The sky is a big swath of star-speckled velvet as I drive Bree home from the birthday party. She’s more relaxed than she was on the drive out, and I’m pretty sure it’s not just the vodka.
“I only had one of those spiked lemonades,” she assures me, even though I haven’t asked. “I’m not much of a drinker. Even with wine—which I love—I seldom have more than a glass.”
“No judgement here,” I assure her, not sure why she’s worried about it. “I would have knocked back another beer or two if I weren’t driving.”
She shifts in her seat, making her chocolate-colored skirt hitch higher up her thigh. It hits below her knees when she’s standing, so I love that there’s a lot more flesh visible when she’s sitting here in the passenger seat of my car. What would it be like to reach over and rest a hand on her knee? To push that skirt up and keep going, to glide my fingers beneath—
“Tell me about your senior prom,” she says.
The question catches me off-guard, and it takes me a second to even remember the event. When I do, I can’t help feeling a little embarrassed. “I went with a girl I’d known since middle school,” I say. “Stacey Fleming. She’s a teacher now. Anyway, back then she had, uh… a reputation.”
“For putting out?”
Bree’s tone is neutral, so I can’t tell if she thinks I’m an asshole or what.
“Yeah, I guess.” I clear my throat. “I was still a virgin at that point, and I had it in my head that maybe she was my ticket to losing my v-card before graduation.”
“And did it work?” She folds her hands in her lap, and the primness in her answer suggests I’m walking the thin line between “horny teenage boy” and “insensitive user of women.”
I’m grateful that my honest answer will likely tip me back into the former zone. “Nope,” I admit. “Not even close. I was too chickenshit to make a move. Plus, she snuck a flask of tequila in her purse, so I spent the whole evening trying to keep her safe and out of trouble.”
“Wow.” Bree eyes me in the dimness of the cab. “That’s noble of you. So you graduated a virgin, huh?”
I turn the car onto the side road that leads to her place. “I didn’t say that.”
“Who was the lucky girl?”
I laugh and shake my head. “I’m not naming names. Let’s just say she was older, and she taught me some very useful lessons.”
Bree grins. “So you took Aunt Genevieve’s advice to heart.”
“More or less.”
“I’ve wondered what it would have been like,” she says. “Going to prom. Having a normal teenage existence.”
There’s a wistful twist in her voice that makes me glance over. Her hands are still on her lap, balled up in the folds of her skirt. I wonder if a girl like Bree Bracelyn would have given me the time of day in high school.
“If it makes you feel better, I’m betting your education put mine to shame,” I tell her. “I don’t know much about boarding schools, but I’m guessing there’s a reason parents pay good money to get their kids into places like that.”
“I suppose so,” she says. “Though I’m not sure academic stuff is always the reason.”
I start to ask about other reasons but stop myself. She’s got that ramrod-straight posture again, and the look that tells me I’m not getting any closer. I decide not to push my luck.
I turn the car onto the asphalt road leading to the resort. The buildings are lit up—the Cedar Golf Club, the Aspen Springs Day Spa—but I cruise past them en route to Bree’s cabin.
“Do all of your siblings live here?”
She laughs and does a funny little shrug. “Not everyone, but most of us running the place. That was sort of the deal when we decided to turn Dad’s ranch into a resort.”
“What do you mean?”
“There was—a substantial inheritance,” she says carefully. “Not just the land, but barns and outbuildings and a few cabins that had been built for ranch hands. We remodeled those and then started building more.”
“So you could each have your own place?”
“Pretty much. I guess we figured some of us might eventually get married and start families, that sort of thing. We built with that in mind.”
I haven’t seen the inside of Bree’s place, but there’s something touching about knowing it was constructed with a future family as part of her plan. Is that what she wants?
“Your cousin lives here, too, right—Brandon?”
“Right. He did tons of construction work for free, so we ended up just giving him his cabin. That’ll probably go into the rental pool after he and Jade get married.”
I hadn’t realized they were actually engaged, or maybe Bree’s just assuming. She’s closer to the sisters than I am. “Brandon’s moving into Jade and Amber’s place?”
“It makes the most sense. Jade’s more hands-on with the animals, so she’s not going anywhere. I’m guessing Amber will eventually move out and live here with Sean, so she’ll still be close to her sister and their business.”
“That’s handy, falling in love with the neighbor,” he says. “My sister, Katie—the one you didn’t meet tonight?”
“The one with four girls?”
“Exactly,” I say, secretly pleased she’s already learned my family. “Her husband’s from Minnesota, so they all live there. It’s tough on my mom not getting to see them as often.”
“You, too, I’m guessing?”
“Yeah. We’re a pretty close family.”
“I noticed.” She smiles, and there’s something wistful in that, too. “I always wished for that. Growing up, I mean. I got it a little late in life.”
“Your brothers seem pretty cool.” And terrifying, I add silently, recalling Mark’s look of silent disdain. “Sean seems really nice.”
“He is,” she says. “They’re all great. Infuriating sometimes, but I love them.”
I pull up in front of her place and kill the lights. The faint yip of coyote song carries through the car windows, so I roll mine down to hear better. There’s a full-on orchestra of frogs croaking and a creek burbling somewhere nearby. They’re sounds I grew up with, but I’m guessing this is still new to Bree. I turn to see her watching me in the half-light.
“I had a good time today,” she says. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“I hope it was helpful. With Genevieve, I mean. I hope that turns into something.”
She unhooks her seatbelt but doesn’t reach for the door. Instead, she turns in her seat to face me and gives me a smile that turns my chest cavity into dough. “I didn’t agree to come just so I could meet your aunt.”
“Why did you come?” I hold my breath, hoping for a certain answer.
“Because I like spending time with you.”
There it is, exactly what I’d hoped to hear. It’s all I can do not to pump my fist like a teenage football star.
Bree looks down and fiddles with a thread on the hem of her skirt. “You’re a good guy, Austin Dugan.”
“Thanks.” I think. Did I just get friend-zoned?
Her eyes lift to mine, and the heat there is anything but friend zone. I should kiss her. I should kiss her right now. I should—
“Is that smoke?” Bree’s eyes go wide, and she looks around the car, sniffing.
“I smell it, too.”
She looks around, frantic. “Is something burning in the car?”
“No, that’s not it.” I turn to my cracked window and breathe deeply, frowning. “It’s outside. It’s—”
“My cabin!” Bree shoves open her car door and sprints up her walkway.
I’m a few steps behind her, slowed by my still-latched seatbelt and the fact that she figured it out before I did. We’re halfway up the path when I notice the door is ajar.
“Bree, wait,” I urge. “Don’t go in—your front door—”
“Oh, God.” She pounds up the front steps, ignoring my warning. “It’s my fault. I totally forgot—”
“Yeah, you did.” A hulking, bearded figure clad in lumberjack plaid steps into the doorframe.
Mark. Bree’s brother. And he’s holding a fire extinguisher.
He puts out a hand to halt her in her tracks. “It’s fine. Everything’s good. I got it out.”
Bree bursts into tears. “It’s all my fault,” she sobs. “I lit a candle, and I totally forgot about it.”
Mark looks utterly dumbfounded, like he’s never seen a woman cry before. “Uh, hey.” He drags her awkwardly against his chest and pats her back. “It’s fine. The only thing that burned is that ugly tablecloth thing. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”
The helpless befuddlement on his face is almost comical, and he meets my eye with a look of utter terror. “Here,” he says, pushing her away as gently as possible. “Why don’t you let the cop take you in. You’ll see, everything’s okay.”
Bree sniffs and steps back, running a hand down the front of his shirt. “I got snot on you.”
“It’ll wash out.”
“Mark, I can’t ever thank you enough—”
“Yeah, you can.” He frowns. “You can quit crying and go inside where it’s warm.” He chucks her under the chin then starts down the path with the fire extinguisher in his hand.
“Stay safe, kids,” he calls over his shoulder.
Then he vanishes into the darkness. Bree turns to me and sniffs again. “He’s not used to seeing me cry.”
“Not at your dad’s funeral?”
She shakes her head a little sadly. “I cried after, and a lot by myself. But not there.”
I put an arm around her, not sure if she needs comfort or reassurance. “Come on. Let’s take a look at the damage.”
She nods and leads me inside. The smell of fresh cedar mingles with the thick odor of smoke and something oddly fruity.
“Apple blossoms and oak.” Bree stares forlornly at a rustic wood table with a charred edge and a pile of foam in the middle of it. She looks up at me with a mascara smudge under one eye. “That was the fragrance of the candle.”
“It’s uh—nice.”
She shakes her head and looks like she might be on the verge of tears again. “I almost never use real candles. I have a zillion of the battery-powered kind, but I wanted something that smelled nice for a change. God, I’m such an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot. You have an MBA, and you’re one of the driving forces behind a gazillion-dollar resort that shows every sign of being a brilliant idea. You are definitely not an idiot.”
I can tell she doesn’t believe me. She stares down at the foamy wreckage of her side table and sighs. “I even thought twice about lighting it. I was like, ‘is it really a good idea to have an open flame in a house made entirely of wood?’ But I was so sure I’d remember to put it out. God, I’m dumb.”
“Bree, quit.” I grab her hand and pull her away from the mess. “Come on. You’re not dumb. We all do dumb things sometimes, but that doesn’t make us dumb.”
She lets me tow her toward the couch. There’s a laptop open on the coffee table, and the screen flickers to life when she bumps it with her hip. I catch the words “juvenile records” at the top of a website before she pushes the laptop shut and drops onto the couch beside me. My cop antennae tingle, but she did mention googling gift ideas for kids.
I have bigger issues at the moment. “It’s okay,” I tell her. “Your house is safe, you’re safe, and there’s hardly any damage.”
“Name one thing.”
“What?”
She looks up at me, green eyes still watery. “Name one thing you’ve done in your whole life that was this dumb, Officer McPerfect.”
“That’s easy,” I say, ignoring the nickname as I hold out my left hand and tip it sideways to show the edge of my middle finger. “See that scar?”
Bree reaches out and brushes a finger over it. “This?”
I nod. “I can’t feel that, by the way. You touching me.” Damn shame.
She looks up at me. “What is it?”
“It’s a scar from a third-degree burn. I got it when I ignited my own hand on purpose when I was sixteen.”
“What?” Her expression is equal parts horrified and amused, but at least she no longer looks humiliated.
“Yeah, it’s this magic trick my friends used to do.”
“This doesn’t look very magical.” She’s still touching my hand, and I’m grateful. Her touch is light, and I can feel it butterfly-soft outside the edges of the scar.
“It wasn’t very magical,” I admit, dropping my hand to my lap. “You spread rubber cement on your hand and light it on fire. The flame burns the cement, but not your hand. In theory, anyway.”
“You might need another theory.” Bree traces a finger over my scar again, inching higher up my arm and back down again.
“I used too much rubber cement. My father still hasn’t let me live down the fact that he had to come pick up his son who intentionally ignited his own hand.”
“Okay, you’re right.” Bree giggles and drops her hand. “That’s pretty dumb.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you.” She smiles, and my damn heart flops over like an excited beagle. “I do feel better.”
“Want another?”
“There’s more?”
“Sure, I could go all night.” Bree’s eyes flicker, but I ignore my own accidental innuendo and try to come up with another dose of comfort for her. I settle back on the couch, throwing my arm over the back of it. She settles against me, getting comfortable, too.
“Let’s see,” I say. “There’s the time I went to a concert in Portland a few years ago, and I accidentally walked into the women’s restroom.”
“Whoops.” She shifts on the sofa, bumping my thigh with hers. God, she feels good.
“Yeah. I thought I was so smart ducking out of the show a couple minutes early to beat the rush, and I was the first one into the stall. That should have been my first clue—no urinals.”
“What did you do?”
“I was already locked in the stall when I heard the voices and saw the shoes and put two and two together to realize where I was. But by then the line was out the door, and I couldn’t escape.”
Bree laughs. “So did you stay in there all night?”
“Nope. I finally got the balls to push open the door and walk out, apologizing the whole way. A few ladies yelled at me, but most of them laughed. One even high-fived me.”
Bree smiles and snuggles closer. Her shoulder is warm next to mine, and her skirt slides up her bare thigh as she rearranges her legs beneath her. “I don’t know if I’d call that dumb,” she says. “Definitely embarrassing, though.”
“Oh, I can do dumb. Let’s see.” I give it some thought. “Okay, here’s a more recent one—this was just last week at Macy’s when I went in to buy my mom a birthday gift.”
“What did you get her?”
“Perfume,” I say. “Her favorite.”
“Such a good son.”
“I try.” My fingers graze the edge of her bare knee, and she doesn’t draw back. “Anyway, I’m walking toward the perfume counter when I bump into this woman. I said, ‘oh, I’m sorry, pardon me.’”
“That’s not dumb, that’s polite.”
“It would be if she were a real person. It turned out she was a mannequin.”
Bree brings her hands to her mouth to cover her laughter. “That’s awesome.”
“Oh, it gets worse. I realized I’d just apologized to a mannequin, so I said, ‘I’m sorry, I thought you were a real person.’ That’s when the perfume counter lady walked by.”
Bree is practically rolling on the couch laughing. “What did she say?”
“Not a word. She just shot me this really weird look and gave me a wide berth as she walked away.”
She’s howling with laughter now. It’s so much better than the tears earlier, so I try to think of another one.
“Okay, I’ve got one.” Bree thrusts out her hand, spreading her fingers wide across my thigh. “See that scar right there?”
I nod and trace a finger over it. She shivers under my touch. “How did you do it?”
“Paring knife, sixth grade. I was home alone for the first time, and I decided I wanted a baked potato. Only I’d never made one before. I’d only seen my nanny do it, or sometimes the maid.”
“You had a nanny and a maid?”
She nods and makes a face. “I know, I know…poor little rich girl.”
“I wasn’t going to say that at all.” I catch her hand before she can pull it back, rubbing my thumb across the scar. “So, what happened?”
“Well, when I’d watched Matilda—that was my nanny—she always stabbed the potato a couple times before she put it in the oven.”
“Sure, so it doesn’t explode.”
“Right. But instead I stabbed my hand.”
“Ouch.”
“It bled all over the place, but by then, I was sort of in shock. So, I left this trail of blood to the oven and shoved it in and waited for it to get done. Only no one ever told me you had to turn the oven on.”
“Oh, no.”
“By the time my mom got home, I’d bled through a dish towel and gone into shock, and my potato was still ice cold.”
I rub the scar, wishing for some way to erase it from her personal history. “Did you go to the hospital?”
“Yeah. It took seven stitches. I always tell people that’s why I’ve never learned to cook.”
Her eyes lock with mine and hold. I’m still holding her hand, still stroking the scar with my thumb. Bree’s lips part, her chest rising and falling quicker now. My senses fill with the scent of raspberries and oak-moss, and there’s a faint buzzing in my ears.
“Austin?”
“Yeah?”
“Whose turn is it to kiss first?”
The words shoot straight to my groin, and it takes me a second to answer. “Want to flip a coin?”
She bites her lip, shaking her head. “Let’s meet in the middle.”
And so we do, our mouths moving together, lips colliding, tongues tangling, as I let go of her hand and thread my fingers into her hair.