They hadn’t discussed what they would do or say when they ran into their friends. There wasn’t a doubt in Brooklyn’s mind that Rennie would play it off as if they hadn’t seen each other in months, not years. She had the knack for not caring what others thought, something Brooklyn wished she could master, and in true Rennie Wallace fashion, she had walked into the Whale Spout like she owned the place.
Brooklyn glanced toward the bar once more and let out a sigh as Rennie stood and started toward their table. They were going to have a decent evening with appetizers, beer, and conversation. She was certain no one would bother them. Sure, they would stare, point, and whisper among themselves, but they would stay away until the right time presented itself. That was, until the door swung open and Graham Chamberlain walked in.
“Graham Cracker!” Rennie yelled as she launched herself into his arms. The act looked effortless until her beer sloshed over the rim of the glass and landed down Graham’s back and on the floor. Still, he held on to her. The scene made Brooklyn turn away. What she wouldn’t give to have a welcoming party like that. If she had found the courage to pick up the phone a time or two over the last fifteen years, her homecoming would’ve been the same.
Graham let Rennie down and held on to her hand. They walked together to the table, and when Brooklyn looked up, Graham smiled. “Are you just going to sit there, or are you going to stand up so I can give you a hug?”
Tears formed as she stood, and Graham held his arms out wide for her. He held her tightly while she tried not to cry into his shirt. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered into her ear. Words escaped her. She wanted to tell him that she had missed him as well, that she had thought about him often, but couldn’t get her mouth to cooperate. Graham was the kind of man who didn’t hold a grudge, and it showed.
The three of them sat down, with Brooklyn across from Rennie and Graham, who put his arm around the back of her chair. They had a history. One Brooklyn knew every detail of. They were never a couple unless Rennie happened to be in Cape Harbor visiting or when they both ended up in California for college, and then they were inseparable. Each time they would hook up, Rennie would give Brooklyn the rundown. As far as Brooklyn knew, the last time they had seen each other was Austin’s funeral.
“Rennie Wallace, I have to say, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
Rennie fanned herself, and Brooklyn rolled her eyes at the antics. “Why, Graham Chamberlain, are you hitting on me?”
The Chamberlain twins had all the charisma in the world. They were sweet, well-mannered boys who always opened doors and pulled out chairs, but it was their looks that had women turning their heads. Tall, with dirty-blond hair and green eyes, but it was Graham’s crooked smile that could make any woman weak in the knees, and he knew it.
“Do I need to?” he asked her. Years ago, the answer would’ve been no, but Rennie was off the market and in love.
Rennie tilted her head to the side, chuckled, and shook her head. “Lots of things have changed over the years, Graham. Tell me, how have you been? Are you still in California?”
Brooklyn perked up. This was why she needed Rennie. She wasn’t afraid to ask the questions Brooklyn needed answered. She was dying to know what everyone was up to these days but felt she had no right asking.
“I live here and run the bar for my parents.”
“What happened to your tech job?” Brooklyn asked.
His lips went into a fine line. “Sold my shares and came home. Grady . . .” Graham stopped talking and shook his head, a clear signal he was done with this part of the conversation. He glanced over his shoulder and hollered for Bowie, who seemed reluctant to join them. Bowie sauntered over and hesitated before sitting next to Brooklyn.
“How nice of you to join us,” Rennie snarked.
“How nice of you to visit us after all these years.” His retort hurt. He had every right to be angry, but not at Rennie. She had no reason to visit. Brooklyn had left, and the last either of them had known, Graham lived in California.
Bowie sat back and put his arm behind Brooklyn, something he had done too many times to count when they were growing up. Whether the act was intentional or not, it made Brooklyn feel closer to Bowie. Their thighs pressed together, another thing that was entirely involuntary. Surely, the last thing either of them meant to do was touch.