Page 3 of The Holiday Fakers
Scooting to the edge of my seat, I peer around the corner, my heart leaping into my throat as Brody strides toward us like a dark angel. His broad shoulders are hunched, and his face is partly obscured by a black hoodie, but it’s not enough to hide how movie-star hot he is.
Oh my god. He’s here.
His glittering deep brown eyes are fixed on Marv, promising vengeance, but then they descend on me and narrow with a furious intensity.
I scurry back into the booth, hitting the far wall with a thud as my pulse pounds in my ears. I’ve had plenty of daydreams about bumping into Brody since I moved to Brooklyn, but in them, I was always poised and confident, never sideswiped and covered in gingerbread latte.
Brody slams his hands down on the table and leans toward me.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snaps, his tone low and harsh.
My mouth opens, but my brain has taken my ability to speak and left the building.
It’s all too much.He’stoo much. I’m not prepared to have the living, breathing Brody King up in my business after all these years. Sure, I may have a Google Alert set for his name, filtered to catch only the big stuff, but it’s one thing keeping tabs on an old friend from the safe distance of curated headlines, and quite another to have him here, in the flesh, stealing all my air.
A nervous, stammering laugh slips from my lips, cutting off with a squeak as he leans closer.
“Is this a fucking joke to you?”
My head whips from side to side. I still have no idea what’s going on, but I’ve never seen Brody this enraged before. I struggle to reconcile the controlled, composed person he was back in Hideaway Harbor, even when everything was going wrong, withthis.
Marv pats him on the shoulder. “Hey, kid, it’s all good.” His gaze darts around like he’s assessing for threats. “C’mon, sit down.” He steers the much bigger Brody into the booth, then slides in next to him, blocking his exit.
Brody sits directly across from me, his hands clasped on the table, knuckles white.
“How much?” he asks, as if he can’t even bear to look at me.
“What?”
“How. Much. Did. He. Pay. You?” Brody enunciates each word like I’m a toddler.
Hang on. He thinksI’mpart of whatever the hell is going on?
“And how much ofmymoneywill it take for you to go away?” he continues.
Fingers trembling, I reach into my purse.
Brody exhales sharply and shakes his head. “You’re seriously going to write out the number? Un-fucking-believable.”
“Take a breath, bud,” Marv says, turning the rings on his left hand like they’re the number wheels on a combination lock. “Be cool.”
I take out my phone and show Brody the screen, pointing to the picture of him and the woman. “That’s not me.”
He huffs again. “No shit, Sherlock.”
Fury burns in my belly, spreading up into my chest. I can’t figure out if I want to scream, burst into tears, or punch him in his sanctimonious face.
“F-fuck you.”
His eyes widen.
“Fuck you,” I repeat, my anger fueling me. “Get out of my face and out ofmycoffee shop. Fuck off all the way to Fucksville. And when you get there, keep going.”
“Excuse me?”
I brace as the image of Brody I’ve carried all these years shatters in front of me. I don’t know this guy. He’s a cold stranger, staring at me in disbelief behind the mask of a familiar face.
Inhaling deeply through gritted teeth, I attempt to keep my voice steady.
