“Yeah, I’ve been telling you that for weeks.”
I’m pacing the room in agitation. God, how do I fix this?
“So, go after her, Simon. Get on a bloody plane.”
“I can’t.” I shake my head and push my fingers through my hair. “I’m a jealous moron with her, Todd. I’m a complete jerk and I want to tear off every man’s head who even looks in her direction. I overreact to even an innocent interaction, and I promised her that I would talk to her before jumping to conclusions, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I’ve had a lot of time to go over everything in my head, and I handled it so badly.”
“Simon, there’s a difference between being jealous and being territorial,” Todd says calmly. “It’s okay to stake a claim on the woman you love.”
“I didn’t say love.”
“Jesus, you’re stubborn,” he mutters. “Come on, mate. I’ve never seen you like this before. You’ve been in love with her since you met her. And that’s why you get so jealous, because she’s amazing and anyone would love to be with her. But she loves you too, you know. No way a woman lets a guy stay with her for weeks if she’s in like with him.”
“I can’t go after her,” I repeat and hold my hand up when Todd begins to disagree. “I need to figure out a few things first. I need to get my head on straight because I can’t go back into it with her in the same space. She needs more. She deserves more, and damn it, so do I.”
“Then get your head on straight and go get your girl. But don’t wait too long. You’ve already buggered it all up. If you wait too long, she’ll tell you to go fuck yourself.”
“She might do that anyway.”
“But you won’t know unless you try,” he says. “And you have to try, Simon. You deserve this too. It’s long overdue.”
Chapter Twenty
~Charly~
It’s been a month since I last saw Simon, and the mad is still hanging on like a bad rash. But I prefer it that way because when I’m not angry, I’m sad, and I’m much more comfortable with being pissed off.
I refuse to miss him.
I refuse to anything him.
But that doesn’t mean that I don’t, and that makes me mad too.
After closing up my shop late one evening, I walk the few blocks over to Beau’s condo and let myself in like I’ve been doing for the past few weeks. I don’t like being home alone, especially at night. That’s when I miss him the most.
I must be desperate if I’m willing to stay on my brother’s couch in a haunted apartment rather than sleep in my perfectly comfortable bed.
“You’re later tonight,” Beau says casually as I walk through the door, winded from the steps. I really need to start running again. I’m out of shape.
“I had a lot to do,” I reply, not meeting his gaze. All of my siblings have taken turns lecturing me about working too hard, but I don’t care. I need to focus my energy on something constructive.
“How are you?” he asks, just as he does every night. Beau has had the patience of Job over the past few weeks. He hasn’t said a word about me staying here, he’s simply made sure I had a pillow and blanket. He offered me his bed, but I didn’t have the heart to throw him out of it.
Not when I have a perfectly good one at home. I’m just too much of a weenie to go there.
“I’m fine.”
“You may be okay,” he counters, watching me with sober hazel eyes, “but you’re not fine.”
I stare back at him and finally sigh, my shoulders sagging, and sink onto the couch. “I’m not fine.”
“What do you need?” he asks. Leave it to my brothers to always want to fix everything.
“I don’t think there’s anything I need except time,” I reply. “There’s nothing else to do.”
“Have you heard from him at all?”
I shake my head. “No. And I won’t. Not only did he make his decision, but I made it pretty clear that I didn’t want to see him again.”
“Are you sure about that?”
My head whips up so I can stare at him in surprise. “Of course I’m sure about that, Beau. He just left. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I’m not saying you did.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m just making sure that with a little time passed you haven’t changed your mind on wanting to see him again.”
“No. And I won’t.” I twist my hair on top of my head and lean back on the couch. “I do have something to run by you, though.”
“Oh?” He stands to pour us each a finger of brandy, passes me one, and sits in his chair again. “Shoot.”
“Head Over Heels is doing amazing. In fact, I have customers who call me after they’ve gone home from visiting New Orleans on vacation and ask me to send them photos of my current stock.”
“Are you thinking about an internet store?” He asks, rubbing his fingertip over his lip.
“No, I was thinking of expanding,” I reply, suddenly excited all over again at the thought. “I want to open a second store in Miami.”
“Why Miami?” he asks.
“It’s a hip, fun vacation destination, and I think my shoes would go over well in that demographic.”
“True.” He nods.
“I want to buy my building from Boudreaux Enterprises as well.”
That has his attention. He cocks a brow, then frowns. “Why the fuck would you do that?”