Brandon smiled and swiped his thumb across her lower lip. “I never claimed to.”
She gripped the front of his sweatshirt with two fists. “But see, I really need you to.”
He snickered and gripped both her hips, holding her to him. “What’s the matter, Stella? Do I make you weak in the knees?”
And then some. But giving him the upper hand was out of the question. She needed to keep it for herself or else she was done for.
Hell, you’re already done for. And since when did you ever have the upper hand with this guy?
So what was a little lie? They made her feel better and gave her the illusion of having her shit together.
She pushed away from him and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “What’s in the bag?” she questioned, because avoidance was sometimes a good thing.
His gaze zeroed in on her as though he knew she damn well didn’t have her shit together. In fact, if she wasn’t mistaken, it looked as though he wanted to say something. And not some smart-ass comment, just to keep up their tradition of taking swipes at each other. No, there was something else on his mind. Something deep he needed to say, but she’d derailed him.
Normally she’d give herself a pat on the back. But the usual victory that followed one-upping Brandon wasn’t there.
He snagged the bag off the floor, just as her mother made an appearance.
She offered Brandon a smile, as though she knew exactly what they’d just been up to. Knowing her mother, and probably the way Stella was toeing the line of hyperventilation, Gloria probably did. “Hello, Brandon.”
He nodded. “Ms. Davenport.”
Gloria’s gaze volleyed back and forth between him and Stella. “Well, I need to get going.” She gave Stella a peck on the cheek. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” she said, then was gone.
The silence between her and Brandon was too thick for Stella’s comfort. Was he upset that she’d stopped the kiss? Had he changed his mind about wanting her to leave?
“What time is your flight?” he asked.
She shoved her own internal battle away. “Nine-fifteen.”
“What’re you doing with your house?”
“I’m only going to be gone for six weeks,” she answered. Stella had put a hold on her mail and Gloria had agreed to stop by just to check on things.
Brandon nodded, then handed her the bag. “Matt and I put something together for you.”
Her hand was damp and trembling when she took the bag from him. His bigger hand closed over hers, as though sensing her building anxiety. “It’s okay,” he told her.
What was okay? They were okay?
“I don’t have to go,” she blurted out.
Brandon’s hand froze over hers. Then his grip tightened. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Um…thanks?” Yeah, not what she’d expected him to say.
“I’m serious,” he reiterated. “Don’t throw away what you’ve been working for.”
What about what they were throwing away? “I’m just saying,” she went on. “If you asked me to stay, I would.”
Brandon dragged his thumb across her knuckles as they both still gripped the bag. “I already told you, I won’t ask you to do that. You’d need to make that decision on your own.”
What did that mean? How was she supposed to respond to that?
“Are you saying you want me to stay, but you don’t want to ask me?”
“Of course I don’t want you to go,” he told her. “Especially since you may not come back. You think I like the idea of never being able to drag you off to bed?”
She leaned away from him. “Oh, and that’s all you’re waiting for?”
He chuckled and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. “I’d be crazy not to.”
“So you really don’t want me to go?” she asked him again.
Brandon blew out a heavy sigh. “Stella,” he said. His hand left hers and he threaded his fingers through her hair. “I’m saying if you really don’t want to go back to Chicago, it needs to be what you want, not because I asked you not to go. You’ve lived your life for other people for too long. It’s time you started living for yourself.” His deep brown gaze searched hers. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I don’t know what to say.” She swallowed. “I’m not used to people…caring about me this much.” She wanted to lean in to him. Just bury her face in his neck and slide her hands beneath his sweatshirt so she could feel the dips and ridges of his back.
He tapped her chin with his index finger. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. It’s not just caring, Stella. It’s love.”
Her breath huffed out the same time a tear leaked over her lashes. She whipped her head up right as Brandon departed and closed the front door behind him. The soft snick matched the hitching of her breath as he shut the door on whatever she’d been planning to say.
Stella swiped a tear away and dumped tissue paper out of the gift bag. Inside was a five-by-seven framed photo of Matt and Brandon, Matt in his football uniform and Brandon with his arm slung around Matt’s shoulders. Both were grinning, both handsome and full of life.
On the bottom of the frame were the words I left my heart in Colorado.
Mine.
The word whispered in her mind, teasing her with what she could have if only she had the guts to come out and claim it.
Stella ran her index finger over the carved words, replaying Brandon’s brief visit and wishing she’d taken the chance to come out of her shell.
She placed the photo on the hall table and snagged her cell phone from her purse. Her fingers trembled as she dialed Annabelle’s number.
“Hey,” her friend answered on the second ring.
“Do you think I’m making the right decision?” Stella came out and asked.
“Yep,” Annabelle answered immediately.
Stella sighed, leaned against the front door, and slid down to the floor. “Annabelle.”
Her friend giggled. “Well, you’ve got to give me something to go on, Stella. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She thunked her head back on the door. “Do you think I’m making the right decision by leaving?”
“It’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but what if fate is handing me my one and only opportunity at happiness. With something real. I mean, what if this is a test and by getting on that plane tonight I’ll end up failing miserably.” Stella pushed to her feet and paced around the entryway. “And then while he’s waiting, Brandon bumps into some gorgeous supermodel who says something witty and they end up getting married. And then they have three children who, of course, will be just as gorgeous and star in dozens of Ralph Lauren ads. And I in my grief take up a hobby of collecting something really stupid like porcelain dolls, which becomes an obsession and I name them absurd things like Prissy and Muffin.” Stella took a deep breath and forged on. “And Brandon lives happily ever after with his Ralph Lauren family, occasionally thinking about that ballerina he used to know, and I’m just the loony old woman who talks to her dolls.”
Annabelle was silent a moment. “You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?”
“I’m serious, Annabelle. I don’t want to talk to dolls.”