Page 49 of Indescribable
“I’m sure it didn’t help that Cash had told him about Wyatt cheating.”
She winces. “My bad. I needed to talk to someone about it, though. I’m sorry.”
I wave her off. “No big deal. I’m not mad at all. Just wanted to tell Brock myself because I knew he’d freak out. Which from the sounds of it, he didn’t do until he was pushed by Wyatt.”
“Brock’s a good guy.”
“He really is.”
“Can I ask you something?” I nod so she continues, “You don’t have to answer or worry about my feelings, but have you ever thought about Brock and you, you know, together?”
I’m quiet for a bit then admit, “Yeah, I have. Long ago I did, then Wyatt and I got together so I pushed it out of my head. But over the past year, I guess the feelings have come back a little bit. But then the night he brought over dinner from the diner? I would say I definitely was wishing something would happen between us. But that’s crazy, right? We were best friends. He’s your brother. It’s too complicated.”
“Aren’t those the relationships you write about that you believe so deeply in?”
I relax into the seat and turn to look out the window. “Seems easier in books.”
She responds by gripping my hand in hers.
I wonder why she asked if I ever thought about Brock as more than a friend, but won’t let my heart go there.
ChapterTen
Brock
Sundays are the absolute best day of the week. Every week is the same. I sleep in a bit, make a big breakfast, go to church, have lunch at Mom’s with the family, and I’m back home by two o’clock to recharge for the week ahead. Last spring, Cody had soccer games almost every Sunday and I hate to admit it, but it was nice when the season was over. I was ready to have my Sundays back.
I didn’t have to attend every game, of course, but I wanted to. I like watching him race down the field. Soccer season starts up again for him in a few weeks so I’m relishing the last of my free Sundays.
This one especially because Naomi’s coming over later.
I do a few things around the house, not just because Naomi’s going to be here, but because it’s what I do on Sundays. Laundry, scrubbing the bathroom, cleaning the kitchen, and dust what needs dusted. I take pride in the house I own and even though I despise doing housework because it just seems like busy work to me, I hate even more having a messy and dirty house so I get it done.
I prep my lunches for the week, too. I started to feel like crap a few years ago and realized it was because I was eating so much fast food, not taking the time to bring lunch with me in the morning, so I started meal prepping.
Cash teased me about it at first, calling me Becky Homecky but now everyone does the same. Sometimes we do it together at Mom and Stone’s house, even. We’re a load of fun, I tell ya.
Once everything is done, I start dinner for Naomi and me. I had considered just ordering a pizza, but she’s eaten out every day for the past several days. I’m not the greatest or most creative cook in the world, but I can hold my own in the kitchen.
Naomi’s supposed to get here in about thirty minutes so I throw together some pasta with a spicy tomato sauce and Italian sausage. It’s the first meal my mom taught me to make when I moved to this house and one she made often for us growing up.
The doorbell rings and I smile, knowing she’s here.
“Come in! Door’s unlocked!” I holler.
The door opens and I round the corner into the living room to greet her.
“Well, don’t you look all pampered and fresh.”
She fluffs her hair. “Right? I woke up like this.”
I chuckle. “I have no doubt. Come on in. Dinner’s about ready. Want something to drink?”
“Just water, please. I think I consumed my yearly allotment of alcohol the past few days.”
“Corbin’s good like that. She seems to forget that not everyone has her tolerance.”
“I think it’s the Italian in her. I swear it’s like it doesn’t even faze her.”