My eyebrows knit together at the message that flashes on my phone from Brookes. He’s been gone all day. In fact, he’s been gone most days for the last week since we’ve been back from Puerto Rico, busy with meetings and interviews, practice sessions, and training, and, of course, daily tee time with his eighty-year-old bestie.
Brookes is prepping for the Open next week, and that’s probably a good thing, since I’ve been so busy with my own work, creating new designs for my range that will be sold exclusively at June’s boutique. I’m so excited. But also nervous. Scared that no one will buy them. Worried people will hate them. Terrified to fail…
Shaking my head to rid those self-sabotaging thoughts from my mind, I tap out my reply to Brookes.
Me: Sure. What do you need?
Brookes: [waggling eyebrow gif]
I bite back my laugh.
Me:
Brookes: Can you go into the loft over the pool house and see if I have any Big Swing boxes left in there?
I hop up from my place at the dining table where I’ve been busy working all day, walking outside and basking in the warmth of the afternoon sunshine.
Me: I didn’t even know there was a loft over the pool house.
Brookes: Can you hurry? I kind of need to know right now.
Me: Sheesh. Patience is a virtue, Brookes.
I walk into the pool house. Although I’ve seen it through the walls of glass, I’ve never been in here before. It’s really just a recreational room, with a pool table, some couches, some old school arcade games, a huge television, and a wet bar which is, of course, liquor-free.
Brookes: You and I both know I don’t like to wait for what I want.
My skin flushes at his innuendo as I walk up the stairs.
Me: Big Swing box? How big?
Brookes: Massive, baby.
Me: Are we talking about the box, or… something else? I’ve lost track.
Brookes doesn’t respond immediately, but I assume he’s busyand quickly clear the landing, reaching the loft and scanning the sprawling space once my eyes adjust. But when I realize exactly what I’m looking at, my jaw falls open and I suck in a gasp, taken aback by exactly what this is.
Natural light floods the room thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the pool, the main house, and the ocean. Crisp white walls, brushed oak floor. On the left side of the room, there’s built-in storage cabinets and shelves with a rolling ladder to reach the ones that go all the way up to the ceiling. In the center of the room is a big L-shaped desk, one side a tilted drafting table, the other side a sit-stand desk that houses what looks to be the latest pink iMac and matching MacBook pro. Next to the desk is a brand new, state-of-the-art laser cutter, even better than the one I was looking to buy in the one-day sales that are coming up. There’s a plush white sofa in the corner that looks out over the view, and to the right is a mini photo studio, with what I can tell is a really expensive camera and lighting setup.
I blink hard, studying the space, my heart rate increasing with every beat. I’m forced to grip onto the banister to stop myself from collapsing and falling back down the stairs.
When my phone starts to ring, my hands are trembling so bad I almost drop it, fumbling in my haste to answer the call.
“H-Hello?” I stammer, breathless.
“Hey, baby.” Brookes’ low voice washes over me.
“Brookes…” I say his name on a rushed exhale. “W-What did you do?”
He chuckles. “You like it?”
I balk, scoffing. “I-I… I mean, of course I—youdid this for me?”
“Yeah,” he answers simply, like it’s no big deal. But I know how much that laser cutter cost him. Not to mention the computers, the camera, all of it.
“Brookes, I?—”
“Baby…” He interrupts whatever I was about to say, hell, I don’t even know. “Just say thank you.”
