Page 8 of Falling into Place

Chapter Five

Carly

Got the pictures—very cool. I had no idea there were so many sharp angles in Korean architecture, and I loved the notes about the importance of harmony in design. Maybe one of these days we’ll travel the world and sightsee together.

—Email from Carly Porter to Benjamin Wheeler

Brooks lived in a nearby historic neighborhood only ten minutes from Coffee Slingers, which meant Carly didn’t have much time to marinate on their meeting.

Not that she needed to have him figured out already, but listen, she liked being in the know. She worked behind the scenes on most things—like design and accounting—and paid attention to tiny details most people took for granted, whether it be clothing or a spreadsheet.

She liked being prepared, and she hated surprises.

The mystery of Brooks Martin would drive her crazy.

He’d seemed nervous and reserved when he first arrived, and had relaxed only marginally by the end.

When had he changed so much? Had something happened, or had he just grown out of his wild ways the same way she’d grown out of caring so much what other people thought about her? She still wanted to succeed, but now she just wanted it for herself. She’d always been her own biggest critic anyway.

Where was the confidence Brooks had worn like a well-loved sweatshirt?

The fun-loving, enigmatic guy who’d shone so bright it had almost hurt to look at him?

It was like he’d installed a dimmer switch and slid it all the way down, muffling the brightness she hoped was still buried in there, somewhere.

Rather than inviting and open, he was ... not standoffish, exactly. She couldn’t put her finger on it ... Just not quite as warm. Less accessible.

He was still handsome, though, even if his good looks were more subtle. Current-day Brooks was a man who seemed like he wouldn’t mind being overlooked, and if women weren’t paying attention, they might do just that. But the longer she’d sat there assessing him, the more attractive he’d become.

And in those awful jeans! She’d lied through her teeth when she said she wouldn’t throw anything away. They’d be gone the second she could get her hands on them.

She slowed to a stop when Brooks turned his Audi into a driveway. He parked and got out, walking to the porch of the single-story bungalow, where he waited for her with his hands in his pockets.

“This is so cute,” she said as she made her way up the sidewalk, admiring the large oak towering over the yard, casting dappled shade over her steps.

The front porch was long and narrow, and the railing looked freshly painted.

The front door, too—a deep navy color that caught her eye right away. “I adore that color.”

He seemed pleased. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure about it, but I wanted a project. Thought about doing the table and chairs next. They came with the place.”

A small wooden bistro set sat in the corner of the porch, and it had seen better days. “I’d totally do that in a lime green or yellow, but something tells me that’s not in the cards for you.” She glanced over at him and laughed. “Judging by the look of pure horror on your face, I’m right.”

“It just sounds . . . bright.”

Note: Slowly ease into bright colors when shopping for Brooks.

He unlocked the door, holding it open for her. A black-and-white blur darted across the room, and Carly let out a yelp before realizing it was only a cat. She took a few steps inside before she knelt and held out her hand.

“Meet Oreo,” Brooks said, leaning against the doorjamb. “He’s an okay roommate. Usually late paying rent and sort of has an attitude problem.”

“That’s cats for you,” she said with a grin. The animal padded forward to sniff her, eventually allowing her to scratch underneath his jaw. “Nice to meet you, Oreo.”

She rubbed him for another moment and stood. Oreo slithered in a figure eight around her ankles, purring and curling his tail around her calves.

Brooks regarded his pet with raised brows. “He’s not usually into new people. The first time my friend James came over after I got him, he hid in the bathroom for three hours.”

“James or Oreo?”

That earned her a tiny smile as they walked farther into the house. “Oreo.”

“Maybe he smells my cat. I also have a freeloading roommate named Pepper.”

“Yeah? Does Sasha give you a hard time about that?”

“No, why?”

He made a face. “She insinuated my getting a cat was pathetic or something. Like I was an old man destined to die alone because of him.”

Carly rolled her eyes. “Where I’m from, we don’t listen to Sasha.”

His place was filled with homey-looking furnishings that were sort of haphazard and slightly mismatched, but somehow it worked. Probably because everything was based in neutrals without any aforementioned pops of color. Never a good idea for those to be unintentional.

The walls were decorated with a few unframed wrapped-canvas art pieces, which she slowed to study as she passed.

His voice came from behind her. “You make a good point, but I listened to her when I bought those.”

“Local artist?” Carly guessed.

“Yeah. Her name is Bek, or something. Has a studio downtown.”

They were beautiful. Abstract and eye catching but still muted in blues, greens, and whites, and quiet in a way that made you want to step closer to see what you might be missing. “Counterproposal: We listen to Sasha when it comes to art, but not when she’s dissing our cats.”

“Deal.” He continued through the kitchen and into his bedroom. “Oreo’s still following you, by the way.”

She barely heard him because she’d just stepped into his bedroom and was struck by two things.

One: It smelled incredible in here, like pine and laundry detergent.

Two: While the rest of the house had been immaculate, this room was a disaster.

Okay, not a disaster, exactly. But his bed was unmade (she had a thing about that), loose papers covered the bedside table, several pairs of scrubs littered a chair in the corner, and two pairs of shoes lay right in the middle of the floor.

Was that a stethoscope on the doorknob?

“Sorry.” He stood a few feet away, watching her, one hand passing across his jaw. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Don’t be silly, it’s fine.” She glanced behind her, relieved to see the cat still there. She picked him up gently for something to do with her hands, or else she’d start tidying things up. “You should see my room.”

Everything at her place was perfect, but he didn’t know that. He didn’t look convinced, so she changed the subject to the furball burrowing against her chest, purring like crazy. “I officially love this cat. I might have to steal him.”

“He’s one of those that’s more like a dog than a cat.”

“Those are the best kind.”

He regarded Oreo for a moment. “Him, plus my garden, is what prompted this whole intervention, you know.”

She peeked out his bedroom window, which overlooked the backyard. Sure enough, a tiny raised bed sat out in the back corner. “What’s wrong with having a garden?”

He nodded a little, as if pleased someone was on his side. “Hell if I know.” Then he stopped and twisted his lips to the side, looking strangely vulnerable. “I don’t really know what I’m doing, though.”

“With the garden?”

“Yeah. It was sort of a spontaneous decision, and in hindsight I probably should have done a little more research first.” He leaned his upper back against the wall, and his gaze drifted from her, focusing through the window.

“I’d just come off a rough week at work where we lost several patients, and .

.. I don’t know. I guess after seeing that, I sort of liked the idea of bringing something to life. ”

A soft breath whooshed through her lips as she regarded him and the distant look in his eyes. It was the most he’d said to her at once all day. “That’s sad, Brooks. And sort of beautiful.”

“It’ll be beautiful if I can actually grow something. If not, I think I’ll feel even worse.”

The room filled with silence. What could she say to that? Her mind spun, desperate to think of something helpful. “My mom’s a pretty serious gardener. She’ll go on about it for hours if you let her. If you ever have any questions I’d be happy to ask her.”

His eyes swung to hers. “Yeah? Thanks.” He glanced back outside, then at her again, and after a few seconds he pushed off the wall as if he could displace the somber air between them. “Anyway. Sorry I took a turn down that road. Didn’t mean to make it weird.”

“I’m glad you did.” She tipped her head toward the rumpled comforter on his bed. “Because ever since walking in here, I’ve been twitchy with the urge to make that. You crossed the weird line first, so I might as well—”

She let Oreo leap from her arms, but Brooks lurched forward and grabbed her wrist as she moved. “You’re not making my bed.”

She was well aware her quirkiness was showing. Didn’t care, though. “I have to. I won’t be able to sleep knowing it looks like that.”

He let out an exhale that may have included a surprised laugh; it was hard to tell. “Seriously? Even if I let you—which I won’t—by the time you go to bed, I’m just gonna mess it up again. There’s no point.”

She stared at the gray blanket and white sheets, and out of nowhere her brain conjured an image of Brooks tangled up in them. His long body spanning the length of the bed, shirtless. Maybe even naked.

And . . . sweaty?

“Carly? You okay?”

“Me? Sure.” God, maybe she shouldn’t have read that spicy romance novel last night. Her several-months-long dry spell since Benjamin left probably wasn’t helping matters.

“Your face is all red. Is my unmade bed giving you hives?”

She cleared her throat and snapped back to reality. “What? No. I’m fine. Just the caffeine from the latte. Closet’s that way?”

It was worse than she thought.

By all accounts, Brooks hadn’t bought any new clothes in the last five years. Maybe longer, if you didn’t count scrubs.

Carly often asked clients to describe their style in three words. They’d say things like vintage . Classic. Edgy. And her personal favorite: timeless .

Her, for example: Flirty , eclectic , and fun .

If she had to choose three words to describe the items she found in Brooks’s closet?

Faded , outdated , mundane .

She’d kept these thoughts to herself, of course.

He was already a flight risk, and her intuition told her he’d be resistant to too much change too fast. She was rarely wrong about those types of things.

So she did her best to point out the (few) items she could work with and commend him on his tie selection.

“Sasha gives me one every year,” he’d said, not sounding particularly pleased about it.

That explained why he had twelve ties with only two dress shirts and one suit, which, judging by the size, didn’t fit properly.

She’d asked him to try on a few things for her, but by the third outfit change, he (1) was clearly losing patience and (2) caught her straightening out his comforter, so she announced she had enough to go with and got the hell out of there.

So yeah, it was bad, but she wasn’t worried. She liked a challenge, and sometimes starting from a blank slate was the easiest way to go.

The next evening she went shopping. She’d been a little surprised at his insistence they keep a modest budget—he was a doctor, right?

—but didn’t pass judgment. One thing she’d become an expert at growing up was finding fashionable clothes anywhere, whether it was a department store, the mall, a secondhand store, or even a garage sale.

Once, after her mom had spent her entire paycheck at the casino on the payday before freshman year, Carly did her back-to-school shopping at Goodwill and TJ Maxx and still managed to put together an updated closet she was happy with.

Was it fun when clients wanted investment pieces and she got to shop at the high-end boutiques in town?

Absolutely. Especially because she still couldn’t stomach spending that kind of money on herself.

But she never let money stand in the way of reaching her goal to improve someone’s wardrobe. Hadn’t stopped her when she was a teenager, and it wouldn’t stop her now.

Anyway, all that led her to start at reasonably priced Nordstrom Rack, which was hit or miss in the women’s section but usually had a strong selection for men. She browsed for a while, grabbing a few things here and there with the photo shoot in mind.

She chose several shirts (smaller and more fitted than anything else he owned) and a few pairs of shorts (shorter and with fewer pockets than anything he owned ... Could cargo shorts just die, already?). She’d grab a pair of chinos and jeans, too, in case he preferred pants.

It was six o’clock, so she took a chance he’d be off work and sent him some texts with pictures.

He replied immediately, vetoing all the shirts with patterns.

“Fine,” she grumbled as she put them back, and the guy on the other side of the rack gave her a strange look.

Brooks: i like the gray one

Carly: Of course you do.

Brooks: it looks a little small though

Carly: Trust me.

Brooks: how much are you buying?

Carly: Don’t worry about it.

Brooks: ok but I’m worried about it

Carly: I’m saying don’t worry about it right now. You need to try some of this stuff on before you decide, okay? I can return anything.

Brooks: you sure?

Carly: Positive.

Carly: Please hold for shoe pictures.

Brooks: i don’t need shoes

Carly: Hahahahahahahahaha

Brooks: wow

Brooks: are you this mean to all your clients?

Carly: You said you wanted honesty. “I can take it,” you said.

Brooks: is it too late to back out

Carly: Yes. Here are the shoes. I’m buying at least two, so tell me which ones you like best and ‘none’ isn’t an option.

Carly: [image]

Carly: [image]

Carly: [image]

Carly: [image]

Brooks: is that it? because none of those

Carly: Cool I’ll pick then.

Smiling at the exchange, she gathered up the shoeboxes and clothes and made her way to the register, pleased with what she’d found. Her phone dinged with an incoming message, and she checked it when she got back to her car.

Brooks: hey will you ask your mom what’s wrong with these?

Brooks: [image]

Brooks: they’re my tomato plants and I think they’re dying

Carly: Sure

She forwarded the image right away with a quick explanation that it was from the garden of a friend who was new at the endeavor. She sat in her car for a moment, looking at the photo and thinking about Brooks’s words:

I guess after seeing that, I sort of liked the idea of bringing something to life.

He’d been talking about his job at the time, but she couldn’t help but wonder how much the loss of his mom, and then his dad a few years later, may have bled into his desire to grow things and keep them alive.

She hoped her mom had some grand idea to salvage the plants, because something told her Brooks Martin was in desperate need of a win.