Chapter 15: Olive
“Almost perfect?” Brooks asks.
“Well, yeah. I mean, it’s stressful, too. All of my employees depend on me making good decisions. If I fuck up it’s on me, but it affects them too.”
Brooks nods. “I get that,” he says. I hadn’t thought about it, but I guess he would know exactly what that’s like. “What are your favorite things to make?” he asks.
I could talk about baking all day, but most people will eventually zone out. Brooks doesn’t seem to mind, though. He asks how we make the chocolates, how we roast the coffee, and even what my clients are like. He watches me like I’m the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen and there’s a soft smile playing around his lips. He looks content. It’s flattering to have someone look at me like that. Flattering and a little unsettling. I roll my shoulders and change the subject, trying to get Brooks talking instead.
“Why did you get into construction?” I ask.
He chuckles. “To impress girls.”
“Oh, come on!” I exclaim as I backhand his arm. “I gave you a real answer.”
His smile crinkles the corners of his eyes in the most adorable way. “I’m serious. I wasn’t any good at sports, but I’m great at math and science. I was a scrawny little nerd, and I wanted to do something manly over the summer between my junior and senior years of high school.”
I take a bite of my panini and listen to the sound of his voice. It rolls over me easily; I think I could listen to him talk all day.
“We had a neighbor named Fred, who owned a construction company and let me intern with him. I loved it. I loved everything about it. So after high school I got my degree in Civil Engineering and worked with Fred for a couple of years. When he wanted to retire, I bought his company, renamed it, and made it my own.” He’s practically glowing with pride.
“Two things. One, that’s adorable. I need to see pictures of scrawny adolescent you. Two, that sounds like a crazy amount of work.”
Brooks scrubs his hand through his beard. “One, no way are you seeing those pictures. And two, yeah, it was a lot of work. All I’ve done for the past decade and a half is work. But I’ve seen the way you work around here and I can honestly say there’s no way I could keep up with you.”
I blush at the compliment. I’m having fun with him. Not that I’ll admit it.
We sit in companionable silence and eat our lunch until Brooks nudges my elbow with his. “What are you smiling about over there?” he asks.
“I’m wondering if I can cyber-stalk you well enough to find your mom on Facebook and get her to send me those pictures.” I tease back.
“Impossible. My mom doesn’t have Facebook.”
“Well, damn. Now I’m going to have to figure out another way.” I pick up our empty plates and stand. “I have to get back to work. This was fun. Thanks. I didn’t expect a stripper to have an engineering degree. I think you might be overqualified for dancing.” His laugh comes out a booming bark behind me. I look back after dropping the plates off at the bussing station and he shakes his head at me, grinning.
I spend a few more hours doing prep work. Brooks is right outside the window and I have to try very hard to ignore him and focus on my baking. I can see him watching me. I steal glances when I know he’s looking the other way. He’s so tall and broad shouldered. I try, but I can’t picture him as a skinny teenager. I bet he was adorable, though.
I head up to my apartment to take a nap. Lilah is passed out on my couch with the TV on, getting some much-needed rest. Thank god she came in early to help me or the breakfast pastries would have been decimated by 9 am. I would have been behind all day. I fluff a throw blanket over her before going to get a glass of water. The kitchen window overlooks the building area and I watch Brooks for way longer than I’d like to admit. I’m such a creeper.
***
One week later…
I’m losing my mind. Every day when I go to pick up my lunch, Brooks has already swooped in and set it at his table. And I let him. It doesn’t even matter what time I put my lunch order in with the line because he’s always there to snatch it up.
I know he’s got a spy on the inside. There’s no other way he would always know when my lunch is coming up. Someone is helping him. Probably more than one person, actually. I think my staff might be ganging up on me. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s really grown on me and the idea that he’s wrangling help to get to spend time with me is as flattering as it is crazy.
I’ve started to look forward to our lunches together. This is the most time I’ve ever spent with one man. I tried dating when I was in school, but there were no second dates. I had a couple casual hook-ups, mostly because I was curious. After a couple of very uninspiring experiences, I decided that dating and sex just weren’t for me. I know I’m a little broken… but being with Brooks makes me feel a little less broken. And while I know the lunches aren’t dates, and most of our conversations center on the build out, what his crew is working on next, and the specials I’m baking the next day, I get a silent thrill every time his knee brushes mine or our arms graze as we look at flooring samples together.
He keeps a straight face anytime we touch, his eyes impassive, but it seems like he bumps me more and more every time we sit together. I know my imagination is acting up and I have to remind myself daily to chill. It’s clear the slight touches don’t even register with Brooks. I’m just ridiculous.
This is a professional relationship. At least that’s my inner chant.
Professional. Professional. Professional.
But with each minute spent near Brooks, I feel less and less professional. I get more of his smiles, something no one else seems to get, and it gets harder to ignore my body’s reaction to his nearness. It’s starting to feel like torture to sit still next to him, aware of every move he makes and wondering if he feels even one tenth of what I’m going through. If he does, then he should have gone into acting because the man is cool as an ice cube.
***