Tequila Rose (Tequila Rose #1) - Willow Winters Page 0,27
doesn’t display confusion or judgment. She doesn’t even ask the question as if it’s a question. It’s just a matter-of-fact statement.
“You can get to know him first. If you want. You don’t have to tell him the second you see him. These are … unprecedented occasions.”
“You make it sound so easy. Don’t tell him, take your time, when you do tell him he won’t be resentful or in denial at all.” My sarcasm drenches the sentence.
“Resentful?” Renee says and scoffs, tossing her head back and taking a seat against the window to the gallery. It’s empty, as per usual. But in twenty minutes a man will be walking through those doors to pick me up and I haven’t got a clue how to have this conversation with him.
“He has no right to be resentful.”
“He does too. He had a child for years and didn’t know,” I say, defending the sentiment. I’d have a hard time not feeling a certain kind of way about that if our situations were reversed. “I’d want to know—”
“You tried,” Renee says, cutting me off. “Maybe you forget, but you tried like hell when you were already going through hell.”
My fingers wrap around the thin wristwatch that used to be my mother’s. I check the mother-of-pearl face of it only to find another whole minute has passed. Minute by minute, I keep checking and I don’t stop.
“You did your best, Mags,” Renee says, her voice full of emotion when I don’t respond.
With a long inhale, I nod. “I did my best.” Why does it never feel like it’s good enough?
“And you’ve done a damn good job.” Renee nods as if agreeing with herself.
“I’m going to blow this, you know? I’m going to sit down and blurt it out and he’s not going to believe me.” That’s my biggest fear. That Brody won’t believe me. Or that he won’t want anything to do with Bridget.
“Then that’s on him,” Renee says and she sounds so sure. She’s so very certain of everything.
The only thing I’m certain of is that it’s going to hurt. Regardless of what happens, this is going to hurt.
Shaking out my hands and then rubbing my clammy palms on my floral high-waisted skirt, I calm myself down. Until the bell dings and I lift my gaze to see Robert standing there. I look him over from head to toe to find he’s in a tailored gray suit without a tie, his crisp white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar.
He’s freshly shaven and when he walks up to the counter, leaning against the top of it with his forearms, I catch a whiff of his scent. He smells like sea breeze and old memories.
Oh nooooo. He needs to go right now. It’s hard enough having to face Brody. Having to face Brody in front of Robert? Nope. He needs to go back right through that door he just came from.
“Busy as usual,” he jokes with a grin and then waves at Renee as I force myself to huff a laugh.
“And what brings you to this humble establishment?” I joke back, keeping the smile on my face. It comes naturally, but the turmoil roiling inside of me from head to the bottoms of my tippy-toes begs me to spit out the secret. To cut off whatever it is he has to say and spill my guts and tell him to hightail it out of here. I’ve told him everything all my life. I’ve told Robert things I’ve never even told Renee. Although that truth is the same reversed. Renee knows things no one else does either. The two of them are my rocks and I try to be theirs. It’s as simple as that.
“I was supposed to have a meeting with a guy yesterday. I think you know him?” Robert’s sharp blue eyes are curious as he says the name I dread to hear, “Brody Paine.”
“Uh-huh,” I answer him, pulling away from the counter and returning to the computer. “What about him?” I ask as if it’s casual. As if there isn’t a month’s worth of dirty laundry ready to be dumped out over his head just from the mere mention of that particular name. Brody.
“Are you seeing him?” I don’t expect Robert’s question or for him to be so blunt. Neither does Renee, although she only peers up from her phone and remains silent. This counter is my defense; that phone is hers. But neither will save me from this conflict.
“Seeing him is a phrase for