“These are amazing,” Bowie said aloud.
“Thank you.” His eyes shot directly to hers. She smiled, even though she hadn’t meant to. She hadn’t even intended to acknowledge his compliment either.
“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” Carly suggested as she entered the room with a tray of iced tea and small sandwiches, reminding Brooklyn that she still had a car full of groceries.
“I’m afraid I need to unpack the car first.” She got up immediately and went back to her car. From the rear of her SUV, no one could see her. She used this to her advantage, finally letting her tears flow. They were hot, angry, and full of longing. There had been a time in her life when she’d told Bowie everything. It wasn’t long after they met that he had become her best guy friend. The one she could talk to about everything, including Austin. He encouraged her to go to college, to do what she wanted, but she never listened. If she had . . .
No, she refused to think about what her life would be like without Brystol. Her daughter kept her sane and focused and gave her purpose. Being a single mother never bothered her; she never thought about what it would be like to have a partner to help or someone else to depend on. Mostly because there was no point in wishing for someone to come along. Even if she wanted, Brooklyn hadn’t had time to date. Brystol was her priority. Her daughter was also at the age where it would be nice for them to have roots, a stable home. Homeschooling was great, easy, but her daughter needed friends. Maybe that’s why Carly had summoned her back, to give Brystol a chance to grow up in her father’s hometown surrounded by family.
“Hey, are you okay?” Brooklyn felt his hand on her back before she registered that Bowie was speaking to her. She shied away and tried to wipe her cheeks dry without him seeing. Of course, he knew something was wrong; he always could sense when she was feeling down.
“Fine.” Her tone was sharp despite needing to clear her throat. She started gathering the tote bags from the grocery store, determined to carry them all so Bowie couldn’t hold it over her head later.
“Are you sure?”
“Yep.” She wasn’t, but that wasn’t the point. Brooklyn wanted Bowie as far away from her as possible, and yet he couldn’t take a hint. He brushed up against her as he reached into the back of her SUV. Goose bumps sprang to life on her arms and legs, and excitement coursed through her body. How long had it been since a man made her feel this way? She knew the exact date and time when she’d had desire pooling in her belly. For as wide as the trunk of her car was, there was nowhere for her to escape.
“What are you doing?” She stopped and tried to step back, but the heavy bags kept her in place. “I can do this.”
“No one is saying you can’t.”
“Then leave,” she huffed.
Bowie stared, and under his penetrating gaze she felt two feet tall and completely admired all in one. How was that possible? They’d had a history, but their friendship had ended, just like the others she’d had.
“God, you’re beautiful when you’re angry.”
She opened her mouth to respond.
She waited for the words to come.
Nothing.
Instead, Brooklyn took as many of the bags as she could muster and walked toward the house with Bowie hot on her heels. Simone met them at the door, smiled coyly, and reached for a tote.
“I don’t know what you and Carly are up to, but it won’t work.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, dear.” Simone whistled her way into the kitchen as if nothing were amiss.
When all the bags were deposited safely in the kitchen, Carly beckoned them back to the table. “Now, about the inn. When do you think it could open?”
Bowie cleared his throat. “I’m thinking three to five months.”
Brooklyn laughed. “What, do you plan to do the work yourself?”
He tilted his head slightly. “No, I have a full crew.”
“So, with mine and yours, that gives us a team of ten, plus us is twelve. Do you think it’s going to take twelve people five months to do a renovation with minimal construction? It should take six, maybe eight weeks.” Even as she said this, she wasn’t comfortable with the timeline, but Carly had insisted they move fast on the renovations.
He opened his mouth and closed it quickly. He reached for the drawings, perusing the designs. “We need to make sure the foundation, electrical, and the roof are up to code. Building permits must be obtained, and those take time. We have to order enough lumber to add forty accent walls of shiplap because Kenyon’s Lumber won’t have that much in stock. The paint, fixtures—it all takes time. I’m being realistic here, Brooklyn.”