His Young Maid: A Forbidden Boss Age Gap Romance Daisy Jane (love letters to the dead TXT) 📖

not let myself get teary. I will visit her. Not much will change, I promise myself.

“You’ll be there with me soon,” she smiles, and I can see she feels bad that I’m stuck in this shit hole while she moves on.

“It may be a few years,” I shrug, not wanting to talk about this. Not now.

“Okay so, back to Brooks Bennett,” she lowers her head and raises her eyebrows in a sinister expression. “What do you think is going to happen today?”

He flashes before me, that coifed hair and that towering build, strong and lean. My body tingles and my thighs tighten, a mind of their own. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I know I want to fuck him so bad.”

“Britta Monroe Moore! I have never heard you say anything like that before!” Melody’s cheeks go red and it makes my expression match hers, flush and embarrassed. But I don’t care. I want Brooks and I’ve resigned myself to being honest with Melody all the time now.

Another simple shrug rolls off my shoulders. “I do.”

She giggles again before growing serious. “Will you start hooking up with him again, without any reassurances?”

She’s asking if I’m going to hand him over my trust and love as is, if the last six weeks have been enough, if I’m ready to give up trust in the hopes of gaining more.

“I trust Brooks,” I say, “and I don’t need a label. Before I just wanted to know if he wanted me or if I was just a thrill, a cheap conquest. But dating me for six weeks without so much as our hands grazing? Why would he do that just for sex? He could go back to Darcy. Money isn’t an issue.”

“I know,” Melody adds, then her eyes snap to mine. “That house, Brit. Man, it’s beautiful. You get to just like, hang out in it now, too. Lucky.”

I smile, knowing exactly what she means. Brooks’ house was always our favorite. And being in it still doesn’t feel real. I feel like I’m living someone else’s life when I’m with him, quite frankly.

“I’m very lucky,” heat crawls up my insides while I say it, thinking of Brooks and his chiseled jaw, that wide smile, the smell of his skin.

“That’s why he’s lucky,” Melody says, dipping her hand into the bag for another cookie. “You call yourself lucky, despite your situation.” She takes two bites before the cookie is gone. “That’s why I love you, Brit. You’re always so positive.”

I shrug. There’s never been an alternative for me. Lose myself in the dark side of reality or persevere with happiness.

“I’m really happy for you and Donny. And you’re going to do so great in culinary school,” I join her on the couch and wrap my arm up around her shoulders and squeeze, resting my cheek on her.

“I wouldn’t be going if it weren’t for you. I never would have start baking if it weren’t for you, Britta.”

“I guess we can thank our mothers for having some serious parenting problems and definite substance abuse issues,” I laugh without humor, “without them, we’d have no reason to hide behind a bowl and spoon.”

“You did good, you know? I know this place sucks but you’ll be out of here in no time.”

She sighs and the weight of her body next to mine brings me calmness. I wish I could bottle it up and take a dose of it later, when she’s gone and I’m without this moment and missing her.

“Thanks,” I say and on cue like normal, Donny pushes through the front door without knocking or warning.

“Hey, you gotta tell the driver where you want the stuff to go in the truck,” he nods at me, “what’s up Britta.”

I feel Melody’s body tense against mine before she stands, motioning for me to rise. We share a hug, tight and hard but short.

“I’ll text you when we’re actually going to pull out. I gotta go take care of the moving truck because apparently Donny can’t do it.”

She rolls her eyes and Donny attempts to grab at her hips as she pushes past him in the doorway. Before he trails after her, he speaks to me. It is rare when Donny speaks to me when Melody isn’t around.

“Your dude,” he says, fingers drumming annoyingly on the inside of the frame, his untied sneaker pressing against the door to keep it open. “I seen him in the paper today.”

A laugh escapes me before I can hold it in.

“Donny, you read the paper?” I don’t say it cruelly but I see his eyes deflate a little.

“I take it from the restaurant downstairs every morning,” he says with a guilty look on his face. “I watch stocks and read the sports section. Gives me something to do while I’m taking a shit.”

“Okay,” we’ve officially had our longest conversation ever and so far, it’s covered shit and theft. Wonderful.

“He bought property in Connecticut with his bro. Not far from where we’re going to be. Maybe you two can visit.” He raps against the door frame with his knuckles then gives me a hand signal that I’m assuming is some sort of bro way of saying goodbye, then he’s gone.

Brooks had started telling me more and more about his investment opportunities over the last six weeks and while we never made work a serious topic of conversation, I think I’d remember him telling me about Connecticut. Maybe it wasn’t a business he was passionate about. Maybe it was last minute. Maybe it was to immediately sell off.

He’d be here soon and if our date was going to go how I hoped, we probably wouldn’t get a chance to talk about it.

21

Brooks

I did a big thing. I made a big leap. Took a big jump. Put my neck on the line. Whatever the fuck you’d call it, I took a risk and I knew there was a chance it wouldn’t pan out, it’d bite me in the ass, backfire, whatever. Ever