Wherever It Leads(24)

I nod, letting that sink in.

“But I’m like her, too. She had a hard time connecting to people on a personal level. She could do these big things and her heart was always in the right place, but she never had close friends or acquaintances. Just my father and I for the most part.”

“You don’t have friends?” I find that hard to believe. The pull to him is a force to be reckoned with.

“Not really. I just don’t connect well to most people. I grew up with a bunch of clowns with inheritances, but like you, my parents made me work. I helped them, had chores, didn’t get spoiled to the level of the kids I went to school with. My mother came from a poor background and she didn’t believe in making me ‘rotten,’ as she’d say,” he grins. “Why? You seem surprised.”

“I am. It’s just not what I was expecting you to say. That’s all.”

He shrugs again. “What about you? Are you like your parents?”

“Nope. Not at all. They’re both detailed and organized and I’m more of . . . a mess.”

He laughs at the look on my face. “I hardly would call you a mess.”

“You haven’t seen my house.”

“True,” he grins. “You live with Presley, right?”

“I do. We’ve lived together for a couple of years now. I think she’s the only person I could ever live with.”

“You’ve never lived with anyone else?”

I shake my head. “Nope. Besides my parents, of course. I haven’t trusted anyone else enough to live with them. What if they don’t pay the bills or steal from me or something?”

He seems baffled, his forehead crinkling at my statement. “You’ve never lived with a boyfriend?”

“No.” I look at the table and take a deep breath. “I’ve had various boyfriends, of course, but only one I dated for an extended period of time. He was never . . . responsible enough . . . for us to co-mingle our things, our lives. So I’ve always lived at home or by myself . . . or with Presley now.”

“Sounds like a smart thing. But you know,” he chides, “men are generally irresponsible. You may have to make concessions as you go through life on that.”

Laughing, I place my fork on the table. “True. But I can take your typical irresponsibility—leaving the toilet seat up and shoes all over the place. But when I have to pay a guy’s bills because they can’t manage their money, that’s a different thing, you know?”

“It absolutely should be. If you’re paying for his things when you’re dating, there’s no hope of him ever stepping up in the future. A man should want to spoil their woman, give her things, make her life easier. Not the other way around. That’s a sign of a lack of character that you’ll never get around.”

I snort. “No joke. That’s obvious now.”

“You are better off without him. Trust me.”

“Probably so.”

Watching the candle flicker on the table, I wonder where Grant is and what he’s doing. For the first time since we broke up, my immediate reaction isn’t to hate him or to think back to what we used to have before Africa. I just feel ambivalent. I don’t know if it’s because I’m here with Fenton or because of this reset button I’m pushing, but the unfeeling about Grant is like a gush of fresh air.

“Did you love him?”

I’m startled by Fenton’s question. He asks it cautiously, leaning back in his chair again. I wonder if it’s intentional, to put some actual space between us, or just a coincidence.

“Yes,” I say honestly. “I did. He was the first guy I ever thought I loved. We were together for a long time and I thought we’d be married.”

“How long have you been apart?”

“Almost a year now.”

Fenton leans forward, looking me straight in the eye. “Do you still love him?”

“I don’t know.” He doesn’t respond, just sits there and waits for me to expound. “I did love him. And I definitely don’t feel like that now.” I think to the cloud hanging over him being involved with Brady’s disappearance, and I know I could never love him like that again. “But maybe once you love someone, you always do in a way. I don’t know. But would I go back to him? Would I want to be with him again? No. There’s just too much that’s happened.”

“Like what?”

“He had issues with money. He’d tell lots of little white lies and that drove me crazy. It got to the point where I second guessed everything he said, no matter how stupid. He cheated on me,” I say, rushing over the topic. “My brother is messed up in some things and Grant might be involved somehow. I don’t know.”

“And you thought you’d marry this guy?” he snorts. “Come on, Brynne. You seem smarter than that.”

I shrug, feeling put on the spot. “Love blurs things. I’m sure you know that.”

He laughs, patting his lips with his linen napkin. “So I’ve heard.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never been in love.”

“Come on, Fenton,” I roll my eyes, tossing his words back at him. “I’m smarter than that.”

He runs his bottom lip between his teeth, his smile hidden in his eyes. He’s amused at my retort, but I’m not sure it’s going to make him tell me anything.