitching back together.
“Casual sex with Brody Steele wouldn’t stay casual.
Not for me.” Our differences wouldn’t matter.
Once we reached that level of intimacy, I’d become completely wrapped up in him.
Everything would mean that much more. “And let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
He hasn’t given me any hint that he’s considered me in that way, and he probably won’t. ”
This talk is only going to make me look for any sign of interest, and I’ll end up more disappointed than anything else when I never catch it.
“I don’t blame you there,” Poppy says on an exhale. “Just keep us in the loop on how things go the next few days. He’s picking you up tomorrow morning, right?”
“Yes.”
“You should bring him coffee or something,” Bryce suggests, and when I catch the slight curve of her lips, I roll my eyes.
“I don’t even know how he likes it.”
“A guy like that? Black for sure,” Poppy states.
I pull my hair behind my shoulders and lean back, staring at the ceiling. Giving him coffee in exchange for the rides to and from work seems like a safe thing to do. It’s the first solid suggestion my friends have had today.
“If he’s a latte guy, you’re both dead,” I warn.
Poppy snorts. “If Brody is a latte guy, then I’m a whiskey girl.”
“Okay, I get it. I’ll try the coffee sometime,” I relent.
Bryce reaches for the rest of her burger and then returns her head to my shoulder. “And you’ll text us as soon as you get to work tomorrow.”
“Whatever you want, Brycie.”
The pinch in my side from her sharp nails makes me howl a laugh, the sound of it acting as another stitch in my chest.
Bo: Good morning. What’s your favourite colour?
Me: Pink. The hot kind. Yours?
Bo: Blue. The tropical ocean kind.
The good-morning text was waiting for me when I woke up. There have been similar ones every morning for the past week, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t started to look forward to them.
It’s always a random question, something to help us get to know each other. So far, I know that he prefers salty over sweet, morning over night, fall over summer.
The friendship between us has grown so organically that it should probably be a bit scary, considering he’s still ultimately a stranger.
It’s safer for me to keep him in that box until we meet in person.
If we ever meet, that is. Everything has started falling into place in Cherry Peak, and I’ve grown content with my new life.
Any new changes and I might lose that feeling.
For now, he’ll continue to be a cozy spot in my life, tucked away in the safety of my texts until we take the next step.
A glance at the clock above the stove and I’m grabbing the jacket from its hook by the door and slipping my arms inside.
The soft material glides over the bare skin of my arms, and the same way I did last night, I ignore the scent clinging to it.
Cinnamon and something woodsy. God, getting such a strong scent of it makes my toes curl.
It’s ten times stronger than the few times I’ve smelled Brody.
Just the thought of his name in relation to my new jacket makes my chest ache. The act of generosity and care that came with the gift was almost too much. Almost is too much. He didn’t have to do that, but he did anyway.
It wasn’t until he told me it was mine that I realized how truly low my standards had become while being with Stewart.
Not only did he make me feel terrible about myself, but he also ruined my expectations of others.
While an incredibly thoughtful gift, it shouldn’t have hit me so hard that a man—a friend—wanted to make sure I was taken care of without expecting anything in return.
I mistook Stewart’s habits of gifting me things as sweet gestures, when really, it was his way of controlling me.
I can take care of myself, but I also deserve to be taken care of if I wish to be. Truly taken care of.
Three knocks hit my front door, and I squeak, snatching the to-go cup of coffee before running to the front window to find a big red truck parked out front. My knees lock as I notice the lack of exhaust puffing out into the cold.
Did he actually come to my door?
By the time I pull open the door, my mind glitches when Brody is indeed standing on my front porch.
With his hands in the pockets of a jacket similar in colour to the one he gave me, he looks me over with a slight, tired smile.
He takes up most of the doorway with his wide shoulders, but for once, I’m not intimidated by his size.
It’s almost . . . overwhelming, in a way that I refuse to dig into with him watching me like this.
“You didn’t have to come to my door,” I tell him, only half meaning it.
It was thoughtful of him to come up.
“That’s not the way I was raised, Buttercup.” The words roll off his tongue with a natural finesse, and not for the first time, I question if he picked up the slight twang in his voice from his time in Nashville.
I zip up my coat and wait for him to back up before stepping outside and locking up. “No more sweetheart?”
“Do you prefer that name?” We walk down the sidewalk, our strides in sync.
“I’ve never had so many to pick from before. Let me feel special for a moment,” I tease.
His chuckle is gruff. “My apologies. Feel away.”
“This is for you, by the way.” I extend the cup of coffee to him, eyes tracking his every reaction. He hides whatever he’s thinking well.
“Thanks,” he says, taking the cup and popping open the lid to smell it. “Coffee?”
I nod. “I wasn’t sure how you took it, so it’s just black.”
“Black’s good.”
Pride blooms in my chest as we reach the truck.
Just like he did the first time I rode in this red beast, Brody opens the door for me, nodding for me to hop in.
The snow in front of the door is deep and heavy, and my winter boots sink into it.
When I set one boot onto the running board and grip the handle to try and push myself up, the slickness beneath it has my body shooting forward, my legs whooshing out from under me.
“Ah!” I yelp, my arms flailing in an attempt to grab onto something. But the only thing I can grab onto has already failed me, and I brace myself for the incoming impact.
Hands grab onto my waist, their grip tight as I’m pulled backward toward a hard, sturdy body. Strong arms wrap around me, that woodsy cinnamon scent exploding everywhere, making my toes beg to curl in my boots. Breathing is a foreign concept.
“Careful, it’s wet,” Brody rumbles in my ear, and fuck it all to hell, I give in and let my toes curl.
“No shit,” I blurt out between sucking back gulps of air.
His arms flex around my waist, the steel coffee cup still sealed shut and pressed to my side. I swirl my tongue around in my mouth to try and cure the sudden dryness before pushing out of his embrace.
I keep my back to him while I grab the handle again and ask, “Can we forget that ever happened? I’ll never recover from the embarrassment.”
“You’ll never recover from what?”
His presence is a weight at my back as I try again to get in the truck. I know he has his arms spread behind me, most likely holding the body of the truck on either side of my body so if I fall, I’ll topple onto him instead of the snow. That thought fills me with too much warmth.
He’s protective of people. It must be a deep-rooted instinct for him to fall into the role of protector so naturally.
Never mind that it’s an incredibly attractive instinct as well.
“Exactly,” I reply.
Thankfully, I make it into the truck this time without another incident, and once I’m seated on the leather, I’m gifted with a flash of his broad smile before the door is shut and he’s out of sight.
My toes curl again.