Page 35 of Kiss Me Now
By Sunday morning,there still wasn’t a peep out of Brooke. She hadn’t texted or come over to Gran’s. But she also hadn’t smashed her new planters or pulled out the flowers, so maybe that was something?
I didn’t want her to feel like she had to hide in her house all day again because of me, so after breakfast on Sunday morning, I packed my bag, dropped a kiss on Gran’s head with a promise to return soon, and drove back to DC.
The whole way I hoped Gran had been able to talk Brooke back out to the garden.
Brooke was still on my mind Monday morning when I sat in on the partner meeting while they discussed strategy on a huge case we’d taken on for a chemical company in trouble for pollution violations. We’d be representing them in the negotiations while working with a lobbying firm to fast-track a Senate bill that would decrease the penalties for their type of pollution, thus lowering their financial exposure in a settlement.
These were the kinds of tactics that often annoyed me about the firm. I preferred to do the work of exposing corrupt politicians and lobbyists, not digging up more ammunition to arm their cause. But that was politics. Everyone spent time on both sides of the ball. It was how things worked.
Except for Brooke, maybe. If Ellen Brown was to be believed—and I did believe her—Brooke was a purist in a sea of cynics. According to Ellen, Brooke had been too good for this world.Myworld. The world of backroom deals between major players. A world where the fates of entire industries were decided over long, boozy lunches so long as everyone got their back scratched.
On Tuesday, I woke up and reached for my phone, hoping there was a text from Brooke acknowledging my apology and maybe even forgiving me. There wasn’t.
Wednesday, I wondered about her again as I returned to the arboretum for another meeting between the VP and the lobbyist. This time I wore a ball cap and flip-flops as I strolled past them to drop an “empty” soda cup in the trash next to them. It contained a mic so I could pick up their conversation. The quality wouldn’t be great, but it would be enough to confirm or refute my suspicions.
Ha. They would be confirmed. I had no illusions. But as I passed a bed of flowers like the ones I’d planted for Brooke, I wondered whether she’d liked them or not. When Gran had told me to choose species I’d thought Brooke would like, I’d reminded Gran that I didn’t know Brooke. So then Gran told me to pick flowers that reminded me of Brooke, and I’d get it right. That had been easy. I chose the most vibrant ones I could find, with lots of petals and color.
“Begonias,” the sign in the flower bed read. Terrible name, but the flower had felt right for her.
By Thursday dinner time, I was wondering if maybe I should go back to Gran’s this weekend, see if Brooke had kept the pots. I could ask Gran, but she’d tease me. Although... it wasn’t like she wouldn’t see through me when I showed up for the third weekend in a row. And Ihadmentioned to Brooke that I would be back.
I was dithering, Gran would say. And I wasn’t a ditherer. Hadn’t ever even used the word before suddenly becoming one. Which forced me to confront the truth: I’d grown interested in Brooke on her own merits. I hadn’t been interested in a woman in a good while, finding the last few I’d dated to be almost...interchangeable.
I winced at myself for even thinking the word. That was my fault for not getting to know them better. But they’d all had the same highly polished, coolly professional edge, and the conversations on the first couple of dates had all centered on their jobs—mine too—and DC gossip. I hadn’t left any of my second dates interested in asking for a third.
But Brooke had walked out on our first dinner before it was even served, and I hadsomany more questions about her.
No,forher. I was done asking other people to explain Brooke to me. I’d go to the source from now on.
Guess that meant I was going back to Creekville, even if it meant enduring Gran’s teasing.
A text vibrated my phone and I scooped it up, hoping it was Sherrie with a lead on one of our cases, but it wasn’t Sherrie’s name on my screen. It was Brooke’s, like thinking of her had summoned her. Her text was a simple,Thank you for the flowers.
I hesitated, thinking about what to say back. Finally, I tapped out,No problem. Least I could do. Sorry I got it so wrong.
There was no quick response. No typing dots. I woke my screen a few times, hoping I might have missed a text, but there was nothing.
“You are turning pathetic,” I said out loud. I got up and went to brush my teeth before I put my pathetic self to bed. My phone vibrated with another text, Brooke’s name flashing from my bathroom counter. I snatched it up, toothbrush still in my mouth.
Miss Lily confessed she misled you. I think I understand how you could draw all the wrong conclusions.
I grimaced and spit out the toothpaste. Another text came in.
Like, EVERY wrong conclusion. All of them.
I grinned. She wasn’t short on what Gran would call “moxie.” I texted back.So you’re saying...more flowers?
She answered fast.You should invest in a nursery, probably. Maybe a whole flower farm.
I searched for Gran’s favorite florist in Creekville and placed an order online for delivery the next morning. It would have to do until I could deliver the next bouquet myself, because I wasdefinitelygoing to Creekville this weekend.
