Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Blaise’s nerves were back. She ignored them as she got dressed, opting for something not quite as casual as the first time she’d gone to Brick’s for dinner. Tonight, she picked out a simple sundress in an emerald green leaf print.
It was Dolce & Gabbana and hugged her curves on top while the skirt flared out. Brick wouldn’t care who’d made it, but she hoped he’d at least appreciate that she’d dressed up to meet his son.
She took a last look in the mirror, gave herself a nod of approval, then collected her bowl of roasted vegetables and the pan of brownies she’d made.
As much as she would have liked to bring Beau, she wasn’t sure what Brick’s son would think of that.
Also, if the dinner didn’t go well, having to come home to let Beau out was a great excuse to leave early.
She said goodbye to Beau and headed through the backyard to Brick’s.
There were more lights on in his house than was typical, a sure sign that he had company. He’d usually be on his porch right now, staring off at the water, as inscrutable as ever.
She paused for a moment after closing the gate behind her. Should she go through the front door or just come in the back like she had before? Would his son think it was odd if she came in the back? Too familiar, somehow?
Exhaling, she shook her head. She was overthinking this. She was coming from the backyard. It would be silly to walk all the way around to the front.
She went through his porch and knocked on the sliding door.
A man who looked like a younger, wider version of Brick appeared and let her in. He had the same thousand-yard stare and gruff expression.
She smiled all the same. “You must be Holland.”
He nodded. “And you’re Blaise.”
“That’s right.” She kept both hands on the food containers, but could have tucked them against her side with one if he’d offered his hand to shake. He didn’t. “Smells good in here.” It did, too. The pork chops filled the house with a delicious aroma.
“Blaise.”
A little wash of relief went through her as Brick came into the kitchen from the living room. “Hi, Brick. How are you?”
“Good. See you’ve met my son.”
“Yes.” She kept her smile in place. “Thanks again for the invitation.” She held up the food containers. “I’ll just set these on the table.” She did, realizing it was already set except for plates, which were stacked on the counter by a hot pad. “Need help with anything?”
“Nope.” Brick shook his head. “No Beau?”
“Was I supposed to bring him?”
“Who’s Beau?” Holland asked, looking oddly suspicious.
“My dog,” Blaise answered. “He loves your dad.”
Holland’s eyes narrowed but he said nothing else. He really was his father’s son.
“You could have brought him,” Brick said.
“Next time,” Blaise said, although she hoped next time was just the two of them. So far, Holland hadn’t exactly made her feel welcome. She reminded herself that she was here to prove that Brick had made at least one friend in the community.
Maybe Holland didn’t like that his father’s new friend was female.
Brick put on oven mitts and opened the oven. He took out a broiler pan with six fat, orange-glazed pork chops and set it on the hot pad. “We’re ready.”
“Looks good.” It had to be her nerves, but Blaise’s appetite had virtually disappeared. She’d make herself eat. She didn’t want it to seem like she didn’t like the food. It smelled great. But Holland was watching her like she was a criminal.
What did he think she was going to do?
Brick put a pork chop on each plate, carrying the first two over to the table, then returning with his own. Water glasses had been filled with ice and water. Blaise waited for Holland to move toward a chair, then chose the one to his left.
No matter where she sat, she’d have him on one side of her and Brick on the other. Maybe she should have brought Beau so she wouldn’t feel so outnumbered.
Beside her pan of brownies and bowl of roasted vegetables, there was a butter dish, and a basket of bread, covered with a kitchen towel.
She took the foil off the vegetables and set it aside, glad she’d tucked a serving spoon in the bowl.
She helped herself, wondering if either of the men would eat any.
Brick went straight for the bread, taking a slice, then offering the basket to her.
The bread was warm and smelled good. She selected a small piece, then passed the basket to Holland. He took a slice and set the basket down. Brick had the butter and handed that to her next.
She sliced off a pat and passed the dish along to Holland as well. She was pleased to see Brick took a spoonful of vegetables.
With his knife in hand, Holland slathered butter on his bread and finally broke the silence. “My dad said you were a famous model.”
“I was a model,” she confirmed, not loving his skeptical tone. “And somewhat well-known in the ’80s and ’90s.”
He snorted. “Somewhat well-known? Dad, you said she was famous.”
Brick shifted his gaze to his son. “She was.” He nodded at Blaise. “Tell him.”
There was one thing that usually worked with men like Holland, one particular media outlet that would give her some prestige in his eyes—or at least add weight to her claims. She rarely mentioned it otherwise but now seemed like the time.
“I was on the cover of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition twice.”
Holland’s brows lifted and he seemed to be staring at her with new eyes.
“My hair was red then.”
His lips parted. “Gold sequin bikini.”
She nodded and went back to eating, knowing very well the image he was seeing in his head. She’d signed so many of those covers, all for men who saw her as nothing more than an object. It had done wonders for her career, but it had also changed her life in a way she hadn’t anticipated.
“You really were famous.”
Brick grunted. “Told you.”
She pierced a roasted chunk of zucchini, trying to think of a question she could ask that would take the conversation in a new direction. Away from her.
Holland let out a soft laugh. “You must be loaded. What are you doing living in a place like this?”
“This is a very nice community. There are a lot of people with money here.” She glanced at Holland.
“I’m not one of them.” She hated to throw Brick under the proverbial bus, but she was done with this topic.
It was time to move on. “Did your dad tell you he entered the baking competition with your mom’s coconut cake? ”
Brick grunted again, this time not the happiest sound.
Holland looked at his father. “You entered a baking competition?”
Brick slanted his eyes at Blaise, and it seemed to her like he knew exactly what she’d done. He sighed, a big chunk of pork chop on the end of his fork. “Yup.” Then he put the chunk in his mouth.
Holland shook his head. “That doesn’t seem like you.”
“Why not?” Blaise asked, knowing she might be delving into dangerous territory. “Your dad is a great baker and that cake is phenomenal.”
Holland’s forehead furrowed. “How do you know?”
“I’ve had it. He taught me to make it.” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she questioned whether or not she should have said them.
“He taught you?” Holland seemed to love repeating what had just been said.
“Yup,” Brick answered for her. “Problem with that?”
Holland looked slightly steamed. “That’s Mom’s recipe.”
“Mm-hmm.” Brick sipped his water. “And it shouldn’t die with her.”
“It’s the best coconut cake I’ve ever had.” Blaise tried to lighten things up. “Your dad told me your mom was a fantastic baker.”
Holland nodded. “She was. She was great at everything.”
Blaise could see the wounded little boy in him, still not over his mother’s death, still protective of her memory. “Your dad told me that, too. I wish I could have met her. She sounds like someone I would have been friends with.”
Holland said nothing. He was watching his father, who was polishing off his pork chop like his commanding officer had told him to. Holland went back to eating and neither of them spoke. Just ate.
The silence weighed on Blaise. This was what she’d anticipated happening. What she’d dreaded. She’d come up with a list of questions to ask, but now she wasn’t so sure about doing that. Holland didn’t seem to like her very much and Brick was his usual quiet self.
If she asked Holland about himself, would he think she was prying? She really couldn’t read him. But this silence was incredibly awkward.
She gave up, and gave in. “What do you do, Holland?”
“I’m a detective with Major Crimes, Tampa PD.”
Blaise smoothed her napkin over her lap, trying not to stare at the man sitting across from her. Man was too mild a word. Holland looked like he’d been carved out of the same material as his father—broad shoulders, square jaw, that same flinty steadiness in his gray-blue eyes.
Brick’s eyes, only younger and sharper.
“Detective,” she said finally, forcing brightness into her tone. “That must be…stressful work at times.”
He cut his pork chop with precision. “Some days.”
That was all. No elaboration. So much like his father.
Brick reached for his glass of water, a glint of amusement in his gaze. “She’s tryin’ to be polite, son. You can give her more than two words.”
Blaise almost laughed. That sounded like the same thing she’d said to him last week.
Holland’s mouth slanted into something not quite a smile, more like a twitch of tolerance. “It’s not all car chases and shootouts. Mostly paperwork and people lying to my face.” He brought his gaze up to meet hers. “You’d be surprised how easy that is to spot after a few years.”
“Oh?” She speared a piece of roasted pepper, feeling that remark land squarely between them. “And what do you think you can tell about me?”
Brick let out a low chuckle. “Careful. He’s been trained to read people like a book.”
Holland didn’t take the bait right away.
He studied her, head tilted slightly. “You pay attention to small details. That dress is expensive, but the shoes aren’t, so what you said about money tracks.
You had it. You don’t now, but that hasn’t stopped you from caring about appearances, but not enough to be fake about it.
You were happily married but he passed.”
Blaise blinked, startled. “How do you know that?”
“That diamond band. You wouldn’t still wear it if you hadn’t loved him and didn’t miss him now.”
She felt exposed, but not in a bad way. Everything he’d said was true.
“Impressive,” Brick said, pride sneaking into his voice.
“And maybe a little creepy,” Blaise corrected, though she couldn’t stop her laugh. “Is this a regular parlor trick or did I just get lucky?”
Holland’s fork paused midair. Then, to her surprise, he smiled. It wasn’t big, but it softened him. “Just watching out for my old man. You’d be amazed what people try to get away with when they think someone’s lonely.”
Brick’s brow furrowed. “Holland.”
“It’s fine,” Blaise said quickly. “If I were in your shoes, I might be suspicious, too. But I’m not after your father’s money, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Didn’t say that,” Holland replied evenly. “But I’ve seen enough. Motives come in all shapes and sizes.”
“Good thing mine’s brownies, then,” she said, pointing her fork at the plate of dessert in the center of the table. “Carbs and friendship. That’s about as dangerous as I get.”
That earned her another twitch of a smile, this time almost genuine.
Brick grinned, shaking his head. “You see why I like her, son?”
Holland leaned back in his chair, studying her again—but less like a suspect, more like a puzzle he hadn’t quite solved. “Yeah,” he said finally, the word slow and grudging. “I get it.”
Blaise thought maybe she’d passed some invisible test. She lifted her glass and met his gaze. “Glad to hear it, Detective.”
He tipped his glass of water in return. “We’ll see.”
Brick groaned good-naturedly. “Dinner with two stubborn people—no wonder I’ve got indigestion.”
Blaise laughed, and for the first time since she’d arrived, she didn’t immediately want to go home.