Tell Me It’s Right (Sweetspire #1)

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

GRACIE

I wake up on the floor with the air mattress folding around me. Sunlight slants in from the hopper windows near the ceiling and directly into my eyes. Groaning, I fish around until I find my phone.

5:30 AM.

Curtains are now at the top of the to-do list.

Footsteps sound above my head, so apparently I’m not the only one awake. Probably Keava. She teaches at the middle school, and I’m pretty sure they start around 7:00 AM.

It takes me a minute to wrestle myself out of the plastic burrito, and I stumble bleary-eyed toward the shower, side-stepping boxes as I go. The water comes out cold no matter which way I turn the knob, and it takes everything in me not to shriek as I hunch my shoulders and slip in.

On the bright side, I’m definitely awake now.

I don’t think it’s quite warm enough to break out the sundresses, but I slip one on anyway, figuring the long-sleeve shirt I layer underneath will cancel it out. After applying the few makeup products I manage to find, I head upstairs.

“Oh! Early riser!” Keava smiles at me from the kitchen as she pours coffee into a to-go mug.

I don’t correct her. I just moved in. Immediately complaining isn’t going to start us off on the right foot.

She steps around the counter and opens the fridge, her floor-length floral dress swishing around her as she moves. “You want some coffee?”

“Oh, uh, I’m actually more of a cold brew kind of girl. I saw a coffee shop around the corner on our way in. Do you think they’re open yet?”

For some reason, my cheeks burn as Keava closes the fridge and looks at me. She probably thinks I’m freeloading and being stupid blowing my money on overpriced coffee. My meager savings won’t last me long, but hopefully I’ll manage to find a job before I run out completely. And if there’s one thing I’m simply not willing to give up, it’s working in coffee shops.

“Oh, Milano’s?” She checks her watch. “They should be open by six. Want me to drop you off on my way to school?”

“That’s okay. I figured I’d walk. Get some exercise.”

“Great idea! It’s super nice out this morning.” She slips a tote bag off one of the kitchen chairs and heads for the door. “Hey, I even think they’re hiring.” She winks at me over her shoulder then slips into the garage.

My face burns again. She probably didn’t mean anything by it.

I shove my laptop into my bag. If they have some nice seating, I can knock out a few more job applications this morning. Hopefully for something at least slightly related to design and not as a barista. Though I guess that wouldn’t be the worst fallback plan.

Maybe I’d get some free coffee.

Sadly, that’s the most exciting possibility I’ve heard all week.

Unsurprisingly, the coffee shop is quiet as I step inside two minutes after opening. A girl with long brown hair and a red apron smiles at me from behind the counter as the bell above the door announces my arrival.

“Welcome in! What can I get you?”

I eye the menu on the chalkboard behind her head. The drinks are spelled out in bright colors and cursive letters, doodles of carry-out cups and mugs lining the sides.

“A large cold brew with coconut milk and hazelnut syrup.”

The girl smiles again as she types away on her register and takes my crumpled up ten-dollar bill. After dumping the change in her tip jar—probably another financially irresponsible move—I scout out a place to sit.

The shop is cozy and warm with plants and string lights hanging overhead. There’s a fireplace in the corner with some leather chairs, but I head for the tables on the opposite wall after the barista hands over my cup.

I duck under the table to search for an outlet as the bell above the door rings.

The barista laughs, and I watch beneath the table as a skateboard glides into the shop, my view cut off below the newcomer’s knees. All I can see are black Vans, tan skin, and long legs utterly covered in tattoos.

“You’re late,” says the barista.

He stops a foot from the door and kicks up the board. “Didn’t realize you were keeping track.”

That voice.

“Well, you’re usually the first one in here.”

Oh, God. My head hits the bottom of the table with an audible thunk. Wincing, I pop back out as the two of them look over at me.

Liam Brooks grins.

He somehow manages to look exactly the same and completely different. His dark, wavy hair is longer—and messy—though I’m willing to bet he purposefully makes it that way. That damn knowing smile is all too familiar, but he’s got at least two dozen more tattoos than the last time I saw him—on his arms, his hands, his legs.

Jesus, how does he have time to do anything else?

“You hiding from me, Gracie?”

“I—no.” I gesture to the charger in my hand and plug it into my laptop for emphasis.

“The usual,” he tells the barista.

Then he saunters to my table.

You are not Leo’s awkward little sister anymore. You are a grown ass woman.

A grown ass woman who is unemployed and living in Leo’s basement.

I sit up straighter and focus on my laptop screen.

“I heard something about you coming back to town,” he says, sinking into the chair across from me.

“I’m just visiting.”

He presses his lips together, a smile threatening at the edges. “Congrats on graduation.”

I peer up at him, but the amusement is gone from his expression. His eyes flit over my face just…curious. It seems he also added some piercings since the last time I saw him. One through his lip and a ring in his nostril. Though he might have just taken them out for Leo’s wedding.

I realize a beat too late it probably looked like I was staring at his mouth and drop my gaze to my laptop. “Thanks,” I mumble.

The barista appears with a large hot coffee and slides it in front of him. He thanks her and closes his hands around it, revealing a scorpion that wraps around his wrist and over the back of his hand.

“Been a long time, Little Leo.”

There it is.

I roll my eyes, and he laughs, the sound full and deep. He started that stupid nickname when I was in third grade, and that’s all anyone would call me for months. Even the teachers.

“Oh, come on,” he says. “I had to.”

“Glad to see you’re still the worst. ”

He spins my cup around so he can read the label. “You missed me.”

“Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” I mumble. “An emo convention, perhaps?”

“Aha! She goes off to college and comes back with some teeth. I respect that.” Before I can respond, he knocks two knuckles on the table between us and stands. “As a matter of fact, I do have somewhere to be. But I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you around, killer.”

“Hopefully not.”

He laughs again, sets his skateboard down, and waves to the barista before gliding to the door. The bell rings as he opens it, and he pauses and glances at me over his shoulder. “Good to see you, Gracie.”

Two coffees and nine job applications later, I find myself back at Leo and Keava’s eerily quiet house. I restlessly pace around, trying to figure out what the heck to do with myself. I have plenty of unpacking left, but my options are limited with my furniture sitting in the garage.

Plus, unpacking makes this feel a lot more real. Permanent. Maybe I’m not ready to accept my fate yet.

My hands tremble at my sides, still burning off the energy from seeing Liam. I should have expected it. The Brooks mansion sits squarely between Edgewater and Sweetspire, so he’s always spent a lot of time over here.

Leo and Liam have been a package deal ever since we were kids. I was hoping his single favorite pastime of getting under my skin would fade with age, but alas…

I pace out to the garage and set my hands on my hips, considering my options. Definitely can’t get the bed down there by myself. Or the dresser. But I could handle a few smaller things. At least it would give me something to do.

After changing into leggings and a sports bra, I start with the lightest objects—lamps, the desk chair, some leftover boxes. By my third trip down the stairs, I’m sweating. If I could just get one of the pieces of furniture down, then I could start unpacking the boxes and get them out of the way.

Maybe the bedside table. It’s heavy, but small enough that I think I can manage it on my own. Once I’m standing at the top of the stairs, fingers barely holding on to the edges and sweat dripping down my face, I realize I most certainly cannot .

No stopping now though. Might as well run with the momentum. I grunt, leaning back to balance some of the weight against me while also craning my neck to see the stairs beneath my feet.

A door opens somewhere behind me.

I miss the last stair. Luckily, the table lands right-side up on the ground. Unluckily, I pitch forward and ram into it. It knocks the air out of my lungs, and I topple off the side and land on my back.

Shit, that hurt.

“Gracie?”

Leo? He shouldn’t be home yet…should he? What time is it? I groan and blink toward the stairs as someone jogs down. They lean over me, and the silver chain around their neck hangs above my face. The tattoos disappearing into the collar of his shirt come into focus next…maybe some kind of wings?

Definitely not Leo.

The rest of Liam’s face swims into view. A harsh line cuts down the center of his brow as his eyes sweep over me.

“You okay? You couldn’t wait for me?”

Wait for me? I blink. Maybe I hit my head.

“What are you doing here?”

He leans back and offers a hand. Ignoring it, I scoot away and sit up.

“Didn’t Leo tell you I was coming by? Said he needed help moving you in.”

Liam is the friend he asked?

I’m going to kill Leo.

Good to see some things never change. He’s clearly just as comfortable waltzing in like he lives here as he always was at Mom and Dad’s.

Heat burns my cheeks as something occurs to me. He’d known I was moving in all along, that I wasn’t just visiting like I’d said earlier, but hadn’t bothered to correct me.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” I snap, pushing to my feet.

We stare at each other. He’s still in the same shorts and black T-shirt from this morning. What does he do all day? Does he even have a job? His eyes slowly trail down me, and he pushes his hair back with his hand.

Then I remember I’m sweaty and standing here in nothing but my sports bra.

“Well,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest, “consider yourself officially off the hook. I’m fine here.”

A single eyebrow lifts as his gaze shifts to the table that nearly killed me.

“Leo’s not even here anyway,” I add.

“Looks like it’s up to you and me then.” With that, he jogs up the stairs and turns right for the garage, not the front door. “Push that aside so we can get the next thing down.”

“Liam—” I sigh but grab the table and yank it farther into the room. By the time I turn the corner to follow him up, he’s already on his way down, two of the heavier boxes I left behind stacked in his hands.

“Wait for me for the heavy stuff” is all he says as he passes.

As much as I want to protest and get him the heck out of here…I want to carry all these things down alone even less. Hopefully Leo will show up any minute now.

We work in silence for the next few trips, and I pause after setting a box down, trying to catch my breath. Liam sets two more near the gym equipment on the opposite side of the room, then turns, taking in the pathetic, mostly deflated air mattress on the floor. He walks over and pokes it, and it hisses as more air escapes the side.

“You slept on this thing last night?” I say nothing, and he turns for the stairs. “Come on. Let’s get the bed.”

I wait in the doorway to the garage as he considers the remaining pieces. He bends down, testing the weight of each in his hands.

“We’re going to have to put this together,” he mutters, seemingly to himself, then glances at me. “You don’t know where Leo keeps his tools, do you?”

I stare at him blankly.

“Right. I’ll grab the ones in my truck.” He goes back to the metal frame in his hands. They’re long and awkward, but not heavy. “All right.” He stands, slipping the Ziploc bag with the screws and whatnot into his pocket, then hefts the frame pieces into his hands. “I’ll be right back. We’ll take the box spring down next, if you wanna shimmy that toward the door.”

I check my phone once he’s gone—Leo was supposed to be here half an hour ago—but do as he says, grabbing the box spring and awkwardly trying to nudge it along the floor. I’m nearly to the door when Liam reappears and grabs one of the corners.

“I’ll head down first. Try not to shove me down the stairs, Little Leo.”

I scowl but grab the other end. He walks down backward, the bag in his pocket jangling with each step, and I dig my nails into my end, trying not to let it slip.

Not that I would particularly mind dropping it on him. It wouldn’t hurt.

Too much.

“Don’t even think about it,” he calls.

I wipe off whatever look was on my face as we reach the bottom, maneuver around the corner, and set it against the wall. He must’ve cleaned up the air mattress when he was down here before because the metal frame pieces are already laid out on the carpet, and there’s a black bag of tools set off to the side.

As he fishes the bag of screws from his pocket, his phone rings. The moment his eyes land on the screen, his jaw flexes.

“Do you need to get that?”

“Nope.” He jabs a thumb against the screen and tosses the phone onto the carpet. He doesn’t look at me as he bends down and motions to the frame. “You wanna hold these two pieces together, and I’ll secure them?”

The air feels much thicker now with his mood shift. We work in silence. He’s on the last screw when his phone lights up again. I glance at it since it’s right beside me, and a pretty redhead’s picture flashes on the screen along with her name, Hailey. She looks…familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it.

“Do you…?”

“Just hit ignore.”

I raise my eyebrows but hit the red button.

So he’s mad about a girl. Interesting.

A door bangs open upstairs. “I’m home. I’m home. Sorry I’m late!” Leo calls.

Liam smiles a little and rolls his eyes as Leo bounds down the stairs.

“Oh, shit. You guys really got to work.”

“I will get out of your way,” I say, hopping to my feet. I glare at Leo as soon as my back is to Liam, and he grimaces.

“Should grab the mattress next,” Liam says from the floor.

I punch Leo in the chest as I pass, hard enough for him to stumble, and Liam snorts.

“That’s really no way to say thank you,” he mutters.

“You haven’t actually done anything yet.” Even though it physically pains me to do it, I pause before jogging up the stairs. “Liam though. Liam can have a thank-you.”

He smirks at me from the floor. “Is that it or is the actual thank you still coming?”

“Don’t push it.”