Chapter 21
ANNALISE
Bo: Good morning. Pineapple on pizza . . . yes or no?
Me: On. Always on.
Bo: Good. Same here.
Bo: What are three things you would want with you on a deserted island?
Me: Why am I going to a deserted island?
Bo: Your plane went down.
Me: Oh, so this is an in-a-perfect-world scenario?
Bo: Yes. Pretend you had time to pull your suitcase down and grab three things before nearly dying in the crash.
Me: Alright. Since my options would be fairly limited, I’d say mouthwash, a second pair of underwear, and a knife I’d steal from wherever the flight attendants store the knives.
Bo: What planes have you been on before where the attendants carry knives?
Me: You’re telling me there aren’t steak knives hidden somewhere for the rich people in first class to eat their steak?
Bo: Have you ever flown first class?
Me: Obviously not.
Bo: I’ve never been served a steak.
Over the past week, Bo and I have gone back to normal. It seems that his couple of days without texting me must have just been a blip because he’s been consistent with his silly questions and terrible jokes since then.
The similarities between him and Brody have also become harder to ignore. After the day Brody showed up to help with my car, I’ve been curious. Possibly too much so, given the slim amount of proof I have that they may be one and the same.
I haven’t told him about my weak conclusions, and I don’t plan to yet. I’m not even entirely sure if I want to risk it.
If he truly was Bo, wouldn’t he have told me the day he swept in to save me like some rough and tough cowboy remixed Prince Charming?
If it wasn’t pure coincidence that Brody showed up right when I needed him and instead, he knew where I’d be and that I needed help because I had told him— told Bo —then clearly, he would have already pieced together that I’m Banana.
I’m interrupted from my thoughts by the loud crunching of snow beneath tires.
My head snaps up, and I stare out the glass porch door when Brody pulls his truck up behind my car and waves at me from inside.
While I may be used to him getting out of the warm truck to open all of my doors for me, I’ve started waiting at my front door so I can keep him from wasting his time coming up to get me.
We’ve fallen into an easy routine this past week. By the time he’s stepped onto the snow and rounded the bed of the truck, I’m halfway down the sidewalk. The dimpled grin he flashes me has become a comforting sight each morning, but the blush that beats at my cheeks afterward? Not so much.
Ducking my head, I step around his towering body that radiates far too much heat and hop into the truck.
He closes the door behind me, and I take the moment alone to beg my face to cool.
The messy farm truck has nearly become a second home for me in Cherry Peak.
It’s even started to smell like my perfume to the point I tried not wearing it for a couple of days to see if it helped.
It didn’t, and when I apologized, offering to buy some air fresheners, he waved me off, admitting that he liked the smell.
I’ve returned to using my perfume like normal.
“You should really let me walk to your door. It’s a polite thing for a man to do,” he says once he’s seated beside me.
“You don’t need to be more polite, Brody. You’ve already been my personal driver for the past two weeks.”
“There’s no such thing as too polite.”
I snort loudly, unashamed of how ugly of a sound it is. “I beg to differ.”
“Are you tryin’ to hint at somethin’?”
I glance at him, batting my eyes. “What could I possibly be hinting at?”
“I didn’t take you for the bad-boy type, but maybe you actually are into the whole motorcycle-and-arrogance persona,” he teases. “Am I too nice for you, Buttercup?”
“I wouldn’t exactly turn down a ride on a motorcycle, but the arrogance thing? I’ve been there, done that too many times. It’s hotter in movies and romance novels than it is in real life.”
Something in my voice must give away just how many times I’ve been with arrogant men because his next words lack their teasing edge.
“You’ve never told me why you felt like you needed to start over somewhere.”
I stare out the windshield, watching the houses turn into the buildings that mark downtown.
The once flaying pain that came with talking about Stewart has dulled exponentially.
It still hurts to think about what he did, but it’s more like a sore spot now that I’ve begun to heal.
The wound is closed, but the scar remains, so to speak.
“I was engaged to a man who was sleeping with another woman. I didn’t know until I caught them sleeping together on my birthday, and I never bothered to learn how long it had truly been going on.
Our lives were completely entangled up until then, and the only way I felt I could get free of him was to leave.
Maybe it was cowardly, but I’m glad I did. I love my new life here.”
I avoid looking at Brody, too scared of seeing disgust twisting his handsome features.
The judgment from Stewart’s family the one and only time his mother reached out after I left her son standing naked on his yacht was more than enough.
I don’t want the judgment from Brody. It would hurt me more than I want to admit to myself right now.
“Did you at least try and pawn off the ring?” he asks sternly.
The bluntness of the question surprises me even more than the question itself. My laugh comes right from my chest, and I let it flow, not daring to trap it.
My next words are more of a wheeze than anything. “You sound like my sister. But no, I left it on the bed after I destroyed a few of his favourite things.”
He nods approvingly. “He sounds like a fuckin’ tool. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. It all happened months ago now.”
The clarification comes naturally. Even just the idea of him thinking I might still have feelings for Stewart is bile inducing.
“Have you spoken to him since?”
Does he sound jealous ? My heart jolts. I’m not the woman who’s going to pretend she doesn’t like a jealous man. As far as I’m concerned, as long as it’s jealousy and not a cover for being controlling, I’m all for it. And jealousy on a man like Brody is all too appealing.
“Not since I moved back. I don’t know if I’m hurt that he didn’t care enough to try and win me back or if I’m relieved he let me go without much of a fight,” I admit.
“Not only did he not deserve you because of what he did, but a real man fights for his woman regardless of whether she’s going to hit you in the crotch with a baseball bat while you try to or not,” he says, firm and final.
The confidence he exudes has always had a strong effect on me. It’s as natural for him as breathing is. I’ve only been around one other man who carries himself with that sort of confidence before—my sister’s husband—and I most definitely did not have the same reaction to him. Ew .
There’s something so different when it comes to Brody.
Whether it has to do with the feelings I’m starting to grow for him or something as clean-cut as pure attraction, he makes my blood sing.
Hearing him speak of what a man should and shouldn’t do for his woman .
. . I squash my thighs together. If I let myself wonder about all of things he’d do for his woman, I’d leave a puddle on the truck seat.
“What’s it like to date as a celebrity?” I blurt out, watching him start at the sudden question.
He doesn’t answer instantly. Instead, he pulls the truck into his usual spot in front of the salon and puts it in park. When he looks at me again, it’s after fully twisting in his seat, facing me as much as he can. I suddenly wish there wasn’t a giant console between us.
“I haven’t dated anyone in years. Not since I got into music professionally.
So, I’m probably not the best person to ask about this, but from the limited experience I have, I can say that it’s complicated.
I think the way I treated you when we first met is a prime example of just how complicated it can be,” he explains, another hidden apology in the last sentence. An apology I don’t need.
“You’re constantly trying to see if someone is being genuine or not.”
He nods, trying to hide a wince. “Sometimes it can come back to bite me in the ass.”
“It didn’t bite you in the ass this time,” I muse, the corner of my lips tugging up.
Our gazes lock, holding for longer than normal.
The sparkle in his pretty blue eyes makes my stomach flutter.
How exactly am I supposed to keep from developing feelings for him when he treats me the way he does?
Even as just friends, he’s made me feel more important and cared for than I ever have before. God, he’s dangerous.
Brody Steele is a land mine hidden in plain sight. I never stood a damn chance in avoiding him or the damage he’s sure to do to my heart when he leaves.
Because he will leave. He’s told me Cherry Peak was a temporary stop. I knew that and still let myself open up to him and accept him into my life. Only time will tell if that decision was worth it or if I’ll end up wishing I never accepted the first ride home.
“No, it didn’t. And while I’m sorry that jackass hurt you, I’m glad you wound up here,” he says, and the genuine words are enough to snap me out of my thoughts.
My cheeks heat again, but I don’t duck my head this time. I let him see my blush and pray he doesn’t turn away from it. When his eyes drift over my face, so focused yet soft at the same time, I swallow, and they follow the movement.
My breathing changes beneath the intensity of his stare, turning to sharp, quick inhales and uneven exhales. A new sense of tension yanks at my chest, like a cord has been hooked to the both of us and is shrinking in size, tugging us closer and closer. I want to lean into that tug, but does he?
“Happy I wound up in Cherry Peak or right here?” I whisper.
His eyes turn from soft to sharp so quickly I stop breathing altogether. I wouldn’t mind if he cut me with that stare as long as he kissed the wounds afterward.
“Both,” he says, voice low and deep.
My eyebrow twitches, begging to lift and for me to say some teasing remark, but I can’t. Not when I want to crawl over the stupid centre console between us and plop myself into his lap. And certainly not when we’re interrupted by the shrill sound of my phone ringing.
The majority of the tension is gone after the second ring, but some lingers, as if a promise to return.
I find my phone in my jacket pocket and take a steadying breath before answering the call.
“Hello?” God, I sound like I’ve just run a half marathon.
“Anna! I know you’re already out front—please tell Brody good morning for me, by the way—but I’ve got some surprise family friends stopping into town today and have moved all of our clients around, so I don’t need any stylists on shift,” Wanda explains.
“Oh! Okay, I’m good for work tomorrow, though?”
“Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know sooner, but I didn’t know before a half hour ago.”
“Don’t apologize. I’ll never turn down a free day off.”
I sense Brody’s attention and flash him a small smile. He wasted his time bringing me today, but I won’t apologize for the time I got with him.
“You’re my favourite. Thank you, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow. Bye, Wanda.”
Tucking my phone away, I say, “Turns out Wanda doesn’t need me today. She’s got surprise family friends arriving.”
Interest flares in his eyes. “Really? Did she say who?”
“Your reaction is making me believe the rumours are true.”
A rough laugh. “Maybe they are, maybe they’re not. Want me to take you back home, then?”
“Obvious deflection, Brody, but I’ll let it go. Under one condition.”
The idea springs to life so quick I almost miss it.
“What’s what?”
My lips pull into a mischievous grin. “Take me to work with you.”