9. Brant
Brant
I walk up the stone steps, binder and laser measurer cuddled in my arm. The sun is hidden behind the blanket of gray clouds, but the sweet smell of petunias drifts from the planter boxes.
I knock on the fiberglass of the front door, stomach pitching when I peek to my right. Callie’s white Range Rover is occupying a portion of the driveway. It’s parked in front of the two-car garage, and I kick myself for being ill-prepared.
When she didn’t put my cell number to use, my heart felt a bit stomped on. She’s engaged, yes. But my gut knows if she wanted to make time for me, she would. If she had been the one to welcome a line of communication, the outcome would’ve been different.
Stress pumps into my chest, and the excitement of recent events filters out of me. There are too many unanswered questions between us.
My eyes meet Jesse’s when the door swings open, dropping to his predictable attire. “Hey, how’s it going?” I greet.
“Not bad,” he answers. “Ready to get this ball rolling.”
He steps aside to widen the entry point, and I land on the marble of the grand foyer. My free hand digs into my jeans pocket, my eyes carefully scanning the vacant living room in the near distance.
Jesse’s Oxfords knock along the polished tile. “How long do you think this will take?” he asks, closing the front door.
“It could be an hour or two,” I respond. “I’d like to measure the whole house if that’s okay.”
His brows cave when he turns to me, hands slipping in the pockets of his slacks. “Why would you measure the whole house? That seems like a waste of time.”
He squares his shoulders when he idles in front of me.
This motherfucker is squaring his shoulders.
Over measurements.
He smooths his posture out, reminding me he’s the top dog in this room. What he fails to realize is I could take him out with one blow to his groomed jaw.
Guys like him have never taken a punch to the face. Nor do they understand how to properly throw one. His masculinity oozes from his money.
He’s a pussy.
“It’s good to have measurements of the entire house so we can keep that information on record. Specifically, for permits,” I explain.
“You probably should’ve mentioned that, no? I planned to head out and speak with a potential buyer for a property.”
I pluck my hand from my pocket and extend a flipped palm between us.
“It’s standard practice, but I apologize for not being clearer,” I say.
“We had a couple hours blocked out, but I can get the task done in an hour if you really need me to. I still think it’s best to consider a short debrief afterward. As long as you’re alright with that.”
“Please do. I’m meeting an important buyer and can’t miss this sale,” he states. “Luckily, Callie is home if I have to jet right after our conversation.”
Yeah…luckily.
“She’s not working?” I ask cooly.
My gaze drags to the sweeping staircase when a lump lodges in my throat. Then I peek at the living room again.
Nothing.
“It’s spring break for schools. Look, I really need you to get started, so please save the
small talk for later,” he sighs, turning to lead the way. “Think you can do that?”
“You got it,” I clip back.
We greet the wood floor of the living room before he’s facing me again. His dark eyes look over my shoulder to point in the distance, and my best guess is he’s referencing his office by the staircase. “I assume I can check some things off my to-do list while you’re measuring rooms?”
“Of course.”
Jesse’s arm extends to his left as he tilts his head that way. “We’re not using the dining table yet, so you can station your things there. Do you need anything else from me?”
Not a damn thing.
My head follows his gesture, a reluctant grin sewn across my lips. “I’m ready to make this easy for you.”
“Good.”
Jesse nods before walking around me. I watch him re-enter the foyer, only for my attention to land on the tall windows of the living area.
I’m staring blankly for a moment. Eyeing the half-acre of rich grass extending from the rear of the house. My pulse hastens in anticipation, but I finally enter the dining room.
I place my binder and measurer on the mahogany table. My eyes snoop around as I peel my bomber jacket off, my head shifting side to side.
For any signs of her.
I flick my eyes up to the oversized brass pendant. And…that’s it.
I’m resorted to beginning my job.
My stomach sinks while I drape my coat over the back of a chair. I scoop my supplies in my palm, journeying to the kitchen right after. I lay my binder on the marble countertop of the central island of the open room, and then I’m walking over to one end of a wall of cabinets.
The mahogany wood frames either side of the six-burner range. I position my measurer on the metallic-accented backsplash, aligning the tool appropriately. The laser beam stretches to the other end of the wall, registering the distance with ease.
I lock the number on the digital screen before returning to the island. My fingers flip my leather binder open, plucking the pen from the spine to record the dimension.
“Hi.”
My head perks up just as the elegant light fixtures spread a warm glow.
Callie’s standing at the entry point of the kitchen, her fingers resting on the rocker switch. The corner of my mouth raises just as hers does, and then I’m plunging down a well of fascination.
I skate my eyes along the snug blouse above her fitted jeans. The floral print pops along the silk material, and it’s a pity I can’t tell her how insanely beautiful she looks.
“Hi,” I finally say.
Callie strolls in on an angle. Her head is turned to peer out the tall window above the sink on the opposite wall.
I watch her palm land on the marble of the island, and she faces me from the other end. Her green eyes and berry lips glitter under the cozy radiance so effortlessly. “You should have proper lighting, right? It’s not too sunny out today.”
My pulse jolts into overdrive. “Thanks.”
When she stretches a smile, my eyes linger on her earlobes behind her lax curls. Pear-shaped diamonds decorate them. Sparkling in sheer mockery.
My gut tenses, my palms pressing into the countertop so I don’t crumble under the ridicule.
“Did Jesse offer you something to drink?” Callie points to the refrigerator to my right.
I shake my head. “No, but I’m good. Thank you.”
She begins to walk around the island as she continues.
“It wouldn’t be polite for me to make you work on an empty stomach.
I have some finger sandwiches I made the other day.
” Her hand curls around the stainless-steel rod of the fridge door, and then she’s rummaging inside.
“Cucumber, or pesto and tomato. Take your pick.”
“I’m fine, Callie. Real—”
“You’re wastin’ your time,” she sighs. She appears from behind the open door, gently swinging it shut before traveling to me. “I know you’re thinkin’ these sound really bland, but I added a little something extra to each.”
Her palms cradle a platter of triangular sandwiches between us. Her chin is sloped up, and she meets my eyes through her curled lashes.
It’s a friendly challenge.
“What did you add?” I ask.
Callie wags her head, lifting a shoulder as she smirks. “I guess you’re just gonna have to find out.”
The porcelain plate nudges closer to me, and her brows raise in expectation. An even bigger smile decorates her face.
My stomach soars when her jasmine scent snuggles me. Caught in the allure, I instantly pluck a snack from the dish. Then I’m biting half the sandwich off.
Way too eagerly.
The crunch of the cucumber melts with the airy texture of the white bread. But there’s this tangy flavor that supplements the taste.
Besides the fact that it’s ten times better than I assumed, Callie’s hands pieced it together. Knowing this, my skin flushes with heat.
I mumble through the last couple munches. “Sour cream?”
Her button nose crinkles. “Sour cream and cucumbers? No.”
My chest bounces. I maneuver my tongue over the inside of my cheeks, my eyes dancing over her face. “What was it?”
She narrows her gaze, lifting two fingers to pinch the air. “Just a light layer of vegetable cream cheese.”
“Good call,” I offer, my playfulness eroding.
She inhales, throat rolling before she clears it. “I know I shouldn’t keep you, so do you want to take a couple more? For the journey around the house?”
I’m not hungry at all. Nor do I give a shit about working on a light stomach. But before I know it, my hand is swiping a couple more sandwiches.
Just to keep a sliver of her inside me and ration it.
It’s so fucking pathetic.
Callie grins as she re-adjusts the plastic wrap over the plate. “The pesto and tomato sandwich has a balsamic glaze.”
She makes the comment, turning to store the large dish in the fridge. I’m already biting into the sandwich in question before she finishes her mission.
The stainless-steel door snaps shut, and her lips tuck as she walks up to me. She’s holding a plastic bottle of water when she adds, “Can’t just feed you without giving you something to drink.” Her voice rattles slightly on an exhale, and the heat on my skin strengthens.
I reach for the bottle in her hand. “If I had to choose, I’d say the tomato and pesto one is a winner.”
The pads of my fingers brush her princess-cut diamond. It’s accidental, but she immediately pulls away to tuck a few strands of hair behind her ear. “Yeah?”
I nod, gulping the remnants as I lift my water. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.” I watch as she pokes her head around, a wariness consuming her state of mind. “Okay, I’ve rambled way too long.” She sighs, strolling away to make her exit. “Just let me know if I can get you anything else, okay?”
Her gaze briefly meets mine, and all I offer is a curt nod.
Then she disappears from the kitchen.