the man barely looked like he wanted to date.
And Brooke . . . Brooke did want that. She so desperately wanted a nice man who’d take her to dinner, buy her pretty things, and most of all, who’d hold her. Who’d pull her close, wrap his big arms around her, and just let her lean. Without plan or agenda.
A kind man, a gentle man, who wanted to build a life with her.
That’s all she wanted. Not so much to ask, really.
Seth Tyler was not that man.
But he could kiss. Holy hell, could he kiss.
Brooke’s phone rang, and she winced when she saw the caller ID. Nothing like seeing one’s mother’s name pop up on the screen to ruin what could have turned into a good X-rated daydream.
She flicked her finger lightly against her forehead, willing the filthy images of Seth Tyler to fade from her mind before she picked up the phone.
“Hey, Mom! You’re up early. Like, really early.”
“I started this new predawn yoga class,” her mother said in a voice that was far too energetic considering it was barely five a.m. in California. “And they have a juice bar connected to it featuring a really lovely collection of sea vegetables.”
Um, gag.
“Yummy,” Brooke managed in response.
Brooke considered herself to be a fairly health-conscious modern woman. She exercised regularly, tried to eat assorted salads for lunch most days. But Heidi Baldwin was a whole other level of health nut. Calorie counting, juice cleanses, clean eating, the whole deal.
“How’s New York, darling? Are you making sure to get plenty of fresh air?”
“You live in LA, Mom,” Brooke said, picking up her latte. “Not exactly known for being smog-free.”
“Well, tell me you’re at least carrying your pepper spray with you. That many people crammed into a tiny space, and you’re practically begging to get mugged.”
“I wonder which one will kill me first,” Brooke mused. “The pollution or the mugging?”
“Or a runaway cab,” her mother said. “I’ve heard some of them don’t even have their driver’s licenses.”
“Where?” Brooke challenged. “Where have you heard that?”
“At least tell me you’re happy,” her mom said, ignoring the question.
“Of course!” Brooke said, the response rolling off the tip of her tongue before she had a chance to even consider the question.
But it was true—she really was happy. She loved her apartment. Loved her job. Loved her clients, and her work colleagues, who were slowly but surely becoming her friends. She was even growing to love the city, which, while admittedly completely different from what she was used to, was a bit addictive.
So what if she was a little lonely sometimes? If she ached for the unmistakable caress or touch of a lover at the end of a long day, someone to listen to her stories and pour her a drink as she walked in the door and kicked off her shoes? Brooke firmly believed that happiness was a choice, and she was choosing to be happy, therefore . . . she was.
“I’m glad,” her mother said cautiously.
“I really like it here,” Brooke said, consciously quieting her voice so it didn’t come off quite so manic.
“Good,” her mother said with an audible sigh of relief. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the selfish in me wants you to come back home so I can make you my homemade kale cakes while we watch Real Housewives of Orange County, but the part of me that’s a rather exceptionally well-adjusted parent is glad to see you thriving.”
Brooke laughed. “I miss you guys, Mom.”
“We miss you, too, sweetie. Did I tell you I found a package of Oreos in your father’s sock drawer?”
“No! Not Oreos,” Brooke said in an exaggeratedly scandalized tone. “What’s next? Cocaine?”
Brooke’s father went along with his wife’s health-nut crazes, but only to a point. He’d embraced meatless Mondays, developed a taste for quinoa, and could choke down a smoothie in the morning, but he refused to give up his Saturday-morning bacon, his Friday-night martini, or, apparently, his Oreos.
“He said he was stress eating,” Heidi said. “Because he missed you.”
“Aw, that’s sweet,” Brooke said. “Good to know I can be replaced with chocolate wafers and fake sugary cream.”
“That’s what I said!”
Brooke smiled at the legitimate outrage in her mother’s voice. “So other than your new yoga place and Oreo-gate, how are you guys? Anything new?”
There was a moment of silence, and Brooke’s smile slipped. Her mother’s moments of silent were rare, and they almost always were a precursor to not-great news.
“Well, sweetie.”
Brooke closed her eyes. “Lay it on me,