Actually, it’s all a little too perfect.
Shouldn’t some of this be dying by now?
I pause, bend over, and touch one of the pedals. Nope, not fake. I guess she really doesn't fake anything. I was kind of hoping I was going to find a flaw here, but Brooke just seems to be on top of everything.
Except, it seems, when it comes to her finances.
Of course I want to know more, but pushing her to answer my questions will only encourage her to push back for mine.
I just need to trust that giving her money is going to give me what I want in the end, too.
I knock on the door three times, and when she doesn't answer, I let myself in. If we're going to be friends, I may as well make myself comfortable.
She comes jogging down the stairs and slips when her sock-covered feet meet her laminate flooring, catching herself on the railing.
“Oh, I didn't realize you were just going to walk right in.”
I pause just inside the doorway. “That's what friends do, right?”
Her gaze narrows as she studies me, slowly taking me in from head to toe. Her expression is neutral, so I can’t read what she’s thinking. Which is probably a good thing.
If she could read my mind, she'd know that this right here, standing in her entryway with her, has me on edge in a way I’ve never felt before.
I close the door, shrug off my jacket, hang it on one of the hooks by the door as if I’ve done it a hundred times, and then lead myself into her living room and take a seat.
“Now what?” I ask as she continues to study my every move.
“Well, I made a list,” she says, wearing another one of those spandex shorts and sports bra combos, only this time it’s navy blue and she’s wearing a cream oversized sweater with it.
I pull my eyes from her midsection and say, “Perfect. Another list. Why am I not surprised?”
“Well, a fun fact about me is that I love lists. And as long as we stick to them, things always go according to plan.”
“Minus the fact that you can't expand the bakery without my help. Seems you strayed from the list on that one.”
Her body stiffens for the briefest of moments before returning to her natural composure.
“I'm sorry,” she says as she crosses her arms. “Do you wantto do this so that you can get what you want out of this deal as well? Or should I just open the door and you can let yourself out to go find a new solution toyourproblem?”
I always knew Brooke had some sass, but there's something about being alone in her house that makes it turn me on even more.
I nod and keep my mouth shut. Seems like the right move for that comment.
“Do you want something to drink?” she asks, moving closer. From my spot, I can see that the open living room leads right to the entryway, to the stairs, and then there's a small nook in the middle of the room, giving you the option to go on either side to reach the kitchen.
Damn. Everything from the frames on the wall to the plants in the corner by the window to the way she has her books placed by size and color on her giant bookshelf screams perfection in here, too.
“I'm good, thanks.”
“Okay, well, I'm going to make myself a quick drink, and I'll be right back. Do you have your list ready?”
“I wasn't aware we were making a list.”
She stares at me with a blank expression, and I hate that it makes me want to smile. It’s not often that I can leave this woman speechless.
“Okay, well, there's a notepad right there in front of you. Why don't you get started?”
And then she disappears into the kitchen.
