11. Brant
Brant
Another half hour, and I’m sitting across from Jesse at the dining room table. My forearms are framing my open binder as I ask, “Are we still committed to the addition being built off the kitchen?”
“I’ll let you persuade me with your background knowledge. I think you’ve earned that.” He sinks into the chair, crossing a calf over his opposite thigh.
I inhale a tight breath, my gaze lifting to his gelled hair before diving back to his eyes. “Being that the extension will include an entertainment area on the first floor, you don’t want activities of the kitchen to clash with it,” I explain.
“Okay...”
“If you or Callie are cooking in the kitchen, you won’t have to be burdened with the noise of guests that are hanging out in the adjacent space.
And vice versa. The living or family room provides a more practical transition to an entertainment area.
I understand that aesthetically, the extension seems more appropriate from the kitchen. But practically, it falls short.”
“That makes sense,” he agrees, interlocking his fingers in his lap. “But I still want two floor plan options drawn up. I like to weigh all my choices in front of me if I have the luxury to do so.”
“I can do that,” I state.
“What’s next?”
“I’ll have designs drawn up for you in about a week.”
“No longer than a week,” Jesse instantly adds.
“I’ll get them to you before a week has passed,” I amend, closing my leather binder. “Once we decide on a design you like, I’ll communicate with interior designers and contractors.”
“Then I think we’re good to go for now.” We scoot our chairs to stand, his pompous voice continuing on. “Remember, no later than a week on those drawings.”
“I’m never one to disappoint a deadline,” I say, shrugging on my jacket. “I assure you.”
My arm pokes out to him, and then he’s shaking my hand. “Great. Have a good one.”
“You too,” I reply.
Just as I scoop my binder and measurer off the mahogany surface, Callie and Jesse cross paths at the living room threshold.
“Callie, show Brant out while I get ready.” As soon as she nods, his next request rolls off his tongue without shame. “Great. Is my shirt upstairs?”
Callie vaguely points to the ceiling. “Yes. I left it on the bed for you.”
“You’re a gem.” He palms her upper arm before kissing her cheek.
Not on the lips.
Just like before.
Her head follows him when he moves around her. “Good luck at your meeting,” she murmurs.
I wet my lips instead of spewing damaging remarks regarding her fiancé’s character.
Hell, what character?
When I tread toward her, she offers me a subdued smile. “What are your plans for the rest of the week? Since you’re off?” I ask while we walk through the foyer.
“I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “Catch up on some reading. Garden.”
I grin, staring ahead at the beveled glass of the entry. “You garden?”
My palm grabs the handle of the front door, and we both step outside. “Yes,” she says as we pad down the porch. “I’ve always wanted a big enough backyard to plant flowers. I mean, you remember, right?”
Now, who’s asking the stupid questions?
We’re trekking over the driveway when I respond to her. “Maybe I wasn’t clear with my first question, so I’ll rephrase it. I was wondering, between reading and gardening, when I could see you.”
There’s an incoherent mumble before her words sharpen. “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea, Brant.”
I wag my head, lips tucking as we stroll closer to my pickup. “Yeah, see, I didn’t ask if it was a good idea. I’m very well aware that it’s not.” Our legs idle when we reach the passenger door, and then I’m facing her. “I just don’t care all that much.”
Shock flashes over her eyes, my flippant tone causing her eyelashes to flutter.
She shakes her head, a few more jumbled sounds ejecting from her perfect lips. “W-well, I don’t know what you expect me to say to that.”
“You can just answer my question.”
Her slender neck works through a knot as she peeks around my truck. “I don’t know, alright?”
“Do you need my phone number again?” I fire back, unlatching the truck door handle. “I didn’t hear from you, so I considered maybe you lost it.” When I swing the door open, I toss my binder and measurer on the seat, knowing she’s squirming inside.
“Brant, stop it,” she mutters.
“No, Callie,” I challenge. Planting a palm on the top of my truck, I finally grant her my attention.
“I asked you a question, and you’re giving me some run-around, bullshit answer.
” I step aside to slap my door shut, her eyes scurrying up at me.
Then my voice lowers, face relaxing just as my tone does.
“But if you’re not going to give me what I want, then I guess I’ll just ask you a different question. ”
She remains still.
Mute.
Here goes nothing.
“What’s your favorite type of flower to plant?”
Her brows knit. My heart races against my chest, beating on me like a hammer as I await something from her. Anything from her.
And then her lips, even just for a split second, tilt up.
It was the last question she would’ve predicted me asking.
I want to know.
I need to know.
“I like to plant all different kinds,” she eventually whispers.
I nod, a soft smile gracing my face. It’s not the answer I originally craved from her, but I think it’s more satisfying.
No.
I know it’s much more satisfying.
“Out of all the reasons to spend time with you, seeing your garden is at the top of the list. Before anything else,” I clarify.
“Second would be to listen to all your stories. Third would be to find out how your taste in books has changed.” I gulp, my eyes tracing her awed expression until I continue.
“I’ve been waiting for ten years. I don’t think about you and immediately want a body on me.
You’re putting yourself in the same league as other women, failing to remember that I put you in another from day one. ”
Our gazes stitch together, crocheted in a past only we see.
Because we lived it.
Us.
Me and her.
Her and me.
“You understand?” I add.
This isn’t about cheating on your fiancé.
Her berry lips fold as she peers down between us. She bobs her head, her hands fiddling at her waist before her glossy eyes skim back up to mine.
They’re beautifully swollen.
Inflated with intense gratitude.
“Yeah,” she answers softly. “I understand.”