Page 66 of Undercover Desires

“We’re here to help with whatever you need,” Brandon responds earnestly.

“At your service,” I add with a wink, though I can’t help but entertain thoughts of other things I’d prefer to do with her in my spare time. What I admitted to her last night wasn’t bullshit. I’m obsessed with her. She is all I can think about. Part of me now understands why Jett took off with Hazel and locked her away from the rest of the world to protect her. I have entertained similar thoughts myself. If I could just get her out of this place and away from the responsibility of her job and the fuckwit Reader, we might stand a chance at being something—something I didn’t even know I wanted until I laid eyes on her. And now I can’t stop thinking about it.

Arabella seems taken aback. “I didn’t think you were serious.”

“You going to let us in?” Brandon asks with a warm smile, breaking the momentary awkwardness.

She glances over her shoulder at the interior of her place, a mixture of hesitation and dread in her eyes. “Iguess so.” She stands aside, allowing us to step inside. What else has she got to hide after last night?

Inside, Arabella’s house presents a stark contrast to its weathered exterior. The interior is surprisingly neat and tidy, preserved as if frozen in time from when her nanna lived here. Old photos hang in frames on the living room walls, capturing moments that have faded over time. The wallpaper, though worn and pale, still retains its charm, with floral patterns reminiscent of days long past. An assortment of antique furniture graces the space, each piece maintaining a proud yet weathered dignity. A high-backed armchair stands with embroidered doilies adorning the armrests, and a mahogany coffee table plays host to a cut crystal vase of roses, holding pride of place.

The curtains, showing their age with faded patterns and slight fraying along the edges, filter the sunlight, casting a warm and mellow glow that dances upon the hardwood floors. These floors have borne witness to countless footsteps over the years.

In the kitchen, Arabella has set up her office on the small table, her laptop open and ready for work.

“How did you know we were out front?” I ask.

“The black SUV kind of gave you away,” Arabella responds with a wry smile. “Plus, I have video surveillance. Can’t be too careful in this neighborhood, can you?”

“Smart,” I commend her, pleased to see her taking precautions. If she only knew the shit her ex was getting up to behind her back, she would know just how much reason she really had to protect herself. I know I should come clean and tell her what we found on him, but after last night, I’m not sure exactly where westand, and right now I don’t want to do anything that might push her away.

She turns her attention to Brandon. “Are you okay, Brandon?” she asks him.

“It’s just strange. I haven’t been in this place since I was twelve, but nothing’s changed. It’s exactly how I remember it. Feels like I stepped back in time,” Brandon confesses, his eyes scanning the familiar surroundings.

“I know,” she agrees, handing him some photos.

I peer over Brandon’s shoulder, and there they are—photos of them as children, playing in the yard. Arabella looks adorable, with her long blonde hair, wild and free.

“You were so tiny.” Brandon chuckles.

“Unlike you, I didn’t have my growth spurt until I was older.” Arabella laughs along with Brandon.

As they share a moment of nostalgia, I’m transported back in time with them. I remember this place, a refuge I visited a couple of times when my dad had to work, and my mom…

The flashback hits me like a tidal wave. I recall her, passed out on the couch, her struggles with manic depression, and those moments when she just couldn’t take care of us kids. That morning, she had seemed happy, and we thought it was going to be a good day. It was summer holidays, and my dad had left her some money to take us out for the day. But by mid-morning, she was flat on her back, passed out on the couch. My dad came home for lunch, and he sent me over to Brandon’s for the afternoon. We came here to play with his Australian cousin, a little girl who followed us around. I remember her. A warm tingle runs throughme. This is why she feels so familiar to me. Because she is.

“Earth to Kobe,” Brandon’s voice snaps me back to the present.

“Are you okay?” Arabella looks up at me, and for a moment, I see that little girl with green eyes again.

“I remember something from before my parents died,” I confess, feeling like the air has just been sucked out of my lungs.

“What do you remember?” she asks, her eyes curious.

“This place, and you,” I tell them, still in shock myself. It’s so hard for me to remember anything from my childhood. Why do I remember this?

She smiles up at me, a flicker of warmth in her eyes. “Do you remember how mean you two were to me? Brandon was fun when you weren’t around, but when you were, he didn’t show any interest in spending time with me.”

“I’m sure you were a little pest, ready to spoil our fun,” I reply with a chuckle. “But that’s not what I remember.

“I remember one summer afternoon,” I say, seeing the scene play out before me, clear as day. “We were all playing in the backyard. It was scorching hot, and we decided to have a water fight. We filled up those old plastic water guns, the ones that never worked quite right, and then we ran around the yard, drenching each other. You and I teamed up against Brandon, and it was hilarious. We were all soaked, laughing uncontrollably, and at one point, Brandon tried to retaliate by pouring a bucket of water over us from the balcony. But he missed, and it splashed all over him instead. We couldn’t stop laughing.”

Arabella’s eyes sparkle with the memory, and she chuckles softly. “I had completely forgotten that day. I thought it was me and Brandon against you, though. We were the good guys, and you stole our cookies.”

“Yeah, me too. Kobe was definitely the robber, and we were the cops. You wanted to be just like your dad even back then. It’s strange how we’re all here now. So much has happened in our lives to bring us back here,” says Brandon warmly.

“So much,” she says sadly, and I get the impression she’s thinking about her dad. He must have been a great man if she wanted to be like him so badly. I wonder where her mom was. She never talks about her. But really, how much do I know about this girl.

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