For What It's Worth

As I sat at my shiny new workstation awaiting my new project, I struggled to push Mike’s words from my head. He loves me. But how could Alex and Mike possibly confirm that? Had they talked to Brooks about it? Did that mean they were talking about me? Or were they simply much more observant than I gave them credit for? I didn’t know for sure, but they had said he loves me.

I let a small smile tug at the corners of my lips until reality brought it to a halt. Until I heard the words directly from his mouth, I was not to let myself get carried away. I simply couldn’t afford to, not for the sake of our friendship nor my own sanity.

With a little luck, it would be easier than I hoped since my new job was taking up the majority of my time. I was part of the restoration team responsible for authenticating and cleaning the gallery’s newly acquired Rembrandt. Apparently, it had been sitting in some old lady’s attic for a quarter of a century and she had no clue what she was holding onto until her grandkids went to town on the attic as punishment for breaking their curfew.

Needless to say, the job required the majority of my time and energy since the gallery would be holding a gala in a few months time to unveil the new painting. Considering that the institution had paid millions of dollars to acquire the work, they could not afford, on grounds of reputation, to unveil a fake. God that would be a disaster that none of us would ever live down. So when I wasn’t at work with my eye attached to a microscope, I was at home drowning in a sea of books, computer print outs and hand written notes.

“Jules babe, I found your notes in the laundry room again,” Brooks started with a laugh.

I sighed heavily, taking the crinkled notes from his hand.

“Damn it. I’ve been looking everywhere for these!” I said as I scanned my cursive writing for the information I had been seeking.

I started to feel a prickle in my nose and my vision became blurry as I started to cry. It was just so much. There were books everywhere at work, notes everywhere at home and no matter how hard I tried to keep control of the mess or myself, I just couldn’t. I felt Brooks sit down beside me, draping his arm around my shoulders so that he could pull me in close.

“Jules, please don’t cry,” he said softly into my hair.

“I’m sorry. I’m really tired and I just really want to do a good job on this project. It’s a big deal Brooks.”

“I know Ducky. You’re amazing, I couldn’t even attempt some of the stuff you can do with those fancy paint brushes of yours, but you need time to relax. You’re going to burn yourself out… I’m afraid I’m going to come home one day and I’ll find you face down in a book with wild dogs sniffing at you.”

I started to laugh for a number of reasons. Ducky was what he was calling me these days. Why, I could not tell you, but all the boys had nicknames for one another, and they figured I needed one too. Brooks came up with Ducky and it was the best of the worst, so I agreed. But between you and me, Brooks could call me anything he liked. He was also right about the whole work thing. I could just picture myself passing out in a book and Brooks finding me four days later with ink all over my face and no idea where I was.

“That’s my girl,” he said as he softly brushed away my tears. His hands were so rough against the soft skin my cheeks but he was ever so gently. He smiled at me before nuzzling his nose against mine. If the books didn’t kill me, he surely would.

“Thanks,” I said, trying to recompose myself. “Hey, did my Dad phone at all today?”

“Shit. Yeah, I forgot to give you the message. Something about him wanting you to go to Chicago with him for some conference thing this weekend.” Such a good little message taker with the details and all.

“He was telling me about that. He’s lecturing about Grecian pottery at the art institute there.”

“You should go.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” I asked, pretending to be hurt.

“Never,” he said with that beautiful smile plastered across his face.

“Well, I guess I could use a break…” I trailed off, becoming distracted as Brooks began to twirl one of my curls around his finger.

I returned my Father’s call and suddenly found myself needing to do laundry much sooner than I had anticipated. I threw a load in the wash before letting Brooks know that I would be leaving for a few days.

“Are you pouting?” I asked as he watched me from his perch on the kitchen counter.

“No,” he replied flatly. Liar.

“You just told me, twenty minutes ago, that I should go and relax for a few days,” I stated, trying to be sensitive to Brooks’ mood swing but lost as to where it was coming from.

“I know.”

“So why are you looking at me like I’m about to leave you stranded on an island with Paris Hilton?”

“What, now I don’t get to pick who I’m stranded with? I hate Paris Hilton.” Unbelievable.

“Ok. Fine, who would you pick?”

“Well what kind of island are we talking about here? It is like a tropical island or like a giant glacier?”

“Hmmm. Tropical?” I said with a laugh.

“Than I’d pick you,” he stated simply, staring out the window so that he didn’t have to look at me.

“And if you were on your glacier island?”

“Still you,” he replied as he began to fidget with the salt and pepper shakers.

I had no idea what to say in response so I told him the truth.

“Well, I’d pick you too,” I said as I watched a smile dance across his beautiful face.

“You’re too far away,” he replied, reaching out to pull me closer. And pull me closer he did. One minute I was leaning against the refrigerator and the next I was in Brooks’ arms with my chin resting on his strong chest. He’d put me there on purpose, but I could feel the tension in his body. His left arm found it’s way around my waist while the fingers on his other hand entangled themselves with my curls. The lack of space between us was doing little to calm the fireworks erupting in my chest. He was close enough that I could feel his hot breathe on my lips, mocking me and tempting me to do something about it.

“Brooks,” I said, nearly breathless from the passionate stare he was giving me. It was like he was searching me for something, but afraid to find the answer. Yes Brooks. The answer was always yes.

“I’d pick you because I’d miss you too much if you were away from me for too long,” he said into my hair.

This was it. This was how I was going to die. Slowly tortured to my wit’s end by the man I was in love with. The most pleasurable and sickening way there was to go. I closed my eyes tightly, opening them as if I was expecting to wake from a dream. But I didn’t. Instead, there were Brooks’ lips, mere millimeters from my own.

And then the phone rang. And it rang and rang, but neither of us moved. Instead, Brooks kept me in his hold, gently pressing his lips to my own. It was the sweetest, most intense kiss anyone had ever given me. It was nothing like I had imagined, but everything I had ever hoped for. Everything around me became a blur as the counters, the cupboards and the stove swirled into one another. Brooks must have known because he pulled me in closer than before as he brushed his lips against mine. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t hear, and I could barely keep myself upright. The world was numb except for the sound of his girlfriend’s voice as she left a message on the answering machine. And yet, he didn’t push me away.