To Have And To Hold: The Wedding Belles Book 1 (36 page)

“That’s the plan,” Seth said, taking a last sip of his drink before setting it aside and forcing himself to pack at least one more box before the pizza and baseball game he’d promised Grant. Pretty lame way to be spending your last night in a place you’d spent the better part of a year, but then this hotel suite had never really felt much like home in the first place. He figured a nice cheesy slice of pepperoni and the Yankees were
a good enough send-off for a place where he was just now noticing the pictures on the wall.

“You’re sure she’s going to show up tomorrow?” Grant asked, halfheartedly opening a kitchen cupboard and dropping a salt container into the open box of pantry items that would be transiting over to the new place.

Seth gave him an exaggerated glance. “Not helpful.”

“I’m a details guy,” Grant said.

“No you’re not,” Seth said. “
I
am. You’re the big-picture, no-clue-on-execution guy.”

“Fine,” his friend said with an easy shrug. “Looking at the big picture . . . do you think she’s going to show up tomorrow?”

“
Jesus
,” Seth muttered, giving up on the boxes and lowering himself slowly to the uncomfortable metal bar stool. If the place wasn’t packed by tomorrow, it was no big deal. He owned the fucking hotel—he could move out next month or next year if he wanted.

“So that’s a no,” Grant said. “We’re not sure?”

No. He wasn’t even a tiny bit sure that all of his efforts over the past few weeks were going to do shit to win her back, but he felt good about the plan.

Sort of.

“Alexis said everything was going according to plan,” Seth replied. “And if anyone can make a plan come to fruition, it’s that woman.”

“True,” Grant said. “I only met her once, but she’s sort of like a hot robot, no?”

Seth gave a rueful smile. “I always thought Alexis was a bit like a female version of me.”

“Yeah,
that’s what I said,” Grant replied. “A robot. But you’re not as hot.”

Seth gave his friend the finger before reaching out and idly twisting his glass on the counter. “Do
you
think she’ll come?”

“You mean, does my big-picture genius think the love of your life is going to fall into your arms and maybe swoon a little at your grand gesture?” Grant asked with a sly grin, leaning back against the fridge and crossing his feet at the ankles.

Seth’s heart soared a little at the picture his friend painted. To have Brooke within arm’s reach again, much less in
his
arms . . .

Grant’s expression turned sympathetic. “Yeah, man. I think she’s going to be there. And if not, she’s an idiot. Okay?”

Seth nodded, appreciating his friend’s vote of confidence.

And yet he really,
really
hoped she’d be there.

B
ROOKE
WAS JUST COMING
out of a bridal shop down in Tribeca when she got a text from Alexis.

Brooke swallowed, wishing the favor was anything but that.

She hadn’t been inside the Hamilton since planning Maya’s wedding.

Well, Maya’s
almost
wedding.

Alexis
had had a hell of a time trying to figure out how to back out of a wedding that had already been put on a rush schedule, but even with all the hassle the non-wedding had caused the Belles, Brooke was glad for it. Glad that Maya wouldn’t be marrying Neil who wasn’t really Neil.

Still, she tensed in dread at the thought of going to that space again. Not because it reminded her of Maya. Maya and she were actually on good terms, even having grabbed lunch a couple of times recently so Maya could fill her in on what had happened with Neil and about finally getting together with Grant. Brooke was thrilled that those two had finally owned up to how they felt about each other.

But she didn’t want to go to the Hamilton House.

It reminded her of Seth.

Seth, from whom she hadn’t heard in nearly two months. Seth, whose name everyone seemed to be reluctant to mention around her, as though she might break.

She wouldn’t break.

Not because she was avoiding what happened. She’d learned her lesson after holding in her feelings about Clay and nearly letting it destroy her.

This she’d faced head-on in the form of twice-weekly therapy. Not to talk about Seth specifically, although he was certainly a frequent topic of conversation. But after the train wreck of the past months, Brooke had had the epiphany that a happy life didn’t come from constantly shoving anger and pain to the side and pretending they didn’t exist.

They did exist.

Anger
and pain were real, and some people were just lame (see: Clay and Neil/Ned), and the world wasn’t always going to be sunshine and rainbows.

She knew that now. And interestingly, the more she let in the not-so-great things, the greater the good things became.

Almost as though she was becoming happier by allowing herself to be unhappy sometimes.

Crazy, but true.

It was this realization that made her decide what she needed to do. She needed to go to Hamilton House. Needed to face all of the memories, both good and bad, that would come with it.

It would be one step closer to being able to think of Seth with just a
little
bit of pain, instead of the ripping, gut-clenching pain that still kept her awake at night sometimes.

Brooke hailed a taxi and made it in twelve minutes flat.

She hesitated only briefly before entering the building, faltering when she saw a middle-aged man in a basic black suit standing behind the previously deserted reception desk.

Somehow she hadn’t thought about the building
being populated, but of course it would be. The lower office floors would have started to fill up by now, and they’d need some sort of security.

“Hi there,” she said, approaching with a smile. “I’m Brooke Baldwin, here to meet a Ms. Larabee to tour the top floor for a possible event.”

“Of course,” the man said with a formal nod. “Ms. Morgan said you’d be needing these.”

He held out a modern key fob. An upgrade from the old-fashioned key she remembered.

“Ms. Larabee’s not here yet?”

“Not yet, miss. I can send her up when she arrives?”

“Sure, that’d be great,” Brooke said, suddenly anxious to have the space to herself again, just for a few minutes.

Maybe if the Larabee bride did choose the space, Alexis would be open to tag-teaming on the reception. The wedding planner in her was still simmering a little that she hadn’t had a chance to work her magic in that space to realize its full potential.

Brooke let herself into the elevator, juggling the plastic fob lightly in her palm as she ascended. When the doors opened, she stepped out onto the wood floor and promptly skidded to a stop, taking a step backward.

Whoops. Wrong floor.

But a glance back at the floor number engraved on the elevator door showed her she was on the right floor.

And yet, it was different. Everything was different.

It was still bright and open, but someone was
clearly in the process of dividing the space into separate rooms. And doing a fine job of it, too, Brooke realized, as she took a step forward, her heels echoing with that lovely clicking sound she remembered.

Everything was exactly as she would have done. The new drywall running along the center of the space ensured that the main living area still had plenty of daylight, with two separate sitting areas, one centered around the fireplace with what appeared to be the early stages of a small built-in bar. There was no physical separation between that and the next area, which had a circular sectional couch centered around a television that begged for cozy movie nights or curling up with a good book.

Whoever had designed it had wisely understood that you didn’t need walls in between rooms when you could use space, and that seating area flowed into a dining room, which was bordered by a new kitchen, clearly under construction, and . . .

It was somebody’s home, Brooke realized.

The space was as beautiful as Brooke remembered it—more so, now that it had a purpose—but it was no longer set up to be a versatile wedding reception site. Someone was intending to live here.

“Oh man,” she said, realizing there’d been a super awkward, horrible mistake. Brooke pulled out her phone to text Alexis about what seemed to be a major misunderstanding.

Thank God whatever richer-than-God person who had bought the property hadn’t moved in yet. Crazy awkward to walk into someone’s home uninvited.

Brooke
heard a loud clang, as though someone had dropped a tool, and her head snapped up and looked in the direction of the wall that led to what must be the bedrooms of the house.

Crap. Definitely not alone. A construction worker, maybe?

Brook turned, slowly creeping toward the elevator, her gait made slow and clunky in an effort not to let her heels click on the floor as she made her escape.

Then she heard the sound of a door opening and closing and heavy footsteps as someone entered the main space where she was currently tiptoeing around like an overdressed cat burglar.

Keeping her fingers crossed that it really was a worker and not the owner of the house, Brooke turned on her heel, fully prepared to be at her most charming and apologetic for the confusion.

The apology froze on her lips. Heck, all rational thought froze in her brain.

Seth was here.

Seth was
here
.

Standing in the not-quite-finished kitchen, wearing . . .

Jeans.

And a T-shirt . . . and work boots?

Brooke blinked, half-terrified that her mind had gone and given up the ghost and quit on her. Seth Tyler might wear jeans, sometimes, but only when paired with a cashmere sweater or tailored dress shirt. Definitely not a basic white T-shirt that clung just a
little bit snugly to the sculpted muscles of his upper body.

“Is that dirt on your face?” Brooke blurted out.

Yeah. Okay. Not exactly what she’d always imagined saying upon seeing him again, but really, he was wearing
work
boots. And there was a hammer in his hand.

Her ovaries would be fainting if they weren’t so confused by what was happening right now.

He lifted a self-conscious hand to his cheek before dropping it with a shrug. “The shelves I’m installing must have had some dust on them.”

“The—” Brooke cleared her throat. “The shelves you’re installing?”

Her voice was far too high, and he gave her a crooked smile and tilted his head in the direction of the other room. “Want to see?”

Brooke had about a billion questions for him, none of them about shelves, but since the important questions seemed far too complicated to possibly make it from her brain to her mouth, she went with the simpler option. “Okay.”

He stood still as she walked toward him, and for a brief moment, she thought his eyes might be appearing slightly hungry as they looked her over, but then all expression disappeared between the impassive mask. It was like they were going back to that first day at the Belles, when he’d been cool and unapproachable and impossible to read.

But no, that wasn’t quite right.

He wasn’t that man at all. He was different. Not
just because of the jeans and the boots and that seriously sexy hammer.
He
was different. Seth the person had changed. She just wasn’t sure how.

Or why.

For a foolish moment, she thought he might extend a hand to her and lead her to these mysterious shelves, but instead he turned away and walked ahead of her, leaving her to follow him.

She swallowed her disappointment and trailed after him, finding a long hallway on the other side of the wall. It had wisely been kept from being too narrow; instead, the second half of the floor had been divided into a T-shaped hallway to allow in natural light, with a handful of doors leading into separate rooms.

Brooke curiously glanced into a couple of them as they walked by, but not much had been done. A card table had been set up in one with a laptop, as though it was serving as a temporary office.

Another held building supplies, another was empty, and one was a bathroom.

Finally, they made it to the last door, and Seth turned back, gesturing for her to enter first.

She gave him a wary look before she stepped into the room.

“Oh,” she breathed.

It was a bedroom.

A gorgeous, enormous master bedroom.

At the center was a king platform bed with dark gray bedding and puffy white pillows. There were two chaise lounges along the windows with a view of the city. She pivoted, taking in the newly constructed
walk-in closet that was bigger than her current bedroom twice over. Through an open door she could make out a marble bathroom with a walk-in shower and separate tub.