Page 16 of The Dating Pact

“Hi.”

She gestured for me to head inside her condo, the familiar smell of lavender enveloping me.

Brooke had worked her way up from a rented little plot of land, a few square feet where she grew a handful of vegetables for herself while she was still at her nine-to-five, to owning her own farm, managing three employees, and cultivating I didn’t know how many crops throughout the year, as well as maintaining colonies of bees.

It was a literal and figurative statement, my nickname for her. She was busy as a bee.

She offered me a can of her favorite sparkling water. “Where are the kids tonight?”

“Staying at my parents’ house. They’re having a camp-out in the living room with a movie marathon, so we’ll see how my dad does with a sleeping bag on the floor.”

“Even my back hurts thinking about it,” she said, directing me to follow her to her bedroom. I’d been to her home many times, but there were only a handful that I’d actually stepped foot in her bedroom.

Once when she’d needed help putting together furniture. Another time while she was away, I’d been charged with taking care of Dorothy, and that little heathen somehow got herself trapped in the bathroom. The last time was when Brooke had had a stomach bug, and I’d popped over to bring her some groceries.

I had never, in all our years of friendship, entered her bedroom to hang out.

I didn’t know how I felt about that.

But…I didn’t hate it.

“So what’s your future husband’s name?” I asked, flopping on the bed, gathering Dorothy in my arms. She lifted her paw as if to swat at me, but I dragged my hand over her head, and she purred before nuzzling my palm. Brooke shook her head in amusement at us then disappeared into her walk-in closet. “Cole.”

“And what’s Cole like?”

“I don’t know. That’s what the date’s for.”

I huffed and cracked open the strawberry mango water. For a person who analyzed every decision, she was certainly jumping into dating headfirst.

“What do you think of this?” She ducked out of the closet, holding up a shiny gold top. She wore a lot of yellows and golds and always looked good in them.

“I like it,” I told her, moving back against the headboard and crossing my legs at the ankles. Dorothy splayed out in my lap.

“You don’t think it’s too dressy?”

Like I knew. I pointed at my Macho Man T-shirt in answer, and she tilted her head back, laughing as she pivoted back to her closet. She reappeared after a few moments with a dress in her hand. “How about this?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s nice, but it’s hard to tell on the hanger.”

She conceded the point with a dip of her chin and disappeared again. The next time she walked out of the closet, she wore the dress, a plain black top with thick straps and a skirt covered in pink and purple flowers.

She twirled around. “What do you think?”

“I like it. The bottom’s really shiny.”

She gripped the side of the skirt, examining it. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No.”

“You hesitated. Why’d you hesitate?”

I scrubbed my hand through my beard. “I don’t know. I guess…it feels dressy? Where are you going?”

“We’re meeting for drinks.”

“What else you got?”

She spun back around, kicking off a fashion show.

---