I glance at the notebook and pen and then lean back, taking in the arrangement of pictures of her and her dad and sister on every wall. Her mom's not in any of them. Again, that doesn't surprise me. When we were in high school, people talked about her mom a lot. Most of the time it was never in a positive light either. I imagine it was tough on her as a teenager. The stares, thewhispers. That feeling of wondering if people will compare you to them. I have that, and I only caught Henry doing bad things. I don't think anyone else knows about it besides him, my mother, and me. I can't imagine what life would be like if I had the entire town talking about one of my parents. Which brings me back to why I'm here. As long as I'm in charge of the lodge, I can make sure gossip like this never reaches my siblings or this town or hell, the country.
When Brooke comes back into the living room, she has the option of sitting in either of the recliners or on the couch next to me. Shocker, she plops down next to me, tucks her legs crisscross right under her, resting one of her knees on top of my thigh.
“That's literally the only spot you could have picked?”
“Hey, we're friends now, okay? Friends sit close to each other. You have to get used to it.”
I let out a sigh of annoyance. I still don’t see how us being inside her house is going to be useful for my side of the deal.
“Don't you think you're taking this a little too far?”
“No, it has to be believable, and for me, I’m comfortable with my friends. Meaning, I need to be comfortable with you.”
“How are you not comfortable with me as it is? You’re not afraid to tell me off or kick me out of your bakery or even ask me for money. I’d say you’re pretty fucking comfortable around me, Brooke.”
She grins, looking at her checklist, but doesn’t say a word.
“Why don’t you just tell me like five or six little details about yourself that everyone else in the town knows that I don't know yet and we call it a night?” I suggest.
“Um, that's not going to work. We need to be actual friends. I told you, I'm not faking it.”
“Come on, Brooke. Do you think the two of us can actually be friends?”
“Oh, funny that you say that, because I also don't think this is possible. We finally have something in common.”
Her phone pings, but she ignores it.
“Lacing your voice with sarcasm isn’t going to get me to do what you want, Brooke."
She forces a smile.
“Telling me that this is only going to go your way isn’t going to get me to do what you want, Dutton.”
Her gaze never strays from mine. I press my lips together and let out a growl of frustration.
Great, a staring contest.
Her phone pings another time, but she doesn’t move.
Then it goes off again.
And again.
And again.
“Am I keeping you from something?” I nod toward her phone, still not breaking eye contact.
“Nope.” She smiles, winks, and then grabs her phone, taps on the screen quickly, and places it face down back on the table. A sure sign that she's hiding something. To be fair, seeing as how we are just now becoming friends, she doesn't have to tell me everything. But she seems to have this whole philosophy that we have to hang out and get to know each other if we're going to be friends. So, friends shouldn't keep secrets, right?
“What's on your phone?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“You can tell me.”
“I don't have to tell you everything,” she says. It almost sounds like a singsong.
“Well, good friends don't keep secrets.”
