I don’t mean to squeal but it’s my instinct.
I’m still laughing when he sets me down on my feet, my heels clicking and then I open the door.
Tossing the keys on the kitchen counter and flicking the lights on, I don’t bother asking him to come in. He owns the place, after all.
It’s modest but with updated appliances and has everything Bridget and I could need or want. My purse drops to the rustic front table that matches the rest of the place. The pops of teal and yellow throughout keep it happy and bright. It’s a home. Robert helped me build a home for my little girl and I don’t think Renee can understand that.
“You want to celebrate?” he asks as he kicks the door shut behind him. Even after everything we’ve been through, he still manages to ignite desire inside of me. He’s already working on loosening the knot of his tie. The poor guy is about to have blue balls.
“I can’t,” I tell him, giving him a small pout to mirror the one that immediately appears on his face.
“Should I come by later tonight?”
“I’m going out with Renee,” I answer him as I watch him struggle to knot the tie again.
He may be twenty-five, but he looks older, more dignified. We’ve both gone through some rough moments in our lives; I imagine that’s what they do to people. They age them.
Still … he’s charming, sweet, comes from money and has a bright future in politics. He shouldn’t be with me. Both of us know it, yet here we are. It would have been so easy for him to walk away.
“After, then?” he asks, lifting up his collar and watching his movements in the small mirror in the foyer while he fiddles with the tie.
“After what?” My wandering thoughts are ripped back to the present.
“Should I come by tonight, after you celebrate with your friends?”
“Do you collect rent from all your tenants that late at night?” I tease him and then step in between him and the small table, helping him adjust his tie again. The expensive silk slides easily for me. I’ve done this so many times. His hands land protectively on my hips and I hate how much it soothes the little broken pieces inside me.
I’ve relied on a man who keeps me a secret. A dirty little secret of being a kept woman. I have money to pay rent, but he refuses to take it. At first he said he was just helping out a friend. I needed more than a friend, though. Losing my house, my inheritance being stalled because of my father’s entitled girlfriend, and needing to figure out how I was going to raise a child on my own, was almost too much for me to deal with. When it all kept piling up, one thing on top of another, I needed far more than a friend to help me handle the curveballs life kept throwing at me.
Robert gave me what I needed. Even if it was wrong in some ways.
He isn’t my boyfriend and he’ll never be my husband. Yet I let him come and go as he pleases. More than that, I seek refuge in our messed-up relationship.
I pat his chest when the tie is firmly where it should be, but he doesn’t move his hands from my waist.
“I’m happy it’s over, Mags,” he whispers deep and rough, bending down to kiss the tip of my nose. It’s instinct to lean into him and he wraps his arms around me like a comforting blanket.
“Me too,” I murmur into his firm chest.
“Shit, I can’t come tonight,” he says. His acknowledgment has him taking a step back and I right myself. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he mutters, “I have that dinner with the governor.”
Two years ago, at the start of his political track he would have been eager and excited for the dinner. Now he’s a pro and all the meetings and fundraisers blur together.
Politics is why he could never be with a woman like me. How could he ever win an election in the South, marrying a “disgraced” woman like me? I roll my eyes at the thought. It’s not like I’m looking for anything anyway. I haven’t since the moment my life fell apart, followed by my little baby girl falling into my lap.
“I hope you have some pretty little arm candy to accompany you to this one,” I say to rib him a little, giving him my back as I slip off my heels.
He doesn’t answer even though it’s just a joke. It gets to him sometimes, the fact that we’re quiet about all this between us. I’m grateful for the relationship. Without him, I don’t know how I would have navigated all the lawyers and financial troubles. Let alone cope with life in general.
I will always love Robert for being there for me. Even if I’m nothing more than his little secret.
I give him a peck on the lips, grabbing ahold of his shoulders. “Have fun tonight; I’ll see you tomorrow.”
BRODY
“It’s good, isn’t it?” Griffin’s question comes with the hollow thunk of his empty glass hitting the bar-height table in the back corner of the brewery. “The best recipe yet.” He double taps the bottom of his tasting glass after throwing back the small bit of what was left in it.
The sweet taste of hops is fresh and, more importantly, smooth.
I take another swig, letting it sit for a moment before swallowing it and pushing my glass forward on the hard rock maple. “It’s damn good.”
Griffin smiles as he pushes his hair out of his face. I swear when we were younger his dark brown eyes matched his dark hair perfectly. I guess the sun is making his hair lighter down South. His foot doesn’t stop tapping on the barstool even if he is grinning like a fool. The nervous energy about him is nothing but excitement.
“You know it’s good,” I tell him and take in the place. We’re at the only table in the brewery. All the shiny metal reflects the lighting from above in the old storage center. It’s perfect for brewing. Tall, twelve-foot-high ceilings and a single open space. That’s all we need. A place to brew. “Now we just need to get it going and start selling.”
“See, that’s the problem.”
He bought this place and I love it. It’s only the first step of many for what we have in store, though. Nailing down the recipes for the beer doesn’t matter if:
It isn’t a damn good beer.
We can’t sell it.
“The beer is good, but we still don’t have a license for South Carolina.” My best friend shrugs with his gaze fixed downward at the empty glass and lets out a long exhale. It’s the first time I’ve seen him look like this since he moved down here.
“I thought everything was moving along right on schedule?” I ask him, feeling my back lengthen as I sit up straighter. “You set up shop, then I come down and we get to work on the brewery and the bar.”
“I set up the brewery and we’ve got everything we need, but we don’t have a license to distribute.”
My nod is easy and short as I rub the stubble at my jaw mindlessly. “I thought you got it last week?” With a pinched brow I stare at him, waiting for an answer as unease runs through me.
I had the money, he had the knowledge, and together we had the same dream.
“Just a license is all that’s standing in the way, right? We’re still doing good on budget.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he answers and leans back. That restless tapping comes back, though. “We’re good on the budget. They just aren’t reviewing the application and I don’t know why.”