Brooke

I walk in the offices at 8:45, one cup of macchiato because Ms. Marks will be out all morning with the Greenwoods. And Nate...

"Hey stranger."

There's about five full seconds where I just stare at him. He's clean shaven, wearing an open short-sleeved button-up with a black tee underneath. And his jeans aren't holey today. It's weird because I sort of wish they were.

His laptop is open, a flash drive sticking in the USB port, and his legs are kicked up on the glass table.

He's giving me this sort of smile that looks like he's begging me to not get angry.

He's also chewing gum. My brow crinkles because he never seemed like the gum type.

"Do I have something hanging out of my nose?" he asks with a smirk.

"When did you start chewing gum?"

His shoulders lift a little. "Figured it was a healthier way to use my mouth than lighting up."

My breathing has gone funky. "You quit smoking?"

He nods like it's no big deal, and his eyes go to his laptop. I stare at him for way too long to be considered normal, but I don't care. I need to get a grip so I can do my job with him around. Also have to stop thinking about how he'll smell less like smoke and more like spearmint when I sit next to him.

When I find the use of my limbs, I pull my bag off my shoulder and set it in a chair. I smack his shoe, pushing slightly so he gets his damn feet off that beautiful table he seems so determined to destroy.

"This is a freaking office, Nate. Stop ruining the décor with your lack of professionalism."

His face relaxes at the tease in my voice, and his sort of smile turns into his easy going smirk. "I wasn't hired for my professionalism."

"Nepotism at its finest."

"You weren't hired for your professionalism either, you know."

"Oh?" I arch an eyebrow and settle in the seat next to him. He still hasn't put his legs down and I give his thigh a giant poke until he does. I would've used my whole hand, but too much touching I may start going into a frenzy of over thinking how the hell I'm supposed to respond to him. "Tell me why I was hired then."

"You're quick on your feet." His eyes flick to his computer and I follow, watching him turn one of the engagement photos black and white. "We needed someone who could handle themselves in high stress situations."

I snort and gawk at him because I am so the opposite of that. It had to have been my interview skirt and haircut. Because that interview was one of the highest levels of stress, and I know nothing I said helped me get this job.

He laughs at the expression I give him, turning his laptop toward me. He pulls up a folder from the Tahoe wedding, and I smile because there's a big green check next to it that says, "Completed on September 25th." And then I want to punch myself for thinking that's super sexy of him. Damn it.

He clicks on one of the photos, then scrolls through, brows pulled down while his teeth pull at his lip. Now I want to punch him, because he's upping his sexy level every two seconds and I swear he's doing it on purpose.

"There it is," he says, pulling my attention from his cute look of concentration to the computer screen.

It's me.

I knew he was taking shots while his mom and I prepared the wedding party for their walk down the aisle, but I didn't notice he was taking them of...me.

"You always take pictures of the wrong people?" I tease, but I can't help but be ten degrees of flattered.

He shrugs. "I always get shots of the planners. They're a big part of the special day, too." He smiles, but it's sort of off. My eyes flick back to the screen so I don't over think every tiny expression of his face.

"Did you retouch this?" I ask, because I swear I look thinner, that the green in my eyes has been enhanced. I know I worked an hour on my short hair to get it to stay back in a twisted and professional bun, but there's a few strands that have fallen into my face, making it look like someone purposely put them there because of the lighting.

Nate shakes his head. "I haven't had the chance yet." He clears his throat, shifts, but the laptop is still tilted toward me. "This last week and half was...busy."

"So...this is just..."

"You? Yeah."

I blink at the screen, trying to remember what the hell was going through my head when it was taken. I always get a teeny bit weepy at weddings, and I know I felt like I was running around with my head cut off. But I look like I do this all the time. I look natural. I also look...happy. And I don't even have my phone in front of me.

It's getting awkwardly quiet, so I sit straight in my chair, and own this thing. "Damn, I look gor-geous."

I meant it to lighten the mood, but he doesn't laugh like I want him to. He slides the laptop back to face him, saying, "You always look gorgeous, Brooke."

I should say a joke or something. Laugh it off. Pretend like he's teasing me or...damn it, something! But it feels too weird because he looks like he means it. I want him to mean it. But he said he needs me to be his friend. How can I do that if he keeps confusing me with all the romantic shit!

Sucking in a breath, I sit straight in my chair and pull out my iPad, trying to focus on the schedule for the day. But I can't help but glance at his screen as he absent-mindedly flicks through the rest of the pictures in that folder. There's a few more of me...adjusting flowers on dresses, standing near the bar and gazing at the chandeliers, straightening the tablecloths. They each look like special moments with the way his mindless clicks linger in between each shot, even though I'm just working.

I wait for a picture of his mom. He said he takes pictures of all the staff, but as I watch the night unfold with each click, the only person he captured outside of the wedding party and guests...was me.

***

"Hey sweetie, it's the fifth."

"Hi, Mom."

I plop down on my couch, scratching Snickers' ears and letting him push his head into the back of my hand.

"Do you need money? I've got the account pulled up here..."

"No, I'm good."

"You sure?"

Snickers hops into my lap, and I take comfort in his cute little warmth. It's about the only thing right now that is keeping me together.

"I paid rent already, Mom. And the phone bill and the electricity. I'm actually thinking of getting a car."

"Oh don't do more than you can handle. Especially if this is temporary."

"Why do you think it's only temporary?"

Her voice stutters. "O-oh, I was just saying, sweetheart, that it could be. I mean, your lawyer boyfriend probably won't want you working all the time, right? And if this job keeps you so busy you can't even call your parents to check in..."

"I don't have a lawyer boyfriend."

She pauses. "Oh no. What happened?"

"I broke things off. It wasn't fair to drag him around when I..." I let the thought drift, wishing I could tell her that I broke it off because the five dates I went on with Joshua didn't come close to the bolts of electricity I felt in the five seconds with Nate. I want to tell her how much I think I'm falling for someone who doesn't want me back, and she'd tell me it'd be okay, so I wouldn't have to rely on myself to do it.

But that's not my mom.

"You broke things off? Brooke, maybe you should rethink that. Wedding planning is okay for now, but don't you want to get married and raise a family..."

She keeps talking, but something inside me snaps, cutting off my ability to hear exactly what she's saying.

Of course I want that. What does she think I'm doing? Screwing around? No. I'm trying. I'm trying so hard it hurts sometimes. My heart starts pumping loud in my ears and even Snickers senses how tense I get and he leaps off my lap right before I cut my mom off.

"Mom," I try to say with a steady voice, but I don't pull it off. "Look, I really like my job. It pays well, and I'm pretty good at it. I'm organized, and I'm quick on my feet. I manage in a crisis, and I work well with the wedding party. I know it's not what you envisioned for me, but I'm happy there. And I'm not dating anyone exclusively right now, but I do go out. I'm looking for Mr. Right. But I want him to be Mr. Right for me."

She's silent, and I'm not surprised. I normally don't defend my success in life because I've never felt successful. But as I say it out loud, yeah, I may be single, living with my cat and just got rejected by a super hot photographer who I'm still recovering from, but I'm pretty damn proud of myself. All those things I said, I think they're true.

"Well, Brooke, I'm happy you're happy."

It may not be the four words I wanted to hear, but I'm satisfied with these ones too.

"Thanks."

We chat a little bit about Dad then hang up. I know it wasn't that great of a conversation, but I feel a little lighter. That really, maybe I don't need to hear those words from her.

I tap over to my goals and pull up the five that have been sitting there for years.

Hear the words "I'm proud of you"

Sitting up straight, I give Snickers a smile and say out loud, "Brooke, I'm proud of you." Then I give that sucker a cute little check mark.

***

1:23

My text jingle punctures through my room, and I slap my arm up, grappling for my phone. I knew I should've put it on silent, but my head was so buzzed when I got ready for bed, I forgot.

I forgot.

Ugh, what is happening to me?

I squint as my eyes adjust to the bright light of my cell, and I see Ms. Marks' face in a circle in the corner of my Galaxy.

Our building's annual deep carpet cleaning has been rescheduled to this weekend! We've got our final meeting with the Greenwood wedding Friday afternoon. I'll need you to reschedule for Mon Ami Gabi Friday evening. Sorry this is so late, but we need to get it done ASAP. Friday reservations...you know the drill.

Yes, I know the drill. The last impromptu reservation I had to set up required Nate's company credit card and a lot of cleavage. It's too late now to call, but I'd better get access to the bribe money for the morning.

I sit up, cracking my neck, and send a quick text to Nate.

Hey. I need the company credit card to book a quick reservation. Our meeting with the Greenwood's rescheduled for Friday night.

I move over to my calendar and rearrange the meeting there. Hopefully we can get an eight o'clock. If not, I'll call another restaurant and hope Ms. Marks is okay with...

My phone dings, and I jump, smacking my nose. I growl as I reach for my glasses and slide them on so I'm not inches away from the screen to see it.

Making a reservation at one in the morning?

Smartass.

1:31. And I didn't think you'd text back till you woke up.

I did wake up.

Sorry. But I'm not really sorry. Do you have the number?

Yeah, I'll call you in the morning with it. But chill. We still have a few days.

Have you ever tried to get a Friday reservation at Mon Ami Gabi days before? It's most likely booked, which means I need to pull out the cute and sexy girl with bribery money. I have to prepare for that.

I hope he senses my teasing tone, that I get I'm so completely anal about everything, but that's who I am and everyone else can deal with it. And I kind of love that he does deal, and makes it feel okay that I am that way.

Can I go with you? I want to witness this action for myself.

Hell no.

Why not?

You'll take me off my game.

And if it's a woman taking reservations?

Do not underestimate my powers of persuasion.

Hmm...

Well, that's vague. What? Don't think I can do it?

Bet you lunch tomorrow that you'll still be looking for a place to eat at noon.

Nate's been sending his card with me on lunch runs lately anyway, but I don't want to stop our back and forth. It feels like we're getting to normal again.

Prepare your bank account, because you will lose that bet.