But maybe not.
The conversation continues to flow, but Brantley stays subdued. Normally she’s outgoing, a feisty spark to any conversation. But tonight, after her tense moment with Arden, she’s…off.
Finally, I murmur, low enough for only her to hear. “You need a refill. Come with me to grab it?”
She’s been stirring her straw around an empty glass for the past few minutes. She looks surprised when she glances up at me, but she nods. “Yeah. Okay.”
I slide from the booth and hold out my hand to help pull her out, too. She places her small palm in mine, and heat shoots up the length of my arm.
I don’t know how long it’s been since a woman last affected me this way.
Too long. Or not long enough.
At the bar, she hops onto a stool and I stand beside her and order her another drink. For myself, I go with a beer this time. When we’re both sipping, I lean in so she can hear me.
“You want to talk about what happened back there? With you and Arden?”
Brantley’s olive complexion turns dusky rose as she blushes. “I don’t know.”
She glances down, swirling her straw again. Reaching out, I lift her chin with my hand. Her eyes meet mine. “I think you do.”
Brantley sighs. “Arden thinks I’m keeping something from her.”
Dropping my hand reluctantly, I pull back. “And are you?”
Brantley lifts one bare shoulder. “If I were, would it be so wrong? I’m an adult, and there might be some aspects of my life I’d like to keep private.”
Mulling that over, I glance back at the table. Arden glances quickly away. I smile, knowing she was watching us and wondering what we’re talking about.
“She’s your best friend. She loves you. And she’s bound to worry about you. You know that. She can’t help what she’s like.”
Brantley huffs. “I know that. I know that better than anyone. I’m the one who sat by the woman’s bed for nine months while she lay in a coma. I know worry! Trust me…this isn’t something she needs to worry about.”
My instincts perk, awaken. Something inside me triggers. “You in trouble, Brantley? Because if you are—”
She cuts me off, her voice hard and final. “I’m not. And if I was, I’d be able to handle it myself. I’ve been handling my business on my own for a long time, Axel.”
My brow furrows. “I know that, Brantley.”
She slides off her barstool, eyes flashing. “Do you? Because to me, it sounds like you’re trying to swoop in and save me. But there’s nothing here for you to rescue, okay? Back off.”
She whirls, and I catch the whiff of raspberry that’s been teasing me sitting beside her all night.
Staring after her, I pause instead of follow. What the fuck just happened?
I smell an overreaction.
And if my senses are correct, that overreaction means there’s smoke to Arden’s predicted fire.
Now, I intend to find out exactly what Brantley Hughes is hiding.
3
Brantley
“And we’re going to take one hundred breaths with our legs in a raised position. Is everyone ready?” The Pilates instructor aims a serene smile around the room before lying down on the mat, her goddess-like body preparing to show us exactly what to do.
My gaze darts to Parker, my expression incredulous. “One hundred what?”
Parker settles herself on her back, both of her toned legs, clad in turquoise leggings, lifting off the floor. She gestures with one hand for me to follow suit, blue eyes sparkling with mirth.
Mine narrow. Skinny people. Oh, I swear to God. Because I can’t even remember the last time I did one hundred anything.
After class, I’m covered in sweat, my mat rolled under one arm, while Parker loos like she just stepped out of the pages of Workout Weekly.
Stepping up to the instructor, I thank her grudgingly.
“Was this your first Pilates class?” she asks.
In her mid-fifties, Denise is somewhat of a formidable woman. But she’s smiling, and she doesn’t look at me like I’m a hot mess, which makes me feel more confident that I didn’t just make a complete ass of myself in her class.
I nod. “It sure was. But…I didn’t hate it.”
Denise bursts into laughter. “That’s our goal after Day One of Pilates. What’s your name?”
A rueful smile threatens to pull at my mouth. “I’m Brantley.”
Denise shakes my hand. “Well, Brantley…” She glances at Parker and smiles. “Because you came with one of my favorites, and because I like you, I want you to come back for a second free class. Give us one more try before you decide whether or not Pilates is for you.”
Tipping my head to one side, I evaluate the way my body feels after the class. I’m tingling all over, and I can already feel all the places I’m going to be sore tomorrow. But I feel stronger, good about myself.
“You’ve got a deal,” I tell Denise.
Parker and I walk out into the sunshine, and she nudges me with her shoulder. “I’m so proud of you!”
I smile at my chipper friend. It’s the first time she and I have spent time together on our own, really, and I’m figuring out that I really like Parker. Her good attitude is infectious.
“You owe me a smoothie now.” Giving her a sideways glance, I lift one eyebrow. “That was the deal.”
Parker doesn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”
Once we’re settled at a table on the sidewalk outside the juice bar, I scrutinize my new friend. “What’s your story, Parker? Are you really always this good-natured? What’s it like when you’re pissed?”
She laughs, and it sounds like a unicorn farted. “You know what, Brantley? I love you.”
I sip my smoothie and grin. A chunk of my hair falls out of my sloppy bun and hits my cheek, and I brush it out of the way. “Thanks, sweetie. But the question still stands. You seem like the happiest person I know. I love that about you. But I need to know what happens when it cracks, just so I can be prepared. If we’re going to be friends, I’d like to know you’re not completely perfect. But if you are, that’s cool, too.”
Please don’t be, though.
Parker chews on her straw, studying me. The dusting of freckles across her nose seems to dance as it wrinkles while she thinks. Then she sighs. “I’ve been through a lot over the past few years. If I wasn’t smiling, I’d probably be crying. So I choose to smile. Will that work for you?”
There’s no bite in her tone, only a melancholy sort of truth that cuts straight through to my heart. There’s a haunting canvas hung behind Parker’s happy façade, one that shows the true painting of her life. And that piece of artwork isn’t all rainbows and puppies. There’s more depth and grit to the true picture than anyone knows.
And that’s the Parker I want to be my friend.
I give her a genuine smile. “That’s more than good enough for me.”
I’m just putting a pan of warm, salted-caramel brownies onto a platter when the chime above the coffeeshop door alerts me to a customer. It’s the slow part of the day, mid-afternoon, and after my early-morning Pilates class I’ve been chock-full of energy. I’ve made more baked goods than usual, and I improved our chicken salad recipe. I had more compliments on the sandwiches than ever before during the lunch rush.