Page 65 of Falling for my Brother's Best Friend

Twenty

Liam

On Sunday, I’m sitting at the breakfast island, reading the paper and drinking my coffee, when Savannah returns from a run. She doesn’t notice me right away because as soon as she comes in, she’s logging something in a small book in her purse, staring at her watch.

“How fast were you today?” I ask.

She startles, dropping her pen on the floor.

My gaze soaks her in like a dry towel. Sweat has left a sheen on her skin, and her running shorts stop right at her ass, making her long legs appear even longer. Her tight sports bra and tank top don’t hide her figure in the slightest, and I have to shift in my seat to find a comfortable position for my growing hard-on.

“Too slow.”

“Listening to a podcast?” I arch my eyebrow. I knew she wouldn’t take my suggestion about switching to music.

“Yes.” She drops the booklet and pen back into her purse, toeing out of her running shoes. She pads across the room and opens the fridge.

“Denver returns today,” I say with my eyes on the paper as though I’m not pissed about it.

I love my buddy, but having the place to ourselves has been nice. Had we meditated in front of Denver, he would’ve razzed me forever or joined in—you never really know with that guy. Friday night, we ordered pizza and watched When Harry Met Sally. I never pegged Savannah as liking romantic comedies. Maybe because it’s so rare that she laughs.

“I know.” Am I imagining that her words sound deflated like mine?

“How do you think the meditating thing went?” I ask.

She turns around, yogurt in hand, and grabs a spoon, then she slides out the breakfast stool next to me. She props up one foot, and I can’t help but notice the way her shorts are wide enough that they hang down a bit. If she was mine, I’d have free access to slide them down, pick her up, and position her on my lap. But sadly, she isn’t.

She says, “I liked it. I’m going to keep it up. You’re probably going to make fun of me for this, but… I see it like a challenge to clear my mind. To be able to eventually sit there for twenty minutes with a clear mind.”

I laugh and put the paper down, sipping my coffee. She’s adorably predictable. I’d love to be able to kiss her and say, “Yeah, I get it.” She’s not going to turn into that naïve nineteen-year-old who looked at the world with hope and an unsullied view. She went through a hurricane in a dingy, stranded in the middle of the ocean. It changed her in ways there’s no reversing. But it doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy her life a lot more than she does at present.

“I’m not going to make fun of you as long as you don’t tell anyone that I might continue doing it too.” I get up to refill my cup. “Coffee?”

“Sure.”

I fill her cup, add a splash of milk, and return to the island. After I set the cup in front of her though, I keep my distance because I’m having a really hard time being so close to her when she has so few clothes on. “I got you something.”

“What? Why?” Her face wrinkles in confusion, or irritation maybe.

I head to my den where my desk is and grab the box with the nice ribbon the sales lady added for me. Placing the box in front of her, I step back to take in her reaction. She stares at me with awe and a small smile. It looks as if she’s trying not to let it shine too brightly.

“Open it,” I urge and return to my coffee, slightly embarrassed. I’ve only ever bought a woman a gift once in my lifetime, and that was in high school.

She unties the ribbon slowly as though she’s savoring the anticipation. With her hands resting on the sides of the box, she peeks at me again. I wish I could snap a picture without her knowing because I want nothing more than to savor her expression. It’s one of true happiness, and I’d buy her a million more presents for the rest of our lives if I could see that same look every time.

“I’m so excited.” She’s practically giddy, and I’m eating up every moment. After opening the box, she carefully moves the tissue paper away and looks at the contents for a breath-halting moment before picking up the leather journal.

“It’s red because I think it’s one of your favorite colors?”

The sales lady had asked me, and after running through Savannah’s outfits in my head, I realized that she wears red more than any other color.

“It is.” She smiles.

“There’s a pen in there too.”

A small sigh leaks out of her throat and she shifts in the chair. “Liam—”

“It’s for you to write down thoughts. Anything you want, but I read an article that said you should write down at least one thing you’re grateful for every day.”

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