‘I think we were all more than satisfied. Kitchen’s this way.’ Brent strode at a brisk pace past a large living area and into a slate and white kitchen.
Was it the rich aroma of percolated coffee that drew him along so fast? She didn’t get the chance to more than half-glance around her.
Fiona stopped at the edge of the kitchen and then she did let her gaze take in the sight of three different coffee machines on the counter, and a myriad of other gadgets beside them.
Her lips twitched. ‘I take it you really like coffee. And gadgetry.’
‘Different blends for different times of the day. The coffee is on a timer, so I can make sure it’s ready for me when I want it. My evening dose is decaf.’ A slight smile creased his lips. Then his expression sobered as he examined the rest of the gadgets. ‘The way they all work interests me. I probably have bought more things than I really need.’
As though he’d said too much, he drew two coffee mugs from an overhead cupboard and raised them in question.
‘Yes, please.’ If it was decaf, it wouldn’t hurt to have it. She was intrigued by this small revelation into his personality, too. She would have liked to pursue the topic, maybe tease him a little about having an obsession about the way things worked.
A small memory flitted through her head as she thought this, of someone with similarities to her employer, but she lost it before it could fully form. ‘The coffee smells far too good to be caffeine-free, you know.’
‘It’s an imported blend. A bit self-indulgent of me all up, I suppose. Overall, my curiosity hasn’t always been welcomed, but I tend to indulge it nowadays, in my own setting, at least.’ He cut off the words and then seemed to relax out of whatever place they had taken him. He poured the rich blend and passed her one of the cups.
‘You’re hardly self-indulgent, and I think curiosity is a good thing. How else do we learn?’ The words emerged without her conscious volition. But he’d earned the money he had. If he wanted to import coffee and invest in gadgets he didn’t necessarily use, why shouldn’t he? Those things seemed very small indulgences and if he enjoyed exploring them at the same time…‘I mean great coffee is worth investing in.’
She put the mug to her lips and sipped, and the rich thick liquid slid down her throat so smoothly that she had to close her eyes and let a small sigh of satisfaction escape. ‘Oh, that is good. I think for the pleasure of that taste alone, all your curiosity has been well worth it in this case.’
‘You have a unique way of looking at things. Calling it that…’ Brent fell silent.
‘What else would it be?’ She opened her eyes and caught his gaze on her. Unshielded in that first instance, and somehow almost vulnerable.
And…edged with a consciousness of her that brushed across her senses like a touch.
This time he didn’t shut it down. Oh, he looked away, but the awareness was still etched on his face when he did that.
It echoed inside her, too. Fiona dropped her gaze to her cup again while her heart inexplicably pounded. It was a foolish reaction. One that she needed to quash because, even if he did find her attractive right now, that could change. In any case, he was her boss and it would be really far less than sensible for her to allow feelings towards him or to start believing he had any towards her.
Maybe he simply found her opinions interesting and she was imagining anything else.
They sipped their coffee standing right there, leaning against the kitchen counter. When the silence stretched, Fiona turned her gaze to Brent’s living room, to squashy chocolate leather sofas and chairs and long rows of magazines lined up like soldiers across a set of three coffee tables.
There were neat stacks of library books set exactly so, and other books and pieces of paper arranged carefully all through the area and beside armchairs positioned around the room.
‘I see you like to bring your work home, and you’re very orderly.’ Was this why he had rushed her past the area? Because there was something quite different about the way he’d laid out all that work?
His office space was similarly regimented, and it was different.
He rubbed his hand over the back of his head. ‘I sometimes have to work on projects until they’re finished, whether that means bringing things home or not. Once I get started, I get very focused and I can’t stop. I’ve always been that way. Some people…find that objectionable but it’s how I am. Core me. It’s not something that’s going to change.’
‘Nor should it.’ If he changed, he might lose some of the intensity that made his work what it was. Why on earth would he even consider such a possibility—? ‘I imagine there’ll be times when I’ll do the same. Get deeply involved in the work, I mean.’
He shifted on his feet, passed his empty coffee cup from hand to hand.
‘It’s time I went.’ One part of her didn’t want to leave, wanted to stay in his company longer.
To talk about work issues, she told herself. Instead, she put her empty cup down on the counter top and made her way towards the front door.
‘I enjoyed our talk this evening.’ Brent paced beside her. His words brought them back to business, and of course that was a good thing.
As she approached the door she noticed the photomontage on the wall. It was positioned so it would be the last thing he looked at as he left his home each day.
Photos of him and his brothers.
Fiona looked, and looked again. And the story embedded in those images hit her so deeply her breath stalled in her throat and for a long moment she couldn’t speak. She simply stood there, unable to shift her gaze.
When she finally found her voice it wasn’t to state the obvious. Not, You were all institutionalised. Or, There are no parents, are there? At least not for a very long time. Or, You’re not biologically related.
But, oh, they had created themselves into a family, first in that cold building in the background of several of the pictures, and later as they’d found their freedom and relocated here.
They were three men who’d become men before their time, and had stood up for each other. It was all there, captured in the stark stares and guarded expressions of young boys and the determination of young men, and the laughter and wry smiles and inner shields of the men they were now.
How had they all ended up alone? Parentless? In Brent’s case, extremely private, and she imagined the others had their issues with privacy, too. Just look at where they all lived.
His brothers must have changed their names through legal channels, or perhaps they’d all chosen the last name MacKay and adopted it at some point? ‘I thought from the beginning that you and your brothers were close. I hadn’t realised all the reasons why.’
Fiona didn’t have that closeness in her own family. It was a knowledge she lived with and tried not to think about. Right now it felt very blatant to her. Blatant and sad, and yet Brent and his brothers must have been through so much more. Indeed, the two things were incomparable.
‘We’re there for each other. The few people who’ve looked at those photos didn’t even realise—’ Brent opened the door.
‘That you’re a chosen family, not a “by birth” one?’ They were proof the former could be as strong as any example of the latter.
‘Yes. “Chosen” is the right word for it. For us, that’s better than where…we came from.’ He stepped out into the corridor with her. ‘I’ll see you back to your car.’
End of discussion, and fair enough. Though she might want to know more, he was