The Closer You Come (The Original Heartbreakers, #1)(38)

Not much popped up. He had no Facebook page that she could find, no Twitter account. But she was asked if she’d meant Jessie Hollister, Jake Hollister, Jason Hollister or Jane Hollister.

Jason seemed the most obvious choice, so she clicked on it...and oh, wow, there seemed to be thousands of them. She narrowed the search to Jason Hollister in Oklahoma. The first thing to pull up was Hollister Co. at Penn Square Mall, followed by a few links to people on Facebook and LinkedIn. But none of the pictures matched the Jase she knew. There was an article about some kind of fight to the death between teenagers, but again, the picture next to it looked nothing like her Jase. The boy was far too scrawny.

The bell above the door tinkled, signaling the arrival of the first customer of the day, and she glanced up to see a young man she’d never before met standing in the doorway.

“Can I help you?” she asked. Tourist? Just passing through?

He had sandy-colored hair and wore a wrinkled white button-down and black slacks. He scratched his arms as he glanced behind him nervously before retreating outside, the door closing.

O-kay.

Brook Lynn closed the search window just as the bell tinkled again.

“Got your dating-911 text,” Kenna said as she glided to the counter, her red hair bouncing over her shoulders. “What’s up?”

Oh, yeah. In her delirium last night, Brook Lynn had contacted her friend. But in the bright light of the morning, discussing Jase seemed like the worst idea ever.

“Dating-911?” she asked, playing coy. “That doesn’t sound like me, does it?”

“Gonna play the dumb-blonde card, are you?”

“Why not?” she said with a shrug. She scratched her ears. “I’ve got a full deck.”

Kenna chuckled. “You typed, and I quote, do you know what’s worse than zombies eating your brains? Liking a man who’s slept with your sister.”

“Someone needs to invent an app to stop people from making foolish admissions in texts,” she grumbled.

“I bet West could do it. But even if he manages it, it’s too late for you. So...are we talking about Jase or Beck?”

Why not admit it, just put it out there? “Jase.”

“Oh,” Kenna said, and she sounded disappointed.

“What? You don’t like him?”

“I like him just fine, but of the two guys he just seems less attainable.”

She gaped at her friend. “Less attainable, when Beck is a certified man-whore?”

“Well, yeah,” Kenna said. “Jase is like a wall of ice. Dirty, dirty ice,” she added with an appreciative, dreamy sigh. “But ice all the same.”

“Ice can be melted, you know.” And with Jase, it had. At least for a little while. Once he’d even laughed with her.

I want to see him laugh again.

Kenna patted her arm, saying, “It can also refreeze.”

“True.” Hadn’t it already?

Did she want him to melt for good?

No, no. No fixer-uppers, remember? She’d decided to go after Brad. The safer choice. The smarter choice. Being with him wouldn’t get her canned or hurt her sister. Which was the reason she’d also texted him last night, asking him to stop by the shop whenever he was free.

“I won’t go after Jase,” she said on a sigh.

“Oh, Brook Lynn,” Kenna said. “I’m so sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut. I’ve never seen you look so dejected.”

She scratched her ears yet again. “I’m not dejected.” I’m disappointed.

“I never should have discouraged you. If anyone can melt Jase once and for all, it’s you. Besides, the past might have created who he is, but we shouldn’t let it define who he can become.”

“What do you know of his past?”

“Not much. Dane mentioned something about foster care.”

The child of a broken home. Stomach twisting, she changed the subject before she raced out of here to hunt the guy down and throw herself in his arms to offer all the hugs he probably never received growing up. “How are wedding plans coming?”

Immediately snared by the topic, Kenna regaled her with stories of white lace dresses, snobby caterers and shy ice sculptors, all revolving around her crazy soon-to-be in-laws.

One day, I’ll have such awesome problems, Brook Lynn thought.

The bell chimed, and Norrie, Kenna’s six-year-old daughter, came racing inside. Dane Michaelson entered soon after, his gaze heating when it landed on his fiancée, practically steaming the air.

That. I want that.

“Hi, Aunt Brook Lynn,” Norrie said, skipping over to embrace her. “Guess what? Dane told Uncle West he’s got to get Momma alone soon or he’s gonna die of blue baseballs. I didn’t know baseballs could be blue, did you?”

Kenna almost swallowed her tongue.

Brook Lynn laughed out loud, but quieted as the itching in her ears grew worse.

Dane closed his eyes for a moment. “That was supposed to be our secret, squirt.”

Norrie had a major problem with verbal diarrhea. Every word to enter her ears exited her mouth.

“We better make sure they get some time alone, huh?” Brook Lynn said. “That way his baseballs can return to their original color. So how about you come over this evening and spend the night with me?” When Kenna and Norrie had moved out, Brook Lynn had left their rooms alone, part of her hoping they’d come back.