‘It was her birthday last month and she couldn’t even come for a coffee with me, she was so crunched between work and study,’ Lauren said.
Bingo.
‘Seems a shame for her.’ Brad hesitated, unsure of how to put his idea forward without his sister guessing what it was he’d really wanted. ‘Your birthday is coming up soon and you’ll get your mitts on all your money.’ Her trust fund would be released. ‘We’ll have to have a huge party.’
Lauren shrugged. ‘I don’t want it.’
‘The party or the money?’
‘The money,’ said Lauren.
Brad paid proper attention to his sister for the first time all morning. ‘What do you mean you don’t want it?’
‘I’m going to give it away.’
‘What? Why?’
Lauren shrugged and looked self-conscious. ‘I want to make a difference. You make a difference.’
Brad smothered his groan and at the same time felt affection bubble for his scamp of a kid sister. ‘It’s easier for me to do that when I don’t have to worry about how much I earn in my job. I can afford to take on the pro bono cases, Lauren. I couldn’t do that as easily without the trust fund.’
‘That’s what Mya said too.’ Lauren frowned. ‘But look at her, she’s so independent.’
‘Yeah, but she’s not having much fun with it. Life should include some fun, don’t you think?’
‘We all know what you mean by that.’ Lauren rolled her eyes and giggled.
‘Not just that. Some simple fun too, you know—party fun.’ Brad stretched his legs out under the table. ‘What are we Davenports good at?’
‘Not that much.’ Lauren sipped her lemonade through her straw.
Brad raised an eyebrow. ‘But we are. We’re really good at putting on a show, right? Let’s put on a show for Mya.’
‘Mya?’ Lauren breathed in so quickly she choked on her drink. Coughing, she asked him the dreaded question. ‘You’re not going to mess with her, are you, Brad?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Hmm.’ Lauren didn’t look convinced. ‘She’s not as strong as she seems, you know. She’s actually quite vulnerable.’
‘Are you telling me to stay away?’ Brad managed a smile.
‘Would it make any difference if I did?’ Lauren asked point-blank. ‘I just don’t think it would end well. Things don’t end all that well for your women, and Mya’s had enough of that.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Brad grinned, though his teeth were clenched. ‘She’s like a sister to me.’ What did she mean things didn’t end that well for his women? ‘And this is because I have a venue I need to do something with for a night.’
‘A venue?’ Lauren leaned forward, and Brad smiled for real this time. Yeah, his sister had always liked a party. ‘So what were you thinking?’
‘How’s this for a plan?’
Mya got used to the random calls and quickly got in the habit of checking her phone for texts every five minutes. They were short queries about the tiniest details that most people would never think of. One thing to be said for Brad, he was thorough. Very thorough.
In the mornings now he came to the café and ordered a coffee. He never stayed more than ten minutes or so, always moved away when she got busy and had to serve someone. She spent the rest of the day looking forward to her shift at the bar.
Because now he turned up there early every night and urged her to do her worst in creating another cocktail or shot before the crowds came in. She loved the challenge and got the giggles over the often awful results. It didn’t matter if she made something that tasted hideous. They laughed about it—with him naming them outrageously. His word play had her in hysterics. He made suggestions; she ran with them. Together they came up with some bizarre mixes that actually worked and many, many failures. But with Brad, failing was more fun than not. And while they worked on it in that calm twenty minutes or so before the crowds appeared, they talked.
She admitted more about her parents’ troubles and told him about her cousins who lived around the corner. He listened and then, in turn, ‘fessed up more about his parents, and occasionally referenced his work. She knew he was incredibly busy; sometimes he came in looking drained but he always switched ‘on’ as soon as someone spoke to him. But she knew he went back home after their cocktail-mixing session to do more work. It was why he never drank more than a mouthful of whatever they’d mixed. But mostly they laughed—teasing about everything from taste in music and TV shows to sports teams, and swapped stories of wild, fun times with Lauren.
Mya laughed more in those few minutes each day than she had all year. But fun as it was, it was also slowly killing her because her teen dreams were nothing on the adult fantasies she had now about Brad Davenport. He was so attractive, so much fun and yet so serious about the silliest of things for the party. His concern over the finest of details was so attractive.
In days he became a constant in her life—the one person she saw most of aside from her workmates. It was only for a few minutes, but they were the highlight. And then there were all those texts and the never-ending playlist suggestions for the DJ.
Three days before the party, in between her shifts at the café and the bar, Mya was studying at the library. Her phone vibrated with a message from Brad.
Where are you?
She chuckled at over-educated Brad’s inability to use any abbreviated text language. She was similarly afflicted. So she texted back her grammatically correct reply and went back to her books.
She didn’t know how long it was before she glanced up and saw him standing at the end of the nearest row of books. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘It’s my natural home.’ He winked as he walked nearer.
‘But you of all people should know you’re not allowed food in the library.’ She gave the paper bags he was carrying a pointed look.
‘No one will see us.’ He jerked his head and sneaked down the stacks away from the study tables and well out of range of the librarian’s help desk.
‘Brad,’ she whispered. But in the end there was no choice but to follow, and she’d come over all first-year giggly s
tudent in the library in a heartbeat.
In the narrow space, surrounded by thick, bound books, he opened the bag and pulled out a couple of pottles and put them on a gap in the shelves.
‘What is this?’ she asked, intrigued.
‘Chocolate mousse.’
Of course it was; why had she even asked? But she did, and she had to ask the even more obvious. ‘You want me to try them?’
‘Yes, they come in these cute little cups, see?’ he whispered. ‘Which do you think, mint or chilli?’
‘You are taking this far too seriously.’ She shook her head, but licked her lips at the same time. Yum. She took a tiny bit on two teaspoons and tried them. ‘They’re both really good. I think Lauren would like—’
‘Which do you like best?’ he interrupted, his gaze boring into her.
Mya’s skin goosebumped while her innards seared. She’d missed that look these past couple of days—that full-of-awareness-and-forbidden-desires look. She’d thought he’d gone all friendly and party efficient and had forgotten that kiss altogether—or didn’t think it was worth anything. Now all she could think of was that kiss and how much it had moved her and that maybe, just maybe, he was thinking of it too.
‘Why does it matter what I think?’ She didn’t have to try to whisper now. Her voice had gone completely husky. ‘This is for Lauren, not me.’
‘She’ll like what you like,’ Brad insisted, stepping closer. ‘Come on, tell me.’
She’d never had lust-in-the-library fantasies. Until now. And right now, all she wanted was for Brad to kiss her again in this quiet, still space.
‘You’ve gone red,’ he said. ‘Was the chilli-chocolate too hot?’
‘Must have been,’ she muttered.
He was looking at her mouth. Could he please stop looking at her mouth? Did she have a huge gob of mousse on her lip? Because he looked as if he wanted to taste, and she wanted him to, very much.