44. Brant
Brant
It’s been a half hour since dinner was served. Instrumental versions of classic songs hum through the DJ speakers.
“I’m not expected to make a speech or anything, right?” I ask, pivoting to Jared.
His chest rumbles as he lifts his glass of water. “No. Unless you want to grab one of their microphones and have a go at it.”
My palm pats his shoulder, and I lean back in my chair. “I’m not going to lie, the podium gave me a mild heart attack.”
The up-lighting casts from the columns stationed around the ballroom. There’s a cluster of men and women in business suits around the marble dance floor, huddling between a podium and photo backdrop.
“Did you say your firm designs residential or commercial buildings?”
I perk my attention to Steve sitting across from me. He’s an engineer receiving an award tonight. “Both, actually.”
“Ah okay,” he replies with a curt nod. “I wasn’t sure if architecture firms specialize in one or the other.”
“Typically, different architects of the firm specialize in different areas.”
“How about you?” Steve inquires.
“Residential.”
“Hey, it’s not often someone knows an architect.” He beams with a smirk. “I’ll be sure to keep you in mind when my girlfriend and I look to buy a house.”
I shift forward in my seat, my hand digging into my pocket. “Listen, I’m all ears whenever you’re ready. Here. No pressure.”
Steve reaches over to pluck the business card from my fingers. “Thanks a lot. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem.” I’m already turning to Jared with a smug grin. “See, I don’t need to go to all those fancy networking events everyone else gloats about.”
“I dragged you here,” he counters, leaning into me. “You wouldn’t even be networking if it wasn’t for me.”
I tilt my head defeatedly. “Alright, that’s true. But you still found me worthy enough to nominate for an award.”
“You’re lucky Matt’s thirty,” Jared jokes.
I smile, connecting my back to the chair again. “You lie.”
Just as I settle into my seat, a woman steps behind the podium and grabs hold of the microphone. “Good evening, and welcome to the Thirty Under Thirty class of 2019.”
Applause erupts around the room, my palms joining in.
“I’m Heidi Mayfield, Chief Operating Officer of the Woodbury Chamber. I am thrilled to recognize many young professionals tonight across Long Island.”
Her words taper off through the speaker. I’d like to believe that all of my heart is invested in this moment, but the chair next to me is empty.
I steer my attention left, eyes landing on the closed double doors.
My stomach loops into a knot. The tension rises into my chest until my lungs buckle. I don’t want her to miss this.
Not because I want her to congratulate me.
Because I want to celebrate us. She’s the only reason I’m here right now.
My eyes peel off the entrance, skating across the white linen of the round tables that frame the dance floor. I pass Gabriella’s smile when she commits to a double-take under the dim hues of light. Thankfully, she’s flinging her attention in the next second.
Once again, I look at Heidi under the small spotlight.
The presentation of awards begins.
Callie Rae
The amplified voice from the ballroom filters into the lobby. I just finished checking in and figure it’s best to skip retrieving my name card.
My heels tap the black marble, and I curl my palm around the handle of one of the double doors. I swing it open, the echo of a woman’s voice humming from the speakers. She reads the name of a recipient, and I’m thankful for the men in navy business suits blocking my entrance.
The up-lighting provides even more of a disguise. There’s no need to cast any kind of attention on me, especially now that I’m late.
I swallow thickly as I merge left, tentatively strolling to the corner of the ballroom.
My heels pad along the brown carpet, the hem of my satin maxi dress slapping my ankles as I do.
I’m shifting my eyes every so often to the podium on the white marble.
Sinking my teeth deep into my lip as I weave through a couple round tables.
When I finally meet my destination, I pivot to observe the center of the room. There’re probably about one hundred guests here. As grateful as I am that I’m camouflaged in the background, my heart pumps in a frenzy as I puff out a quiet breath.
Claps and cheers drive my gaze to trace the room. My eyes linger around the tables directly in front of me, my adrenaline propelling into a fierce momentum.
“Brant Beckett.”
My head jolts just as my heart does. My eyes park on the middle of the ballroom, a few people in suits already stationed around the podium.
I cradle my palms together, resting them against my lower stomach. My gaze goes haywire over the entire room. I search for Brant’s walking form, releasing a soft breath when he appears under the gentle spotlight.
He’s emerging from the opposite corner, a humble grin painted along his stubbly jaw. His smile yanks on my own lips, lifting them in the same shape as my eyes roam over him.
His toned torso is wrapped in a white dress shirt. His corded forearms peek out when he shakes hands with the line of people. His legs are cloaked in black trousers, hugging his limbs flawlessly with his strong and slender build.
My eyes elevate to his short hair. Analyzing the way he’s applied product to the top haphazardly. The length is getting there.
God, he’s so handsome.
For as long as I’ve known Brant, he was never anything other than gorgeous. He never needed nicer clothes or shoes to be more attractive. He never needed to be chased by other girls for me to realize just how immaculate he was.
His looks never had to be enhanced or supplemented. Brant was always just beautiful.
But the best part? His inner and outer beauty tie for first place.
I was fortunate enough to fall for every single part of someone from the very beginning.
My eyes follow Brant’s steps, my mouth tipping higher with every inch he crosses. I’m cherishing this moment, fully here with him. And the elegant linens and clothes begin to blur around us.
Somewhere inside the man before me is the boy I grew up with. Fingerless gloves and a navy puffer coat—it’s what he’s dressed in from my angle.
The broken boy who dreamed just as big as me and refused to accept failure as an option. The boy who was chained to the same heartache as me, only to wear the same scars.
The boy who was set free by love.
It was love that did this. It was love that brought us here.
Brant strolls off, posing for a group photo in front of the backdrop that’s set up. My eyes lick his every motion, and I stare in wonder.
He’s charismatic, successful, and he doesn’t look a hair out of place. Because this is who Brant always was and will be. This was the beauty I always saw within. The only difference now is his wardrobe.
In the end, he kept his end of the deal.
In the end, we’re the destination.
We’re the dream we’ve been chasing our entire lives. Without us, this side doesn’t know peace.
And I think it’s about time we released a couple white doves into the sky.