Page 17 of Hot Hearts
“Yes.” Now I know why I got those looks and questions.
“It’s time to go.” I motion for him to move toward the door. He doesn’t.
“What is the problem?”
“You know what? You wouldn’t understand, okay?!” I sniff.
“Are you about to cry?”
“No,” I sniffle again. “It must be allergy season.”
"Tell me what I did, and I'll fix it." I shake my head no. What is wrong with me? I'm being ridiculous.
"Too busy to check on me. I get it." I nod. "I had a father who was always too busy." Brooks's eyebrows rise. "And then you send your girlfriend up to check on me."
“Okay, wait.” Brooks puts his hands up, palms facing me. “You said a lot of information in two seconds and are talking about two different things.”
“I told you that you wouldn’t understand!” I stomp my foot. Did I seriously just stomp my foot? “Oh God, you’ve given me your crazy. It’s contagious.” I walk over and drop down on the daybed. Never in my life have I been this emotional.
Brooks walks over and sits down next to me. “Gabby isn’t my girlfriend. She works at the restaurant.”
“I know, we met.” If you call her being a jerk to me meeting.
“I know. She brought me your note back, which is why I thought you were okay. I called and texted too.”
“What note? I gotyournote.”
“Then I got your text that you were running home to grab things.”
“That's not what I texted you. I told you I got home safe.”
“Which meant you got back to your place safely. Then you’d grab things and come back. I wish you would have waited; I would have come with you to help.” I start shaking my head no.
“Whoa, you added that whole last part. I think you might have assumed.”
“But I also haveyournote.” This is getting confusing.
“I didn’t write you a note; I only sent the text.” I start searching for my phone. Brooks pulls a note out of his pocket, handing it to me. I take it and grab my phone out from under my pillow. It’s always getting lost in my bed.
I read the note. “What beef problem? I don’t know what this is.” I hand it back to him.
“You wrote it.”
“I did not.” I swipe the screen on my phone and see that he did text me. A lame text. He must have sent it after the note I didn’t write. “What the hell?” That’s when I realize all of the alerts on my phone. My social media has blown up. What is going on?
“You didn’t write this?” I shake my head, my attention on my phone, swiping through things.
“Brooks, what did you do?”
“Do?”
“Did you tell people about us? That we’re getting married?”
“I made an announcement.” He smiles, like he’s proud. It’s kind of adorable, but I have a bigger issue here.
“Oh, Brooks, what have you done?” I groan.
“Do people know? Are they saying we can’t get married because I’m a chef and you’re a food critic?”
