Page 34 of Hunter Moon

It wasn’t a surprise that Brook was feeling stifled. On the other hand, I also didn’t want to do anything that would put him in danger.

Coward that I was, I did what I always did: I let Brook tell me what to do.

You free this evening for that hot chocolate? I could meet you at the Grille or pick you up at your house if you want.

It wasn’t exactly tantamount to begging for orders, but it sort of was. It also, I hoped, let Brook make his own decision about what he was comfortable with. Or hell, whether he wanted to see me at all. He could have simply told me to fuck off, because he was busy.

We’d been texting, and even occasionally chatting on the phone, for a few days, and it was starting to feel like us again. Like it had been before I left. Not that he’d forgiven me, but that I knew how he’d react. That I didn’t recheck each text a dozen times, worrying about how he would read it.

I still tried hard not to say anything to hurt him, but that was just a basic urge to be a decent person, to be sensitive to what had happened to him. I wasn’t desperately grasping for the right words.

Still, every time I sent him a message, I told myself the same thing: this will be the time he tells you to fuck off for good.

I hadn’t been right yet, and I’d never been so happy to be wrong.

Wrong again, since my phone buzzed a few minutes later. I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across my face when I saw his answer.

Come and get me. Six. Fair warning: you’re going to have to deal with Mom and the girls, since they’ll be here.

I didn’t laugh out loud, but it was a close thing. Instead, I hastily typed back,See you at six. And the Spanish Inquisition too. But it probably won’t be the same, now that I’m expecting them.

Stuffing my phone back in my pocket, I pictured his response when he saw the message. Burying his face in his palms, shaking his head, muttering about how he didn’t know me.

Across the table from me in the Realtor’s office, Ernest Sedgwick lifted an eyebrow. “Somewhere else you need to be, son?”

It had been an age since anyone called me son. Not even my own father had done it often.

But I was almost forty damn years old, so I wasn’t gonna blush and apologize. I grinned at him. “Later, yeah. Making a date with Brook.”

Bless him, he tried to look stern and slightly annoyed, but his lips kept creeping up at the corners until he gave up, shaking his head with a sigh. “Everybody gets to make a couple of big mistakes. Just do us all a favor and don’t screw it up again. You got that?”

“Got it,” I agreed instantly. “I mean, I wouldn’t be buying the barn if I planned to run off again, would I?”

His narrowed eyes told me he wasn’t entirely convinced, but that was when Deb came back in, bright smile on her face, and vague distress in her scent, so I immediately turned to her.

“Something wrong?”

“Not exactly. We’re having a little trouble with the greenhouse. Something about the size and the back corner of the lot—”

“Not really room for a house and a greenhouse,” Ernest interrupted. “Not unless you buy more land behind it and take out the trees.”

If I were being honest, that had been the plan. If I was going to be able to produce those daisies for Brook myself, I was gonna need a greenhouse.

I’d always been partial to growing things, and decent at making them grow. During my time in the navy I’d never before entertained the illusion that Brook would take me back, so I’d imagined my future a little like Ernest’s life. Over a hundred, living alone in a house with a bunch of huge houseplants. It hadn’t been perfect, but it hadn’t been the worst thing I could picture.

Ernest seemed to see right through me, and waved me off. “Just build the house. You want to grow things, go talk to the new boy on the Hills’ farm. He’s a wonder. I told Doc Grove my ficus was sick, so he sent Ridge over, and he fixed her right up, good as new.”

“The internet says I’ll need a greenhouse, because Virginia is too cold for daisies.” He narrowed his eyes, disbelieving, so I threw up my hands. “They’re a special kind of daisies. Big purple and blue ones.”

“Oh, gerbera daisies?” Deb asked, interested. “They do kind of look like exotic flowers, so they probably wouldn’t like the cold. But I’m sure Isaac stocks them if you need some.”

And I couldn’t explain it to her. Couldn’t tell her that this was too important to count on a grocery store for. It would sound too silly if I said it out loud.

Ernest, on the other hand, nodded, and just said again, “Talk to Ridge.”

20

Brook

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