The heater by the window hums.

A neighboring door slams.

People laugh from the hallway.

The night replays like a movie in my head: Grant introducing me to his friends from college. Grant doling out top-shelf tequila shots like it’s his job. Grant making a toast. Grant snapping pictures, beautiful women dripping from his arm, grinning into their iPhone cameras with pouted lips and sexy gazes. Grant striding past me to say “hi” to someone—and completely ignoring me the rest of the evening.

But there are other scenes from the night that creep through: Cainan greeting his guests with the reserved smile of someone who doesn’t crave the spotlight like oxygen. Cainan obliging his sister’s every request. Cainan sipping his Old Fashioned, peering around the room until our eyes catch and my stomach somersaults.

Cainan joining me outside for some fresh air.

Cainan soaking in my secrets without a hint of judgement.

While I hardly know the man, I can’t help but notice the way I feel when I’m in his presence. It’s an instant calmness. An inexplicable connection. An overwhelming and undeniable sensation of being at ease … of being at home.

But it wasn’t like that the first night we met, when we were true strangers.

Funny how quickly things change without any sort of explanation.

I like the way I feel when I’m around him. Grounded. Serene.

It’s a strange war we wage against ourselves, trying to convince our heads of things our heart knows to be true. Our head loves reason, logic. Our heart rejects it. Only one will win.

Squeezing my eyes tighter, I force myself to go to sleep so I can stop thinking about Cainan.

At the end of the day, he’s Grant’s childhood best friend, practically his brother—and entertaining anything between the two of us would be a reckless daydream, a frivolous waste of time, and quite simply: wrong.

22

Cainan

“How you feeling?” I slap Grant on the back before taking a seat across from him at a Madison Avenue brunch spot called Tangerine—Claire’s suggestion, naturally.

Rumbling, he slides a pair of dark Ray Bans down his nose and gifts me a bloodshot scowl.

“That’s what I thought,” I say. “You forget you’re old now.”

“Since when is thirty considered old?” Claire’s husband, Luke, quips from across the table before flagging a waitress. “Let’s get the poor guy some more water. A couple of Advil, too, while we’re at it. Think we’ve all been in his shoes before …”

I steal a glimpse of Brie, soaking in the way the sunlight paints her dark hair in warmth and gives her creamy-tan skin an exuberant glow.

In an instant, I’m transported to that dream.

And then I shove it from my mind’s eye as if it’s nothing more than a pesky intrusive thought.

All last night, she nursed one cocktail. Maybe two. She lingered by the bar, alone for the most part, smiling at anyone who imparted their eye contact for more than a second or two. Occasionally making small talk with a handful of randoms. Mostly, she kept to herself while Grant made his rounds. Not once did she appear bored or resentful.

A class act.

Our eyes catch from across the table. She smiles. I smile. A white peony centerpiece rests between us, one that matches her gauzy blouse.

More white.

Like her last name.

Like everything that surrounded me the instant I woke up in the hospital.

A server with an off-white apron doles out the brunch menu, which is printed on ivory cardstock, and then she greets us with a smile before taking drink orders.

Four still waters.

One freshly-squeezed pineapple juice.

Zero mimosas for this crowd.

“So you guys fly out later today?” Claire asks Grant and Brie as she unfolds a cloth napkin across her lap.

Grant grunts, his hand resting across his forehead, eyes still covered by his dark sunglasses.

“We do,” Brie answers for them. “Wish we could stick around longer, but we’re both back at work tomorrow.”

Claire pouts. “You’ll have to plan another trip out here again. I’d love to talk wedding planning with you … did you guys set a date yet?”

Brie’s gaze shoots to mine for a fraction of a second before returning to my sister, and I recall our conversation last night. She needn’t worry. Her secret’s safe with me. I’m not going to be the bearer of bad news. More than likely, I’ll be the one picking up the pieces when he wants to go on an all-you-can-fuck Vegas bender in an attempt to get her out of his system.

“Oh. Um. Nothing in stone,” Brie almost stumbles over her words.

Our waters arrive in pristine crystal stemware, silence consuming us for a few seconds.

Grant chugs half of his before sighing and slumping back in his seat. “She’s having second thoughts.”

Claire gasps.

Luke glances at his lap, blowing a hard breath between rounded lips.

Brie’s jaw turns slack as she studies him. “Grant …”

I don’t know how she’s going to salvage this. The way I see it, she’s got a couple of options. She can deny his statement to save face in front of all of us or she can tell him he’s correct and dump his hungover ass here and now.

Tags: Winter Renshaw Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net