He gives me a look over his ever-present reading glasses, but to my surprise doesn’t say anything.
I drink the dregs of my coffee—no mushrooms, thank fuck—and set my cup in the sink.
“We should get going,” I announce, walking into the living room.
“We should?”
Bree looks up with amusement sparkling in her eyes. She knows damn well how taxing I find my parents. I love them, but they do try me.
“Yes. We have things to do.”
“What things?” my mother weighs in, and it’s all I can do not to roll my eyes heavenward.
Bree’s soft snicker drags me back to earth, though. She looks good. More relaxed as she smiles up at me. I’ve been holding back, kept things at light touches and no heavy topics, but I think maybe we’re ready to resume that talk.
“Just…things. Does it matter? You guys are heading over to Willa and Dimi’s shortly anyway.”
Luckily Ma is easily distracted with the prospect of the baby.
“That’s right, it’s almost that time. Max! Maybe you should put a clean shirt on?”
The disgruntled sounds my dad produces make it clear he’s not in favor of that, but he still gets up from his stool and shuffles down the hall to the spare bedroom where I dragged their bags.
“Why don’t you guys stay here?” Ma proceeds to ask Bree. “It would be so much more fun and I could help look after you when my boy needs to work.”
I can’t hold back the pained groan at the prospect and Bree glances at me pressing her lips tightly together.
“That’s a lovely offer, but you are going to have your hands full with that baby. Besides, I still sleep a lot and do that better in my own bed.”
“Of course, Brianna, dear,” Ma says, kissing her cheek before turning to me. “I’ll expect you both here for dinner tomorrow night. We’ll see if Dimi and Willa, plus baby, can make it too. A family dinner.”
Fucking shoot me now.
Instead, I nod and bend down to lift Bree off the couch. I’m sure I could support her to hop to the car, but I like this way better, and she hasn’t objected to being carried around these past couple of days.
Who knows? Maybe she likes this better too.
On the way to Bree’s, I stop at the grocery store and pick up a few things while she waits in the SUV, checking her emails on her phone. I loathe shopping, even for groceries, but it’s a necessary evil. In an effort to minimize time and energy wasted, I have the layout of the store memorized when I set out on my mission. I know exactly where and in what aisle to find what I need and strategize my plan of attack, so I can be in and out in ten minutes or less.
The one distraction I hadn’t counted on is the small flower stand next to the produce section. It’s the sunflowers. They remind me of Bree. Bright, happy, simple, pretty, and yet practical.
I stop my cart and grab a couple of bunches from the bucket. Be nice for her to look at while she’s cooped up inside.
I realize my mistake when I’m cashing out in the checkout lane. Megan is pushing her grocery cart toward the exit and spots me with my hands full of flowers. She stops and appears to wait while I grab my bags.
“Hey, stranger,” she drawls when I approach the doors.
“Megan.”
I nod at her and attempt to step around her with my hands full, but she swiftly moves her cart so we walk out the door side by side. Then she hooks my arm with a hand, pulling me to a stop.
“Hey, wait. I meant to ask you something.”
I’m uncomfortably aware of Bree sitting in the passenger seat of my Yukon parked twenty feet away, but I don’t want to be even more of an asshole to this woman. It’s been only a week since we had dinner at the Tap Room and I dropped her off at home, disappointed because I’d made it clear over burgers I really wasn’t interested in pursuing anything further. Despite the impression I might’ve given her when, like an idiot, called her on impulse.
Yet here I am, fucking stuck in the middle of the parking lot talking to her while Bree’s eyes burn holes in my back. I know it because Megan is peeking over my shoulder in the direction of my SUV.
It doesn’t surprise me when she steps a little too close and I wish I’d left those damn flowers in the store so I’d have at least one hand free.
“What?” I ask, a little too brusquely.
“There’s a Better Business Bureau awards dinner next week. It turns out I’ve been nominated for the Real Estate and Property Award this year.”
“Congratulations. That’s quite the accomplishment.”
I honestly have no idea—nor do I really care—what it entails to receive an award like that, but she seems happy with it.
“I know.” She beams a smile at me. “So I was hoping you’d be available for the dinner.”
The smile falls when I start shaking my head.
There was no ambiguity about what I told her last week. I made sure to leave no wiggle room, no chance for her to draw the wrong conclusions, or nurture hopes of any kind. But judging from the look on her face I was wrong.
Jesus.
I tried, but diplomacy didn’t work. Maybe the blunt truth will.
“I can’t.” I start backing up. “Consider me permanently spoken for.”
Her eyes immediately slide over my shoulder to where I know Bree is sitting. Her eyebrows lift in what I’m guessing is surprise.
Bree doesn’t share Megan’s flamboyant looks, hers are more subdued, understated, and yet infinitely more beautiful in my eyes. I imagine a woman like Megan may not see it that way.
“Good luck with the nomination,” I tell her, before turning my back and coming face-to-face with two familiar gray eyes.
I pull open the back door and toss the bags and the flowers on the seat.
“You’re so sweet. Thank you,” Megan says intentionally loud behind me while I have half my body stuck in the car. “And I enjoyed our time together last weekend.”
I hit my head on the doorframe as I try to whip it around, but she’s already walking toward her vehicle, leaving me to stare after her.
When I get behind the wheel, I glance over at Bree, who is very pointedly studying her phone until she slowly turns her head in my direction.
“That was…” I shake my head. “I don’t even know what that was,” I admit.
Bree raises an eyebrow.
“Maybe some of that baggage you mentioned we’d need to deal with?”
“Yeah,” I grumble, getting really pissed off my Saturday plans keep getting derailed by other people’s agendas. “That was Megan. She was my real estate agent, and we…” Fuck, why is this so goddamn difficult? “Would occasionally hook up. It’s been months but she’d been calling.”
I catch a look from her and I know what she’s asking without needing the words.
“Last week when I sent you to Denver, I didn’t feel good about it, but by the time I got to the office you were already gone. I was pissed, mostly at myself, and ended up calling her. We got a bite to eat, I told her there’d be no more calls, and that was the end of it.”
“She may be hard of hearing,” Bree comments dryly, and I almost smile.
“So it would appear.”
“She’s very pretty.”