Ten Million Fireflies (Band of Sisters) Page 13

  Might as well get used to sleeping like a camper.

  “Six it is then.” Drew stepped down and paused. “Do you have any allergies? Any foods you don’t like?”

  “I’m allergic to cats, and I don’t like chocolate.”

  “What?” Drew climbed the steps again. “You don’t like chocolate? How?”

  “Easy.” She shrugged. “I don’t.”

  “White? Dark? Milk? Or all?”

  “All.”

  “That’s terrible.” Drew covered his mouth as if in shock. “Chocolate ice cream? Reese's peanut butter cups?”

  “Eh.” She scrunched up her nose. Chocolate tasted... chalky to her. Or too sweet. She didn’t mind other flavors of ice cream and fruit pies like Helen’s strawberry rhubarb, though.

  “Oreos?” Brooke shook her head. “Snickers?” Again, she shook. “Wow. I guess I don’t have to worry about you stealing my M&Ms.”

  “Not at all. See? The perfect date... not that it’s a date,” she quickly corrected as he stepped backward. “The perfect dinner guest. I’ll see you at six then.” Brooke pushed off the doorframe and let her arms fall to her side.

  Drew’s gaze dropped to her chest and quickly traveled north. The look on his face was priceless. Caught gawking, only it wasn’t really. A quick glance was all, and she couldn’t blame him. Her chest was nearly level with his eyes. He behaved like the perfect gentleman, putting his eyes back in their sockets as soon as he realized her headlights were flashing full force.

  She put them both out of their misery and crossed her arms over her chest again. “Can I bring anything to dinner?”

  “No. I got it.”

  “Okay then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Drew waved and jogged down the steps and to his car, obviously not able to get away from her fast enough.

  With a chuckle, she closed and locked the door, and took a few minutes to finish cleaning up the kitchen. It came fully equipped with pots and pans and such, the only item of hers being her cell phone charger.

  Taking the charger and phone upstairs, she plugged it in and brushed her teeth. A few minutes later, she was snuggled in bed with her book, not reading and thinking about her not-really-a-date dinner tomorrow with the most intriguing man she’d ever met.

  He had a story to tell that wasn’t about psychopaths and murder, and she’d make it her mission to pull it out of him. Her day job may be working with children and helping them find their way in life, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t work on an adult, too.

  And Drew Beckett would be all sorts of fun to work on.

  BROOKE MET THE ELECTRICIAN at the rec hall bright and early the following morning. He noted a dozen wires chewed through by rodents that would need replacing, which would tack on more hours to the job.

  “Them critters are gonna wanna bunk here during the winter, too. You’ll need to get your contractor to insulate well. Who ya using?” Dennis asked as he fished around behind the refrigerator.

  “Owen McDougall.” He knew his stuff and had the best recommendations of the crew she interviewed. Where Dennis was near the end of his career, Owen had enough years’ experience under his belt, but was still young and energetic enough to do the manual labor. Some of the contractors she met didn’t look like they could carry a two-by-four on their own.

  “McDougall’s a good guy. Worked with him on a dozen or so projects.”

  “He’s finishing up a renovation and won’t be able to start for a few weeks, so you won’t really see him around.”

  That was the only deterrent in hiring McDougall, but he’d promised the work would be done before winter. As long as she was cleared to open full swing in the late spring, she could wait a little longer for repairs.

  Her cabin door didn’t quite close all the way and there were holes in two floorboards where animals—or rodents, God forbid—had chewed through, but it was sufficient for camping. Bugs, creepy crawlers, and pesky little critters were all part of living outdoors. As long as they didn’t make their way into the kitchen or that would surely shut her down.

  “Can I help with anything in here?”

  “Nah. I’ll holler if I need anything.” Dennis did his thing—stripping wires, pulling back wall paneling, and whatever else electricians did—while Brooke went to work in the cabins.

  She’d made notes of repairs that needed to be done, but McDougall had asked for something more official so he could give a better estimate and order the materials ahead of time.

  Once she gave him the list, he’d come over when he could and give another assessment. Brooke took out a notebook and did a thorough inspection of each cabin, noting loose floorboards and visible rotting wood. She climbed on every bunk bed and jiggled around, testing the stability.

  Only a few needed to be completely replaced. By the time she finished with her informal inspection, Dennis had come out of the rec hall, tossing tools and wire into his work truck. In early, out early was his schedule. Working seven to three was her idea of a good schedule as well and would be similar to that when school started in the fall.

  “Made good progress today. You should be up and running by the end of the day tomorrow. Maybe Thursday.”

  “Great. Thanks, Dennis.”

  “See ya in the mornin’.” With that, he climbed into his aging truck and drove off.

  There was plenty of time to pitter around for another hour before changing for her dinner date—or rather, invite—with Drew.

  The plumber would be by tomorrow to get the water running, and she hoped she’d be able to take a shower by the end of the day. The kitchen was first priority and then the bathrooms. The shower stalls weren’t anything fancy— cheap nozzle and tepid water, but it would be enough.

  Today’s work didn’t make her sweat much, and she hoped she didn’t smell. After wiping down her face and arms with baby wipes, she put on an extra layer of deodorant and rubbed lotion on her skin. It was as presentable as she was going to get for Drew.

  She didn’t know what she wanted from him. Friendship? A real date? Sex?

  It would be awkward if they took things too far with him living so close. She’d inevitably run into him around town and on runs, possibly out on the water. She wasn’t one to embarrass easily or shy away from a guy after they’d been intimate. She could handle it as long as he could.

  He probably wasn’t even interested in a sexual relationship with her anyway. She could tell she freaked him out with her direct questions and blunt statements, and he embarrassed easily.

  Telling him she thought he was cute and making his cheeks redden and him avoid eye contact wasn’t the way to convince him to move their friendship to the bedroom. Because that’s all it would be. Friends, or at least, mutual acquaintances who found sexual release with each other.

  Turning it into a relationship deal or throwing in feelings and emotions wasn’t her style, but she was afraid Drew might be the type of guy who did the long-term relationship thing.

  Although, he was quite reserved and introverted. Did those types commit? He liked his privacy, which was not exactly relationship material. Maybe there was a possibility he’d be all for the bedroom piece of their friendship. No strings, have some fun sex.

  Ugh. Brooke shook her shoulders, her romanticizing giving her the heebie-jeebies. Daydreaming about getting it on with a guy was not her style. If it happened, it happened. She didn’t fawn over guys or dream about falling into bed with them.

  It was usually the last-minute date or hookup that went fairly well that led to the bedroom. There’d been a few men in her life with whom she had brief relationships. In her book, that meant a handful of dates over a short period, maybe a month, and then done.

  With her deployments and crazy schedule, dating and holding down a relationship was not a priority.

  Changing out of her tank, she tugged on a clean beige shirt with ARMY written in camouflage letters across her chest and ran a comb through her hair. At least her short, pixie cut was easy to care for.
No fuss was her style of choice. Instead of wearing her bandana or baseball cap, she let it fall naturally.

  Spotting her water bottle, she poured some water into her cupped hands and ran them through her hair, mussing it up a bit. Turning on her phone, she flipped her camera around to selfie mode and checked out her hair. A little crazy, a little fun. It would do.

  As tempted as she was to walk, she opted to drive over instead. It wasn’t that she was afraid to walk through the trail after dark, but after the other night and the creep who vandalized the place, she’d rather not make herself an easy target for a crazy stalker.

  There wasn’t even time for one song to play on the radio by the time she pulled into Drew’s driveway. She parked next to his Land Rover and walked casually up to his door. The flutter in her chest felt unexpected and unfamiliar.

  This time when she knocked, he answered. Dressed in dark jeans and a black T-shirt, he was the epitome of sex on a stick.

  “Wow. You clean up nice.” She stuffed her hands into her pockets so she wouldn’t be tempted—as tempted—to run her fingers along his freshly shaven jaw. Brooke wasn’t one to study a man’s physique or features, but tonight, standing in his doorway with the warm air at her back, she couldn’t help it.

  His cool, green eyes shone bright against his dark clothing. His hair was neatly styled with just a trace of spike above his forehead. Hot. Yeah, the more time she spent with Drew, the hotter he got.

  She was used to being around men who were fit, if not overly bulked. There was a lot of downtime in the army, and most soldiers used that time to run and work out, just as Brooke had done. It wasn’t because she particularly cared what she looked like, but she wanted to keep up with the men and the other women.

  Drew wasn’t jacked. Lean, muscular, fit. Nice. Perfect. A little too perfect.

  “Thanks. So do you.”

  Brooke snorted. “I think I’m a bit underdressed. Sorry about that.”

  “You’re perfect. I, uh...” Drew’s smooth cheeks reddened, and he stepped back so Brooke could come in. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Anytime. And I mean it. I’m living at the camp now and won’t be making too many gourmet meals. I’ll eat well when Charlie comes. She’s a chef and will run the food program.”

  Drew didn’t respond and closed the door. “I have some hors d’oeuvres and wine.” He moved past her, and she followed him into the kitchen.

  Not appetizers or chips and salsa, but hors d’oeuvres. Fancy puff things on a plate and a cheese bowl—fondue, she’d guess—with tiny forks surrounded by an array of vegetables while pretzels and chunks of bread filled the counter. Yeah, she was way out of her element here.

  “Would you prefer white or red? I have both.” Drew took two glasses from a fancy wine rack and set them on the dark granite countertop. “Or would you prefer something else? I have—”

  “White is perfect. Thanks.” Homing in on her lady skills, she sat on a stool at the counter and did her best not to slouch. “Thank you,” she said when he handed her the glass.

  Their fingers mingled in that totally cliché way that sent silly girlish tingles to her core. She couldn’t blame it on the wine when she hadn’t even had a sip yet. Rectifying that, she sipped the crisp white.

  “This is delicious.”

  “It’s from a local vineyard about an hour away. They use fruits from nearby farms in many of their blends. This one is an apple and strawberry blend.”

  “It’s sweet. You have a sweet tooth, don’t you?”

  “A little bit.” He smiled shyly and picked up a tiny fork, handing it to her. “Try the fondue. I used a combination of dry wine and cheese from Henderson’s farm in Sutton. Their cream and butter are amazing as well.”

  “You’re such a cute local supporter. And a decent salesman. Do you get a commission on sales?” she teased, stabbing a chunk of bread and dipping it into the fondue.

  She let it drip before bringing it to her mouth. The warm, gooey cheese and the fresh bread warmed her from the inside out. “Oh my god,” she moaned, not caring about her manners anymore. The tang and nuttiness of the cheese was rich and dense without being overpowering. “This is awesome. You’ve gotta give Charlie the recipe.”

  Brooke stabbed another hunk of bread and dipped it into the pale-yellow, creamy cheese.

  “Sure. I bet you could make it yourself. It’s pretty easy.”

  “For you maybe.”

  “I’m sure you can follow a basic recipe.”

  “I can read directions and follow them when it comes to building things, even taking apart machine guns and heavy artillery. Following a recipe, though? Not so much.”

  “Did you like being in the army?” Drew rounded the counter and sat next to her, helping himself to the fondue as well.

  “I didn’t mind it. I had nowhere else to go. No family really. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, so it seemed like the logical thing to do. They paid for my education, and I walked away with some pretty cool experiences, a college degree, and no debt.”

  “Was it hard?”

  He left that question pretty open. What was hard? The killing? The death? The fearing of her life? The intense heat and the bitter cold? The stereotypes? The catcalls and groans from the assholes when they were paired up with a girl? Or was he referring to not having anyone write to her and no one to send her care packages? The loneliness? The trailer she visited on her leave occupied by her emotionally absent grandmother who couldn’t care less if she visited or was alive or dead?

  “Yeah. But what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? What are those things?” She pointed at the plate with her fork, changing the subject.

  “Mini veggie quiche. I try to sneak in as many vegetables as I can to balance out the sugar I consume while writing.”

  “Speaking of, how’s it going?”

  “It’s going well. My agent loved the proposal, and my publisher is backing it.”

  “How long does it take you to write a book?” She sipped her wine and picked up a cute quiche.

  “A solid nine months from start to finish before I send it to my agent. He sends me rewrites and then it goes to my editor. That process takes a few more months.”

  “So, when will my brainchild hit the bookshelves?” She bit into the quiche and held back another groan. The man could cook. Total turn-on.

  “Not for another year and a half.”

  “That’s a long time away. So, the book that came out this year you wrote a couple of years ago?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “That’s kind of cool. I’ve never met an author before. I read a lot overseas. We had a pretty eclectic library. Lots of espionage and thriller books, and the romance section was a lot bigger than you’d expect at an army base. The men would sneak those puppies back to their barracks. If they were caught with one, they were razzed for days, but they all read them. Anything for a distraction.” Crap. She didn’t mean to turn the attention back on herself again. “Good wine.” She sipped. Thankfully, he didn’t pursue the topic.

  Drew got up and held up the bottle. “More?”

  “Sure.”

  He moved about the kitchen with ease, picking up lids on the stove and stirring the contents. He opened the oven door and took out a pan, setting it on the counter. Another turn-on. Watching him cook was as euphoric as eating his food.

  She was doomed, totally doomed. This was unfamiliar territory for her. Did she come right out and tell him she wanted to jump his bones? Because that was more her style. Or would that freak him out?

  Drew Beckett had class, something Brooke lacked.

  “The salmon and risotto are done, but the roasted asparagus could use another minute. I put it in right before you got here.”

  “Sounds amazing. You and Charlie would get along well. You’ll have to swap recipes next time she comes out.” And hopefully nothing more. A tinge of jealousy crept up her spine. If Drew hung out with Charlie, he’d fall for her instant
ly. She was gorgeous, funny, and a master in the kitchen.

  All things Brooke was not. This sex idea with Drew was so not going to happen. She could be the better friend and work on hooking him up with Charlie instead. It was a much better match.

  The churning in her stomach had nothing to do with the rich fondue and everything to do with self-doubt.

  “She’ll be spending a lot of time up here starting next year. Living at the camp from May to September. I can put in a good word for you if you want.”

  “A good word?” Drew slipped off the hot mitts and set them on the counter.

  “She’s a lot of fun. You’ll like her.”

  “She wanted me to autograph her chest.”

  “See? How fun is that? Every guy’s dream.” Brooke downed the rest of her wine and shoved a peapod into her mouth.

  “Not mine.” Drew turned and took the pot off the stove, scraping its contents into a fancy square white bowl. He plated the salmon on a rectangular platter and carried it over to the table with the risotto. “You can have a seat. I’ll bring the rest over.”

  “I can carry something.”

  He gave her a curt nod and handed her two serving forks and a spoon. “There’s a basket of bread over there.” He pointed by the sink.

  Once dinner was served and they were both seated, they ate in silence. Drew’s countenance had completely changed over the past ten minutes.

  “Did I say something to offend you? You seem pissed off at me.” She didn’t do drama or hide behind her feelings. If she was happy, she said so. If she was mad at you for something, she’d tell you.

  “It’s fine.”

  “Not those words. Don’t women have the reputation of tossing out the ‘It’s fine’ or ‘whatever’ passive-aggressive vibe? I didn’t expect it from you. The man who gets paid millions for communicating with words can come up with some better than it’s fine.”

  Drew set his fork down, wiped his mouth with his linen napkin, and set it on the table next to his plate. Brooke studied him as he picked up his glass and took a healthy, uncivilized chug of his wine.