To Have and to Hold (The Wedding Belles #1)(74)

Seth was already there, taking Etta’s place the second she stood.

His heart both warmed and twisted at the way Brooke instinctively curled into him, one hand fisting against his lapel as she buried her damp face in his neck.

The businessman in Seth—the doer—wanted answers, and wanted them now. Wanted to know who or what had hurt her so that he could crush it. But the man in Seth—the one he hadn’t realized was there until he met Brooke—was content simply to hold her. To absorb her pain as his own, and he was in pain. Every hoarse cry, every tear that dripped down Brooke’s face felt like a jab to his own heart.

“I’ll be outside if you need anything,” Etta said quietly. He nodded, barely registering as she left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Brooke’s fingers clenched in a choppy, uneven rhythm against his lapel, and he pulled her even closer, turning his lips to her hair. “I’ve got you,” he whispered quietly. “Whatever it is, I’ve got you and we’ll fix it.”

He meant it, too.

Objectively, he was aware that he’d known this woman for a little over a month. It was far too soon to start thinking of them as a unit—to start thinking of her as his. And yet, he also knew down to the quietest, most secret part of his soul that she was his. And he was hers.

And that they would fix whatever had broken inside her.

For a few long minutes, he did nothing but stroke her back in long soothing motions, his cheek resting on the top of her head.

He didn’t know how long they sat there, but eventually, he noticed her crying start to slow. From a sob to a cry, a cry to a sniffle.

And then . . .

Silence.

She slumped against him, her face still buried in his neck as she let out a shuddering sigh.

“All cried out?” he asked softly.

Brooke nodded.

He waited.

Several more moments passed before she finally moved, pulling back from him, her fingers brushing uselessly at the wrinkled fabric of his suit.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice husky from crying. “I knew you’d be working. I should have waited until later.”

His hand cupped her cheek. “I’m glad you came.”

I’m glad it was me you wanted to see.

“So you’re done for the day?” she asked hopefully.

He wasn’t. He had another half dozen meetings, not counting the new technology company that wanted to take him to cocktails tonight to convince him to install their waterproof televisions into Tyler Hotel showers.

He also knew that Etta would take care of re-arranging all that for him. He’d seen the way she’d looked between him and Brooke. Seen that she’d understood.

“I’m here,” he said, dodging her question slightly.

She gave a grateful smile, and he was relieved to see that it was a real smile, and even with her red eyes and pink nose and messy hair, she looked beautiful.

Seth resumed stroking her back, and Brooke rested her cheek against his chest as she draped over him, one arm wrapping around his waist as though using him as an anchor. He figured he’d have to wait awhile before she told him whatever it was that had taken away her sparkle.

But Brooke surprised him by getting right to it.

“Clay,” she said hoarsely.

He jolted. “Your ex.”

Brooke nodded. “I never really . . . I never told you what happened between us. Not really. I mean, you know the headlines, but you don’t know”—she took a deep, shuddering breath—“the full story.”

“So tell me now,” he said quietly, sensing that she needed to share. He waited patiently as she kicked off her shoes, pulling her feet up on the couch and wrapping her arms around her legs, before resting her chin against her upraised knees.

“I met Clay at a bar. Cheesy, right? I was out celebrating a girlfriend’s birthday. I showed up late, since I had a wedding beforehand, and by the time I got there, my girlfriends were a bit past buzzed. The bar didn’t have a dance floor, but the shots of tequila had motivated them to make their own, and since I wasn’t quite to the drunken dancing phase, I found myself alone at the bar sipping a cocktail.”

“Dirty Belvedere martini?” he asked, his fingers finding the ends of her hair as he listened.

She tapped her nose to indicate he’d gotten it right. “Anyway, this guy comes up on my right side, and it sounds lame, but I felt him before I saw him, you know? Like I was aware of him.”

Seth nodded in understanding even as he silently hated another man for capturing her attention in that way.

“He, however, wasn’t aware of me. He didn’t even glance at me as he waited patiently to catch the bartender’s attention, and then his drink order . . . same as mine.”

Brooke’s eyes closed as she broke off and she shook her head. “Anyway, I wasn’t drunk enough to be out swaying with my girlfriends, but I was just buzzy enough to be brave, and so when the bartender set down the guy’s martini, I sort of clinked my glass against his and said something like, ‘Cheers to dirty Belvederes,’ or something completely horrible and awkward like that.”

“I take it he noticed you then?”

She gave a sad smile. “Yeah. He looked over, gave me this small smile, and I was just, like, done, you know? Boom. It was all over for me. He had these warm brown eyes, dark blond hair, tan skin . . . totally like cliché California surfer dude, but in the hottest way possible. And well, I’ve always had a type, and Clay was it.