Chapter 3

Carly

I’ve never been as happy as when my feet touched solid ground again, no matter that rain was thrashing down on us. I can finally breathe and let my muscles relax as I put my face up to the cool drops. No more bracing for impact, no more waiting for the inevitable crash.

I can’t stand flying on big, safe jumbo jets. Little private planes are even worse. No matter how many times I’m faced with statistics about it being completely safe, the feeling of the earth dropping out from under me makes my brain go into lizard mode.

Of course it was made all the worse by it being Braden’s plane, with Braden himself only a couple feet away. He was the last person I’d ever want to witness me cling to the arm of the seat for survival, all while trying not to puke. That’s ripe teasing territory for a guy like him, and I braced myself to hear him get started.

And then he didn’t. Even now as we’re rushing toward his waiting car, he’s still being remarkably sweet, holding an umbrella up for both of us. He’s laughing at the storm, and it reminds me how he burst out laughing when I ripped into his design company’s awful new logos for his football team’s merchandise.

He didn’t take offense or act like I didn’t know anything since I was still just a student. He seemed to like my ideas. And he never once held my obvious terror over my head or let a word of teasing slip out. Not even an eye roll.

In fact, he did a pretty heroic job of distracting me from every little bump and wobble of the plane when the storm started catching up to us. He wasn’t weird about it, but it was easy to see he moved next to me for that reason. If I’d have been in a better frame of mind I would have told him to get back to his own side of the aisle.

Instead, I was grateful to get my mind off the fact we were forty thousand feet above the ground in little more than a tin can. And I kind of liked spending that time with him.

Am I looking forward to spending more time with him at the resort?

What? No. The very idea of it is shocking.

We make it to the car, half soaked, and he holds the door for me. I expect him to abandon me back there and ride up front with the driver, but he slides in next to me, shaking drops from his hair, made darker and wavier by the rain.

“We made it,” he says. “Let’s hope the whole mountain’s not washed out.”

I blanche, wondering what that will mean, but the driver assures us it’s not that bad, little more than a summer storm. The news had greatly overreacted to the radar and the huge weather event that shut down airports across the country had fizzled out.

The driver sets about ignoring us as he moves toward the airfield exit, and I expect Braden to ignore me as well but a blast of air conditioning from the front has my damp skin breaking out in goosebumps. He immediately asks the driver to turn the air down a bit and whips out a plush hoodie with his team’s logo on it.

“See, isn’t the old logo a million times better?” he says as he wraps it around my shoulders.

What is going on? Who is this guy? Not the Braden I know, or thought I knew, because the way he’s acting has me rethinking everything.

“Yeah,” I agree, still wondering if all this kindness is just the setup for a trap I could fall into at any moment. Then again, it’s been a while since Braden or Matt really played a trick on me. Years, probably. They never gave up on the teasing, but I’d been safe from their practical jokes for a long time.

He sighs. “Marketing experts seem to think it’s time to change branding. I’m against it, the team hates the idea, and I believe the fans will rebel.”

“You’re right, they’ll tear the stadium apart the next time their players run out on the field with that monstrous logo on their helmets.” I’m only half joking.

He nods once, firmly. “I’m going to nix the whole thing. We can roll out some of those designs for t-shirts, but the official team logo isn’t changing.” With a furrowed brow, he takes out his phone, very charmingly asks me to excuse him for a moment, then taps out a few emails. “There, done.”

“Wait, you didn’t just make a major business decision because of me, did you?” I ask, horrified. And intrigued. Why would he do that?

He shrugs one broad, muscular shoulder. A few raindrops still cling to his biceps, bulging out of his snug shirt sleeve. I drag my eyes back to his face, which is pensive.

“Not solely because of you. I had a bad feeling about it from the start. But I do trust your artist’s eye.”

I wait for the punchline, but it never comes. Braden Reynolds is being sincere? I can’t take my eyes off him as he fills me in on the latest charity function he hosted, which had a modern art theme. It’s clear he’s chosen this topic because he thinks it’ll interest me, and it does.

Did flirty party boy Braden finally grow up? He actually seems like an adult, and a thoughtful one at that. One who’s making me laugh at his story about the elderly billionaires getting in such a scuffle over one small wire sculpture that they fell on it and crushed it, then both of them tried to weasel out of paying for it.

“So then the artist, who’s called Liam Starlight— I’m not even kidding about that— comes over and just gives the wires a little tweak. And then he gets this faraway look in his eyes and says ‘this is it. This is the new design. The heavens are naming it Diablo.’ The old guys fell for it and the bidding war was back on.” He ends his story with a laugh, shaking his head.

I blush because I had just read an article about that sculpture and the huge sum it fetched. “I think Liam Starlight is actually completely serious,” I tell him. “Or if he’s not, he’s really good at keeping up the ruse. Maybe I should put on an act like that.”

“No, don’t. You’re perfect just the way you are and so is your art.”

Now I’m really blushing. Does he realize what he just said? He rummages in his bag again and pulls out two protein bars, offering one to me. I’m hungry enough to take it since I was too tense to eat the offered sandwich on the plane.

“Mm, chalk and raisins,” I say, choking it down. Thankfully the car has bottled water and Braden cracks one open for me. “Thanks,” I say.

He thinks I mean for the bar and the water, but I also mean for what he did for me on the flight. It meant a lot. More than he probably could ever know, and his distracting chatter had saved me from a panic attack.

I shiver again, but this time not from the cold. From the way my thoughts are leaning. Remembering his warm hand covering mine to drag me back from a full on panic. Braden pulls the hoodie more snugly around me, his fingers trailing down my arm. I can feel the heat through the thick fabric, and when his palm brushes against the back of my hand, he frowns.

“Are you that cold?”

Before he can chide the driver about the air conditioning again, I tell him I’m fine. Now he rolls his eyes and begins to chafe my hands in his, scooting closer to me on the seat. Our legs brush together and it’s a bit too much for my touch-starved body to take.

“I’m fine,” I say again, a bit too harshly.

Pulling away, I give him a shaky smile to show him there are no hard feelings. But there are. Against myself. Why am I reacting to him like this? Is it because he’s so damn hot? That’s never once affected me before. Okay, that’s a lie, there was that awful crush era back in high school, when I had a bout of temporary insanity.

While I drift off into the past, we lapse into silence, but when I look up at him again, he turns and smiles at me. We’re getting closer to the resort, and I realize I probably should make myself presentable. Sure enough, a glance in my little makeup mirror shows me a ghost with a tangled black mop on her head. With a sigh, I dig around for my cream blush, lip gloss, and brush, so my mom doesn’t stroke out when she sees me.

“You look great,” Braden says as I cluck over my less than stellar appearance.

“I look like the thing that crawled out of the television in that old horror movie.”

He bursts out laughing and runs his fingers through his own hair, setting the unruly waves into order. Stubble dots his jaw, but that’s almost always there and suits his strong features. How does he manage to look so good after a turbulent flight, a dash through the rain, and a long car drive? I tip my chin down into his hoodie and take a long, slow breath. How does he smell so darn good, too?

“Are you looking forward to this break as much as I am?” he asks.

Now he must be joking, because I feel like I’m actually oozing with dread about the annual retreat.

“Yes,” I sigh, because I can’t exactly tell him how I’m about to be the unwilling star of my own personal dating show the minute I walk through the door.

“Come on, it won’t be that bad,” he says, reaching to chuck me under the chin. “Buck up, little camper.”

“There you are,” I say with a laugh as I swat his hand away. “There’s the annoying Braden. I was wondering where he went.”

His eyes widen in mock surprise. “Wait, so you’re saying you haven’t been annoyed by me up until now?” He looks at his very expensive watch and all I hone in on his muscular forearm, all rippled and veiny and tan. “So what’s that? Four hours? Is that a record?”

“Shut up,” I mumble, but I’m still laughing, despite the sudden interest in his arms.

I don’t want this car ride to end, and not just because I don’t want to face what’s waiting for me. I’m actually having fun and feel more relaxed than I have in a long time. Maybe I did need a break from school and the hectic internship schedule.

Or maybe it’s Braden.

We turn into the final stretch of mountain road, and I see the palatial cabin that my parents have rented. I take one final look in the mirror and see that my cheeks are glowing now, and my eyes are bright. Too bright.

Whatever strange magic this new and improved Braden is working on me has to be stuffed under wraps. There’s no way I can let my parents or my brother see the way my feelings are shifting.

I mean, they’re not shifting. Not like that. I’m still just in shock at how nice he’s been. Surely that will change.

I really hope not, though. Or maybe I should, for my own sanity, which I’m barely clinging to as we pull up behind a row of cars. Braden jumps out and opens my door for me, and I shove his hoodie back at him. Last thing I need is for someone to notice I’m wearing it.

Before I can fully gather my thoughts, my mom is racing out and enveloping me in a hug. She smells like a mix of bloody marys and garden herbs and it’s clear she’s delighted to see me.

“Oh my goodness, Braden too? Did you ride in together from the airport?”

“Sorry I didn’t have time to give you an update,” I say, not mentioning all the time we had in the car where I just didn’t want to call her. “He managed to squeak in ahead of the storm, so I wasn’t stranded.”

Am I gushing? Is my face red? Why do I feel like my mouth isn’t working properly when I’m talking about Braden? Mom gives me a long look and I shrug. “I mean, I could still be camped out in the airport.”

There, that sounded natural. There’s no way she’ll sniff out my newfound weakness.

“Well, wasn’t that lucky?” she asks, reaching up to hug him next.

I breathe a sigh of relief, which is quickly snuffed out as Mom drags me toward the house, telling me there are so many people she wants me to meet. People, as in men, because I’m sure she’s not really interested in me making new friends. She’s on the hunt for a future son-in-law.

“Wait until you see your father’s new accountant. He’s twenty-five, loves tennis, and has the cutest dimple. Oh, and he actually knew who Modigliani is, honey, so you two will have lots to talk about.”

Oh my God, she’s not even trying to disguise her motives. I groan and let myself get washed along in her wake.

I glance back at Braden, maybe hoping for a bit of commiseration, but he’s still hanging back by the car with a disconcerting, tight jawed look on his face.

I guess the fun part of my vacation is over.