Bryant

 

Since Jamie and April are on their honeymoon, Jax and I are leading the charge on the new project. I still have the duplex I bought five years ago, but living in this house while I do it up kills two birds with one stone.

Firstly, I can rent out my place and have someone else pay my mortgage while I live for free. Secondly, I’m on-site every day, I can do extra work on the weekends, and Faith can help me whenever she’s not working. That’s if she has a job.

We haven’t exactly spoken since Ezra left. We moved all of her suitcases and boxes into the guest room, and I chose to leave her alone for a while to process the last twenty-four hours.

The look on her face when she saw this house for the first time was worth not telling her beforehand. As she walked through the rooms, her expression morphed from horror, to fear and occasionally concern—probably for her safety—and all of the looks on her face were equally amusing.

Now I’m sitting in a chair on the back porch, my feet propped up on the railing, with a bottle of beer in my hand and a slowly darkening sky before me.

My plan has and will never be to torture or punish Faith. None of this was ever about that. However, it doesn’t stop me from finding the situation amusing, bordering on comical.

Who sees their childhood love—their only love—for the first time after she rejected his marriage proposal twelve years earlier, and proposes again to call her bluff about wanting him back? Maybe I need my head read. There is a plan, though. It may be stupid, but it’s necessary to end this once and for all.

For all my pandering, I do want to show Faith what our life could’ve—would have—been like if she’d stayed… if she’d said yes. Even if she’d said no, I would’ve waited.

Hell, apparently I waited anyway. I don’t think there’s a thing that woman could do that would ever make me stop loving her. Maybe that makes me the puppet and her the puppeteer; she just doesn’t know she still holds the strings.

“Bryant!” Faith shouts. My body goes still; then, I jerk into action. I drop my bottle to the ground. I rip the door open and race to her room.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, hanging off the side of her doorway when I reach her.

Her face is pale, her eyes snapping to mine as soon as I enter the room. She’s standing on top of the bed—more like cowering, really. Her finger points to the floor on the far side of the bed.

“There… there’s a…” She’s near-on shaking her bottom lip trembling.

“What, Faith?”

“There’s a spider under the bed,” she says, shaking her head from side to side, her hands covering her face. “And it had babies!”

I freeze, unable to comprehend what I’m seeing.

“Faith, how on earth can you still be scared of bugs?”

“You don’t know what bugs are until you’ve lived in Australia, especially spiders.”

“You’re a biologist,” I say, remembering how she hated to be put in a ‘specific scientific box.’

“Zoologist actually. Which is a lot different than those bug people who study things like—you know—big-ass spiders, Bryant Cook.”

“Are you full-naming me, Faith Baker?”

“You bet your ass I am, and I’ll keep doing it till you remove said spider and all its spider babies from my room.” She’s shriek-shouting by the end of her demand, and it’s cute as hell.

I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms over my chest. “So no future as an arachnologist?”

“Bry…” she hisses. “I’m begging you.”

“Say please then.”

“What?”

“Please. It’s usually followed by a thank you when the person completes the task you’ve asked them to do. It’s Manners 101. I know Mrs. Baker taught you all about that.”

“He brings my mom into it,” she mutters dryly, looking to the ceiling as if seeking answers—or a weapon to throw at me. Her eyes plead with mine. “Please, Bryant. Torture me with anything else but not bugs.”

I sigh, fighting—and failing—to stop a small triumphant grin making its home on my face.

“Smug much?” she mutters as I round the bed and drop to my hands and knees. “What are you doing?”

I crane my neck to look up at her from the floor. “I’m trying out a new yoga position. What the hell do you think I’m doing? I’m looking for the spider mama and her babies.”

“Like that?”

I sit up on my calves and look at her, dumbfounded. She’s always had a fear of spiders, but this is bordering on ridiculous. I arch a brow. “Got a spare hazmat suit lying around?”

“No need to get snippy.”

My lips twitch. “Never been called snippy before.”

“Never thought I’d need to say the word,” she retorts with a half-smile.

“What exactly does being snippy entail?”

She puts her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes. “Are we really standing here arguing about your behavior?”

“Well if you’d stop, then I could get on with ridding your room of all the creepy crawlies you hate.”

Her face falls. “You think there’s more than this?”

Ah, shit. This is not good. “No. I mean—”

“I can’t… I mean…” Her eyes fill with tears, and I feel like the biggest asshole on the planet.

I stand and open my arms, holding my breath as she looks at my hands then back to my face a few times before slowly moving forward and letting me comfort her. When she bends down and lays her head on my shoulder, a warm feeling settles in my heart.

“You probably think I’m a big baby,” she mumbles against my T-shirt. I smile, rubbing her back and cupping her head, keeping her close, enjoying this far more than I thought I would so soon. I swear this woman has superpowers when it comes to me.

“Can we fumigate the house?” she asks, her soft voice full of hope.

Without answering her, I tighten my arms around her waist and pull her off the bed. “Hold on, babycakes.”

She lets out a squeak as I carry her across the room. Her legs circle around my hips, and her arms strangle me as they tighten around my neck.

Once we’re in the hallway, I gently lower her to the ground, her fingers gripping my shoulders as she tips her wide eyes up to mine. Where I expect to find a spark of anger, there’s soft heat that I’m not prepared to see. She’s still standing close, her chest brushing mine. Her tongue darts out and traces along her bottom lip, and I can’t tear my gaze away.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“Can’t have you being scared of your own room.”

Something about what I said snaps her out of her daze, and she quickly takes a step back. “Thank you. I might order a cab and go to the grocery store.”

My brows bunch together into a confused frown. “Have you forgotten how to drive?”

Her head jerks back, and I see a glimpse of the spunky woman who always let shit fly with me. Used to, anyway.

“Australia does have cars, you know,” she says, her voice full of sarcasm. My mind burns with the memory of how I used to react to her sass, back when we were in a better place.

Instead, I chuckle under my breath and shake my head. “What I should’ve said was, why not ask to drive my truck? It’ll give me a chance to check your room for any more unwelcome guests.”

Her lips part and she blinks rapidly, as if not believing what she’s hearing. “You’d let me drive your truck?”

Now it’s my turn to be surprised. “Well, yeah. I added you to my insurance this morning because I know you haven’t had a chance to get a car yet and I don’t want you to feel like you’re trapped here.”

She blinks again. “You…”

“Yeah,” I say with a shrug. “It’s no big deal.” I leave it at that because it obviously means something to her—whatever that may be—and I don’t think delving into anything heavy is a good idea on the first day of this somewhat precarious living situation.

More like I’m not ready to deal with it right now.

Thankfully, she lets it go. “Okay, but there’s just one problem with that plan,” she says, biting her lip.

“What now?” I sigh, making her lips turn up a little. She looks over my shoulder then back to me.

“My purse… it’s in there.” She tentatively points into her bedroom, and all I can do is roll my eyes. She’s being cute as hell, but I’m not gonna let her know that—not yet. Don’t get me wrong—I have every intention of progressing forward in every way, but unlike my brothers, who are very much followers of the ‘hard and fast’ rule, I’ve always been a believer in ‘slow and steady’ wins the race.

Doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun with this though. “Should I ask Incy Wincy to bring it out for me?” I try to keep a straight face, but her adorable growl and pursed lips make that feat impossible.

“You’re an asshole when you wanna be,” she says, but there’s no malice in her tone.

“Why, thank you,” I say, giving a small, exaggerated bow. “That’s quite a compliment.”

“Bryant…” she says, sounding exasperated. “I’ll pick up Chinese takeout if you go get my purse.” Her voice takes on a soft, seductive tone, but she’s lured me with food. Damn her for knowing me so well.

“Oh, all right.” I turn around and walk back in her room, my eyes glued to the floor. “Where is it?” I ask, looking over my shoulder and catching her gaze locked on my ass. Her eyes jerk up to mine.

“Corner of the bed,” she replies, sounding innocent.

I grab her purse, picking up her sunglasses while I’m there, and return to the hallway, handing them both over. “My keys are on the hook by the front door.”

“Oh, okay.”

“I also got a set cut for you. I’m not sure whether you’ll need them or not but once we get you a car, you won’t be so reliant on anybody else for transport, so keys might come in handy.”

Her eyes soften, and the gratitude I see in her gentle expression sparks that strange warm feeling in my chest again.

She shoots me a short wave before walking out the front door with a quick, “bye, hubby.” There’s no missing the falter in her step when it hits her what she’s said or the fact that I also freeze stock-still at hearing her words.

It seems far too easy and natural and—dare I say—domesticated, and it’s barely been five hours since she moved in.

I watch her quickly run down the porch steps and hear my truck rumble to life not long after, yet five minutes later, I still find myself standing in the middle of the hallway, staring at the space where she was. Get yourself together, Cook.

I shake my head and turn back toward her bedroom, noting she’s still as messy as she used to be. When I see a drawer left open in the dresser I bought her, silk, satin and lace fabric strewn in and halfway out of it, I put my blinders on and focus on the task at hand: bug check and spray the room. Then I need to get out of there without looking at anything that will give me images in my head I don’t need to have right now. Locate, eradicate, and then extricate.

If only my emotions were as easy to manage.