There was still part of one carrot cake in Brant’s refrigerator. His brothers had devoured everything else he’d brought home from the funeral, and they’d eat this, too, if he didn’t get to it first. But allowing himself to enjoy it somehow made him feel as though he’d be capitulating—accepting that he was beginning to care way too much for Talulah.
“What’re you doing?” Ranson had just entered the kitchen to find Brant staring into the fridge. “The TV’s out there, bro.”
Brant grabbed a beer instead. But when his brother opened the fridge the second he closed it and reached for the cake, Brant stopped him. “That’s mine.”
A scowl darkened Ranson’s face. “All of it?”
Brant considered the sizable chunk that remained. He could share, but he wasn’t amenable to that or much of anything else at the moment. “I’ll let you know if there’s any left when I’m done.”
“What are the chances of that?” Ranson asked. “Tell you what. I’ll arm wrestle you for it.”
“You wouldn’t want to take me on tonight,” Brant told him.
“Why not?”
Brant cracked open his beer. “Because if I arm wrestle you, I’m going to make you put a hundred bucks on it. Then you stand to lose something, too.”
Ranson took one look at him, and Brant saw his confidence fade. “Yeah, that’s a bet I won’t bother with.” He shut the fridge. “So...do you think you can get Talulah to bake us another one?”
“No, he can’t,” Kurt said, joining them from the living room. “Her boyfriend’s in town, so Brant’s lost his privileges. Ain’t that right, Brant?”
“I’m already in a bad mood,” Brant warned. “It might be smart to watch your mouth.”
“Oh, I get it,” Ranson said as he nudged Kurt in the ribs. “He’s jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” Brant said. “This thing between Talulah and me was never meant to be anything serious. I knew that going in.”
“So why are you acting like you’re ready to tear someone’s head off?” Kurt asked as he opened the fridge.
When he tried to reach for the cake, Brant knocked his hand away, too. “Don’t touch that. Like I told Ran, it’s mine.”
“All of it?”
“All of it. For now, anyway.”
“Well, if you’re going to be stingy like that, I won’t tell you what Kate just told me on the phone,” Kurt said.
“Jane’s sister? Who’s close friends with Talulah?” Ranson clarified.
Brant already knew which Kate Kurt had been referring to. Kate and Kurt had been friends for years, and recently their relationship seemed to be turning into more than that. Ran was just trying to be funny. “Why would I care?” Brant asked, feigning indifference. But he did care, and the fact that his brother was dangling this particular carrot in front of him proved Kurt knew it.
“Because, in case you haven’t guessed, it’s about Talulah.”
Brant told himself not to fall for this, but there really wasn’t anything to be gained by continuing the “it makes no difference to me” charade. “What’d she say?”
“It’ll cost you the rest of the cake...” Kurt reminded him.
Brant arched his eyebrows. “I’ll give you half.”
Ranson nudged Kurt. “The way he’s feeling about her? I think you can get it all—and then give me half.”
Brant ignored that. “What did Kate say?” he asked Kurt. “If half the cake isn’t good enough, I could always beat it out of you. That’d be your other option.”
Pretending to be shocked, Kurt gaped at Ranson. “Have you ever seen him like this? Damn! I think he really likes her.”
“He definitely likes her,” Ranson concurred.
“That’s it. I’m out of here.” Brant had taken enough of their razzing. He turned to leave, but before he could reach the door to the living room, Kurt spoke up.
“Fine, I’ll tell you. Kate saw Talulah in town earlier while we were at the lake.”
Brant swung around. “And?”
“She was with her boyfriend from Seattle.”
“He’s not her boyfriend,” Brant bit out.
“Okay, she was with some dude who had a man bun.”
“That’s better. What were they doing?”
“Just walking down the street, window shopping and stopping at various places. Kate said the dude kept trying to touch her, but she’d move away, as if she wasn’t into him.”
“That could be Kate’s interpretation,” he pointed out.
“Except that Kate followed them into the ice cream parlor and heard them get into an argument. He said she was acting different toward him, that she wouldn’t even let him hold her hand.”
Brant’s mood was miraculously improving. “And how did Talulah respond to that?”
“Unfortunately, she spoke too softly for Kate to hear without being obvious about it. But he didn’t like her response. That was clear, which tells you something.”
“Is that it?”
“That’s it.”
“And you think that tiny bit of gossip is worth the last piece of cake?” he asked.
“Don’t give me that crap,” Kurt said, calling him on his shit. “I know you’re happy to hear it.”
“Fine. You two can share the cake,” he said and flashed them a grin, because he was happy to hear it, before taking his beer and walking out.
When he got to his room, he closed the door, set his beer on the dresser and pulled his phone from his pocket. Would it make any difference if he told Talulah how he felt?
Is there any chance you’re missing me as much as I’m missing you?
As soon as he typed that, he realized he’d be a fool to send it and erased it instead. She was going back to Seattle after she took care of Phoebe’s house. It wasn’t as if he had a real chance with her, as if they had a real chance, even if she didn’t get back with Paul.
“Shit,” he muttered and tossed his phone on the bed, only to hear it ding with an incoming message.
He grabbed it right away, hoping it was Talulah. But it was Charlie, who must’ve heard Paul was in town: I told you so.
Talulah spent a restless night tossing and turning and beating herself up for the way things had gone with Paul since he arrived. It seemed as though they’d argued over everything. As soon as they’d agree to let one thing go, something else would crop up. If it wasn’t Brant, it was how long she had to stay to take care of the house. And if it wasn’t about the house, it was that she’d never made much of an effort to introduce him to her family. No matter what they were talking about, Paul’s underlying resentment found some fissure through which to erupt. They couldn’t even agree on whether to eat in or go out for dinner. Although Talulah had allowed him his choice on almost everything since he’d arrived, by the time evening came around, she’d preferred to retreat from town, was tired of being on display.
The argument that ensued because of it had been pretty bad, but it wasn’t anything like the one they’d had after they ate out and got home, and he tried to put on the screen door. It’d looked like an easy enough job, even to her, but when he couldn’t get it to hang right or swing level, he’d started saying Brant shouldn’t have removed it in the first place, that he’d had no business touching anything that belonged to her.
Unable to abide his tirade for long, she’d stood up for Brant by saying he’d only been trying to help, at which point Paul had made his attacks more personal. He’d accused her of using him to fulfill her dream of owning a restaurant, using him to take care of the diner while she was out messing around with other guys and blaming her for leading him on.
That was when Talulah had really lost her temper. How was she using him? They were splitting all the profits on the diner, taking turns looking after the place, and she’d always been careful to pay her own way when any costs were involved. She’d done nothing wrong. But pointing that out only made him angrier. He even got mad that she wasn’t as upset as he felt she should be that he was upset.
In the end, Talulah had asked him to go back to Seattle. She’d told him she was too worried about the diner to focus on their relationship, and she had too much work to do on Phoebe’s house to take any more time away from getting it done. In her opinion, they were doing more harm than good to keep going the way they were. She was becoming more and more convinced that the best chance they had of salvaging their friendship, and possibly their partnership, was to separate, for now, and give each other some space.
Considering how the night had gone, Talulah had no idea how Paul would behave when he got up this morning. Maybe he’d leave without even speaking to her.
In an attempt to part on friendly terms, she dragged herself out of bed at dawn to shower and dress and make him some breakfast. But it was after nine when she finally heard movement overhead, so he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get on the road. It’d been so long since she made breakfast she’d had to cover his food and put it in the fridge—and she was beginning to worry that he’d decided not to go home today, after all.
She couldn’t take another twenty-four hours of their bickering...
When he came downstairs, she took his plate out of the fridge and put it in the microwave.
He poked his head in the tiny kitchen. “You made breakfast?”
“I did—the orange marmalade French toast you liked when I tried the recipe a couple of months ago,” she said while they waited for his food to heat. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore. I hope you know that I honestly want to get along and...and make you happy.”
He leaned against the doorway. “That would be easy enough to do. You know what I want, Lu. But for some reason you can’t give it to me.”
Even the sulkiness of his voice bothered her. She couldn’t figure out what was going on. “Not right now,” she admitted as the microwave dinged. She took out his plate and slipped past him to reach the dining table, and he pulled out a chair and slouched into it.
“I thought you’d eventually realize that we’re perfect for each other. I mean...what do you plan to do with your life if you don’t marry me? Do you want to remain single indefinitely? Give yourself only to your work?”
She went back into the kitchen to pour him a cup of coffee. “That isn’t the future I’m hoping for, no.”
“Then what? You’re fighting your own happiness. You know that, don’t you? Brant isn’t looking for anything more than a good time. That makes him seem safe. That’s what made it possible for you to sleep with him so easily. And here I am, willing to offer you what most girls want, and you’re not interested. It’s too ironic.”
“Talulah?” someone called from the front door, surprising them both. “Anyone home?”
Talulah leaned around Paul to peer through the living room. “Ellen?”
“What the hell’s wrong with your screen door?” she asked, having to wrest it open to get in.
“It’s not fixable,” Paul said before Talulah could respond. “It needs to be replaced.”
Ellen glanced over at him. “I thought that was your car in the drive.”
“Is it a problem that I’m still here?”
She shrugged. “Not for me. But some people are making a big deal out of it.”
“Would ‘some people’ be Brant the rancher?” he asked drily.
“Actually, I was referring to Charlie and his family.”
Paul took a drink of his coffee. “Why would they care?”
“They make everything that has to do with Talulah their business.”
“Well, you can tell them I’m leaving.”
“Damn. Now who’ll keep the gossip mill running?” Ellen joked, and Talulah breathed a little easier, secretly glad that he hadn’t changed his mind.
“In a town this size, I’m sure there’ll be someone,” he said.
Ellen held up the measuring cup she’d brought over. “Can I borrow a cup of sugar?” she asked Talulah.
“Of course.” Talulah went to the pantry and grabbed what was left of the bag she’d purchased for the carrot cakes. “Just bring back what you don’t use. No worries.”
“Okay,” she said, but she was standing behind Paul when she gave a slight gesture with her head that let Talulah know she wanted to be walked out.
“Do you need anything else?” Talulah asked, following her through the living room.
“I don’t think so,” she said as Talulah forced open the recalcitrant screen door.
When Ellen hesitated, Talulah waited until they were both out on the porch before whispering, “Is something wrong?”
Ellen leaned to the right to glance past her. Paul had his back to them as he ate, but she seemed to realize they didn’t have enough privacy for whatever she wanted to say. “Call me later,” she said, and Talulah knew she meant after he goes.