It Takes Heart Read online

  Was it nice to see him? Had she hoped to see him? Had she known he’d be here?

  “How long has it been for the both of you? Since we left for school?” Beatrice asked.

  Four years, actually.

  “Four years.” Geneva echoed his thoughts, eyes leaving his sister’s face, then going down to her drink. “Chris and Eden’s wedding.”

  “How could I forget.” Beatrice bumped her forehead with a palm. “I take that back. Of course I forgot—I planned that event and was probably stressed to high heavens. Now that was a whirlwind.” Then, to Brandon, in a change of subject only Beatrice could manage, she gestured to their surroundings. “Did you want me to order? I assume that you’re here for lunch. Chef Castillo pivoted to feed us even if our restaurant’s closed. Oh, just as an FYI, our new Friday dinners are now at Chef Castillo’s and her sister’s eatery, south on 12.”

  That took his attention for a beat. “A Filipino restaurant, down here?”

  “Yep. So keep your Friday night free, both of you. It’s required.” She grinned. “So, what’s your poison.”

  “Actually, I’m good.” Whatever appetite he’d had disappeared. “I spotted your golf cart and thought I would stop to say hi before my first meeting with the team.”

  “Perfect timing! I was telling Geneva about your demo sesh this morning. You might have been exactly where Geneva was. She’s in Ligaya.”

  Brandon had found it clever that the family had decided to assign a Tagalog word for each of the cabins, the yoga studio, and the restaurant. It had been Gil’s idea, though taken right out of their parents’ playbook of hammering their wooden sign at every residence.

  “Ah . . . I was definitely next door, at Habang-buhay.” Brandon snorted at the irony, that he’d demoed a beach house that was named forever, and all that morning, she had been just beyond his reach in a cabin whose name meant joy.

  She had been his joy, once.

  “What’s so funny?” Beatrice grinned.

  “Oh, nothing . . . nothing.” He shook his head, then turned away from Geneva’s unyielding stare to catch his breath. He faced his sister. “You didn’t say she was going to be here.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess I didn’t get a chance because you literally rolled in yesterday.” Beatrice’s words were slow and calculated, and she eyeballed him. “You surprised us, remember? I didn’t have time to tell you who was on the entire team.”

  Right, right.

  “And don’t be rude,” she added. “We’re lucky to have Geneva working with us.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Geneva piped up.

  Beatrice’s words caught up to him, and the puzzle pieces clicked into place. Geneva was here to work, just like him. “You’re doing the interiors.”

  “I am.”

  Beatrice’s phone buzzed in her hand, cutting through the tension, and her lips pursed to the side. “Can you excuse me? It’s my studio manager in Nags Head.” She hopped up and placed a hand on Brandon’s shoulder. “Don’t be a weirdo, okay?” She glanced at Geneva. “If my brother’s a weirdo, just ignore him.”

  Geneva smiled. “What are we, twelve? Go.”

  Beatrice meandered toward a quiet spot closer to the water and sat in a chair under the shade of a bright-red umbrella.

  To his right, Geneva cleared her throat.

  Every muscle in Brandon’s body contracted, like he was in the gym attempting a heavy lift. His heart raced. Then he turned to her. It seemed the only thing he could convince his body to do. He opened his mouth, then shut it, clueless as to what to say, as to what to even feel. For this, he hadn’t prepared.

  “Look, Bran—” she said.

  Hearing his name leaving her lips was like being pushed off a dock. Emotions crashed against Brandon like the shock of frigid water. It woke him up.

  His instincts told him to go.

  “It’s . . . interesting to see you again, Geneva.” He shoved a smile onto his face. His anger and disappointment should have been what leapt off his tongue, but the gentlemanhood his mother had instilled in him won out.

  He’d witnessed his mother be disrespected because she had been quiet, petite, brown, and seemingly meek. And she’d turned the other cheek with a sort of gallantry. It had been her way to save face with her pride kept intact.

  With Geneva, Brandon had so little pride left—she had taken it all from him when she’d walked out the door.

  “Please tell my sister I had to go, and I’ll text her later,” he managed to say, standing.

  “Bran.” Panic laced the tone of her voice, and she reached out.

  “No.” Brandon jerked back before she could touch him. Despite his natural instincts to help, Geneva had a way of barreling through his impregnable boundaries. He couldn’t allow her a moment of submission. “No, Geneva.” Then a ribbon of guilt wrapped around him, because he didn’t want to take this tone with her, or with anyone. “It’s all right. I’ll see you around, maybe.”

  His feet pedaled backward with a mind of their own, and he crashed into a resort employee. After sputtering a quick apology, he stepped out from under the tent. Sand dusted up around him in his long, fervent strides.

  Work. What had saved him in the past was digging into work. So he marched to where his golf cart was parked and got the hell out of there.

  When it rained, it poured, and quite literally.

  It began with a trickle as Brandon started back up the road that led to the yoga studio. In classic Outer Banks fashion, the partly cloudy sky transitioned to a dark-gray haze, and soon rain followed. By the time he pulled into the makeshift parking lot ten minutes later, the left side of his body was soaked.

  Normally, storms triggered Brandon’s anxiety, but his mixed-up emotions at seeing Geneva blunted it. Wanting to be clearheaded for the meeting, he took his sweet time parking next to the wooden sign that read HINGA. The building’s name promised rest, a moment’s breath, and while he knew what was waiting inside was not a yoga or massage session but his brother and his unrealistic expectations, he decided to enjoy the reprieve from the heat.

  Sure enough, when the steam dissipated around him, the tension in his body lifted too.

  What was left over was incredulity that he’d been docile to Geneva. Yes, it was probably the right thing to do at the moment—because he wasn’t like Chris, who was always on the offense. But, for years, Brandon had waited for answers. In the first months after their breakup, he’d been hopeful for a reconciliation. Up to a certain point he’d been willing to forgive and to forget.

  Yet when presented with the chance to tell her off, he’d skittered away.

  Brandon shook off his embarrassment and wiped his face down with a hand, then climbed up the wooden steps. With the ascent he forced his personal thoughts away. Like Beatrice had said, they were now a team, and he would have to deal with Geneva’s presence, somehow.

  He squeezed water from his shorts and shirt and then, after fiddling for the correct key, found the door unlocked. He entered the studio and was hit with the smell of mold. The wooden floors were uneven and wavy—water damage. Its only saving grace was the view out the opposite side of the building through what looked like floor-to-ceiling accordion windows.

  Voices echoed through the space. Brandon peeked over his shoulder; the resort’s white van was parked just steps from his golf cart. He must have not noticed it with his occupied mind.

  “Kuya Chris?” Brandon called in.

  Chris walked out of a doorway that—from what Brandon remembered from sketches he’d received the night before—led to the private massage room. He wore the Heart Resort polo-style shirt and khaki pants. Chris had worn a version of this outfit throughout his life, whether working at the pizza parlor or as a merchandiser for a grocery store in college or at his internship at the Fed. Brandon would’ve bet that if he snuck into his brother’s closet, there would be no fewer than five pairs of khaki pants alternating with khaki shorts.

  Chris snorted, eyes widening. “Wow.”r />
  And already, Brandon knew he was in the doghouse. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I totally didn’t read the weather.”

  “That’ll happen, I guess.” He checked his watch and visibly gasped. “You’re early.”

  Brandon envisioned his brother’s sarcastic comments rolling off his shoulders along with the raindrops. “You said that this was a meeting, right?” he said with more bite than he intended.

  Chris’s expression changed, and his lips quirked. “Jeez. Relax, man.” Chris took two steps closer so Brandon could smell his cologne, could see the precise grooming of his beard and the iron marks on the sleeves of his polo shirt.

  Warmth clambered up his neck. Against his brother, Brandon was going to come off to the team as a slob.

  Still, he kept his head held high. Chris couldn’t see him cower on day two.

  “About yesterday,” Chris started, “I know I wasn’t quite as welcoming as I should have been. My reaction could have been better. God knows Eden and the rest of the girls are so happy to see you, and that alone—it’s been rough around here, after the storm. Morale is low.” He paused. “I am happy that you’re here, and I appreciate that you came all the way, especially since you have your own business that you’ve taken a break from.”

  “I hear a but in there.”

  “There’s always a but.”

  Brandon nodded. In his mind, he tried to flip the situation. If the tables were turned, would he be hesitant too? Wouldn’t he assume that past behavior predicted present behavior?

  His stomach gave way at this thought, relevant in more ways than one. He girded himself to stay in the moment.

  Chris continued, “Just, please, run everything by me. I trust your skill. But what I’m asking for is communication. I’m asking that you treat me like your brother—you know, someone you actually like.” His lips quirked.

  Brandon bristled at Chris’s attempt at a joke, when it had never been that easy between them. “I can do that. But will you treat me with respect?”

  Chris’s eyes flashed at his candor.

  “You said choice was the key to a resolution, and I’m choosing to be here right now. Are you choosing for us to move on?” That’s right, big brother. I can stand up for myself.

  “I can do that.” He nodded. “God forbid I chase away the only uncle the girls want around. And Eden would never forgive me,” he said with a smirk. “My wife continues to remind me that you were her friend first.”

  With that, Brandon exhaled. That’s right. He was there for the resort and family. For Beatrice, who’d all but begged him to come. For Gil, who needed a friend. Even for Eden, who he’d felt solidarity with from the moment they’d met. They were permanent.

  And Geneva?

  Discomfort pricked through him.

  Geneva was temporary.

  Brandon shoved his hand forward in agreement.

  Chris took his hand. “Ready to meet the rest of the team?”

  Brandon looked down at his half-soaked body. Not quite professional for a business meeting. “This okay?”

  “No time like the present. Though we’ll make sure Bea hooks you up with your own set of resort shirts.”

  Brandon followed Chris through the double doors, down a hallway, taking a left to what was the office, which hadn’t sustained too much damage. Three Heart Resort employees in their matching polo-style shirts, with the resort’s emblem of a heart superimposed over a sun stitched prominently over the upper-right breast pocket.

  Chris provided introductions: a man of Asian descent, Chet Seiko, on the programming team; a pale-skinned, blonde-haired woman, Tammy Dirks, the resort’s PR; and Mike Strauss, a blue-eyed and deeply tanned bald and bearded man, the resort’s lead contractor.

  Tammy trailed her light-brown eyes from Brandon’s toes up to his face and grinned. “I’m so sorry for staring, but you look like you could be photogenic.”

  Chris burst out into a laugh. “Uh-oh.”

  Brandon looked from Chris to Tammy. “What’s so funny?”

  She tapped her chin. “Give me a sec to work it out in my head.”

  Strange.

  “Let’s jump into the meeting then, shall we?” Chris announced. As everyone pulled out their phone to take notes, he began dictating his expectations for Hinga’s renovations. He walked through the massage room and opened the accordion doors, which spanned the entire rear of the studio. The rain had stopped, and the fresh, cool air unburdened the heavy stench of mold.

  Brandon listened intently and scanned the blank space that he imagined couples had filled, surrounded by the sound of the water as they meditated.

  “I have a good feeling about this. This team feels . . . solid,” Chris added. “With Chet’s innovative programming and Tammy’s rebranding. Mike’s teams. And then, well, Bran.”

  Brandon held his breath in anticipation of Chris’s criticism.

  “If there’s one thing my brother loves, it’s to build. It could be anything: Lincoln Logs, a pile of plywood, old electronics. Something about putting things together. He can oversee projects from a wide lens. I’m glad to have you on the team.”

  “Aw, shucks,” Brandon said, though underneath the comment was a cautious optimism. He waited for the other half of that compliment sandwich to smack him in the noggin, but it didn’t come. “I mean I . . . can’t wait to get started.”

  Brandon shivered reflexively from the lie. Now that Geneva was here, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to stay, if he could stay. Could he avoid her? If he couldn’t, could he speak, much less work, with her?

  And there was the other thing he had to bring up to his big brother that might change their entire relationship once more.

  “A reminder to everyone that I need to be part of the process,” Tammy said. “We want to be transparent with our progress, and we can use it to our advantage. The more we can inform future and prospective clients as we renovate, especially with the lead-up to the grand opening, the more excited they’ll be.”

  “And we can finally lay claim to our position here in the Outer Banks.” Chris’s eyes gleamed.

  “Exactly. So expect me everywhere with a camera in hand. For exterior and interior photographs.” Her gaze darted between the two brothers. “But there’s more. We’re building the website and bulking up social media. To hop on my thoughts from earlier, I need people, models. Brandon, you would be perfect—”

  Brandon took a step back. “Oh, no no no.”

  “We had a cancellation. A married couple was supposed to come and be additional faces to the site and . . .”

  “But . . . I’m not a couple. And I’m not here to take pictures.” He tugged at his neckline.

  “Wait a sec. What kind of pictures are you talking about?” Chris asked.

  “Candids mostly, and scenic.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad, Bran.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Brandon said, with as little sarcasm as possible. Though perhaps he didn’t succeed, his mind on how—and whether—he could juggle drama with work and all these little bits of information that kept dropping on his lap. All adding to a layer of guilt that he’d been ignoring his business partner blowing up his phone all the way from DC.

  Chris’s eyebrows lifted.

  So Brandon tried again because he was going to be true to his word. He was going to try. “What I meant was . . . candids are okay.”

  “Great.” Tammy brightened. “To confirm, who’s on the interior design? I definitely want to be in on that action.”

  “That would be me,” a voice said from behind.

  Brandon turned, as did the rest in the group, to watch Geneva walk in. He held a breath, to slow the urge to either escape through the back or pull her into another room and demand a redo of those last three weeks.

  What? The heat has definitely gotten to you. She destroyed you.

  “Our secret weapon,” Chris said, leaving their circle and wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “How did you know we were here, Gen?”


  “Didn’t Brandon tell you? We caught up briefly, with Bea. He said he was on his way here, and I thought that perhaps I should show my face too. After all, my time here’s limited, and the faster I get started, the better.”

  Confronted with this new information, Brandon asked, “How long?”

  “Two weeks, max. Then I’ve got to move on to a new project.”

  “As always,” he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear.

  Geneva shot him a look.

  “You are truly a professional. Thank you,” Chris said.

  Brandon pressed a hand against the back of his neck to keep from rolling his eyes, because that statement sounded almost like another low blow.

  Chris always did have a soft spot for Geneva. She’d been another little sister and a captive audience, and she had always looked up to his achievements.

  As Chris introduced Geneva to the others, Brandon braved a total examination. Geneva, now thirty-four, was wearing a one-piece dress that hit just above the knees, and her arms were bare. But even though she was wearing a dress that was meant to erase a woman’s curves, Brandon’s eyes cut to her waist, at the spot where he’d rested his hand while lying by her side. How they’d fit—how he’d believed they fit.

  He’d been a fool.

  “Sounds like the both of you are going to make a great team.” Mike grinned. “Since you all go way back.”

  “These two used to play house together,” Chris added.

  Brandon’s stomach twisted at the flash of memory of him opening the town house’s front door to Geneva, her duffel bag in hand, and stepping aside to let her in.

  His brother had no idea how much house they’d played.

  “Oh yeah?” Tammy’s gaze darted from Brandon to Geneva and back in mischief.

  “Oh, I don’t remember that.” Brandon shook his head, face heating.

  “God, you should have seen it. Intricate blanket forts courtesy of Bran, and Geneva and Bea unloading the cupboards and stocking it up like it was a makeshift kitchen. Now, it’s for real. Although”—Chris slapped a hand against Brandon’s chest—“we have a budget. The goal is to be under. All right, I’m done here. I’ve got a date with my better half. What’s your plan, kids?”