2. Brant
Brant
“Fuck, Marry, Kill: breakfast, lunch, dinner. Go!”
Julia’s strawberry-blonde hair spills over her bare shoulders when she leans in. Her elbow parks on the wooden tabletop, manicured fingers fiddling with the nozzle of her beer.
Her pursed smirk kickstarts a light chuckle from me. Then I’m scooting forward, my forearms tangling on the table. I appreciate the way her amber eyes sparkle under the string of Edison lights.
“One hundred percent, I’m slaughtering lunch,” I start.
“Obviously,” she adds, rolling her eyes.
My chest vibrates through another laugh. “Why is that obvious?”
She lifts her beer bottle to her mouth. “Everyone kills lunch.”
“How many people have you asked this question to?” I ask, my brows knitting.
Her throat works through a sip, eyes directed toward the exposed beams of the ceiling of the brewery. “I don’t know. Five, maybe.”
I smile, lifting my backward snapback to scrub a hand under. “I’d have to fuck breakfast. Marry dinner.”
“Oh, a good pancake gets you going? Is that it?”
Julia’s slitted gaze lands on me when I palm my beer glass. “Throw some blueberries in there?” My stare pinches, and I nod my head suggestively. “Definitely.”
Her playful laugh rolls over the muffled conversations that encase us. It’s just as inviting as it was last week. I draw a sip of my drink, notes of hops landing on my tongue as she plants her chin in her palm.
“So, I know you’re an architect. I know you went to Yorkstone College,” she begins. “Where did you grow up?”
I gulp the sip before my hand lands on the center of my chest. My fingertips greet the tiny piece of metal beneath the fabric of my long-sleeve henley, and my lungs relax just enough.
“West Virginia.”
“Oh, that’s different.” Her head tilts, a slanted smile pasted on her rosy lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone from West Virginia. You’re a first,” she teases.
I will myself to rattle the tension loose. Propping an elbow on the table, I swipe a hand down my scruffy jaw. “We’re not aliens or anything,” I joke, fingers mindlessly stroking my stubble.
Julia’s head straightens as she drops her lower lip. “Now it makes sense,” she says, her eyes lighting up through her epiphany. “Why I hear a southern accent come out every once in a while.”
My gaze drops to her flowy top. The thick straps drape adorably over her freckled shoulders. It’s this blush pink that complements her creamy skin, and my stiff torso begins to thaw.
“I could always wean myself off it if that’s a dealbreaker.” I smirk, raising my eyes to hers.
“I think it’s adorable.” Her teeth ghost her bottom lip before she continues. “How was it growing up there?”
I blink for a couple beats. My mind is thrown when a pair of sage-green eyes flash before me, and I work through a tight gulp. Images of loblolly pine trees, sunflowers, and Christmas lights dance like a kaleidoscope between us.
Until Julia’s face blurs.
And I’m staring at her.
The girl who kidnapped my heart at eight years old. And never returned it after leaving in that Jeep ten years ago.
“It was pretty rough, to be honest,” I finally answer. My eyelids spasm again, the confession suffocating my chest with each uttered syllable. “My father died when I was eight, and my mom couldn’t support us very well. I grew up poor.”
“Wow.” Julia breathes the word out softly, wagging her head. “H-how … how were you able to be successful?”
I lean back in the chair, my palms landing on my jean-clad thighs. “I don’t know,” I sigh flippantly. “I guess someone was on my side.”
My throat cocks when her amber gaze lingers around the features of my face.
“Yeah, I guess so,” she echoes.
The crook of my mouth flinches. Until I’m budding a smile to snap us out of this trance. “Okay, now that I’ve brought down the mood astronomically, may I buy you another drink?”
I’m gesturing toward Julia’s vacant beer bottle, her frisky laugh settling the windstorm inside of me.
“Yes, definitely.” She leans in, her lips tipping up at the corners. “Not to mention, it’s a surefire way to convince me to offer you a pro bono yoga class. Because let’s face it, that’s really why you asked me on a second date. Right?”
Her brows are curved friskily, and my tongue pokes out to wet my lips. I grab my drink, but before I drag another sip, my answer falls more serious than her question. “I’d say there are other reasons.”
“Oh yeah?” she pushes. “Like what?”
“I enjoy your laugh,” I confess, my eyes locking on hers as I taste my beer.
Julia’s a triple threat—pretty, kind, funny. If we happen to sleep together, that’s the cherry on top. I wouldn’t even be surprised if I reach out to her after spending a night together.
My finger absently wags around my ear as I plant my drink on the table. “It’s nice to hear. Makes you forget that rough days actually exist, you know?”
Sometimes, life surprises you in miniscule ways. Unexpected ways. And throughout these past ten years, I always hang on to a glimmer of happiness whenever it finds me.
I used to be able to look for it and snatch it whenever I needed to. That’s the kind of luxury you never forget once you’ve had a taste of it.
The kind of luxury that’s so damn hard to replace.
So. Fucking. Hard.