Finally My Happy Ending (Meant for Me Book 3) by Brooke St. James Page B
Authors: Brooke St. James
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"Are you interested in some of his furniture?" Claire asked, smiling.
"Brock's my buddy," Thomas said. "Shane's gonna be my brother when he gets married to Emily, so that means Brock's sort of my brother, too."
"You know him pretty good?" I asked Thomas, completely trusting his ability to judge character.
"Yeah," he said. "His name's Brock Jacob Rollins and he builds expensive furniture by bending and welding metal together. I went to his shop lots of times. He used to live with Shane, but he just moved out so Shane can marry my sister."
"Where's he live now?" I asked.
"That's easy," Thomas said. "He lives at his shop. He just turned part of it into a hotel."
"An apartment, honey," Claire corrected.
Thomas slapped a hand to his forehead. "An apartment. I meant to say apartment. He put a bedroom and kitchen in his shop where he makes furniture."
I glanced at Claire who nodded, confirming Thomas's story. "Where is his shop?" I asked, glancing at both of them. When they didn't answer right away, I felt the need to explain myself. "I, uh, owe him something," I said, not elaborating that the something was perhaps an apology.
"I'm not sure of the address, but I can text Emily if you'll give me a second."
I started to stop her. My instinct was to tell her not to do it, but the thought that I might have blamed Brock for something he didn't do really bothered me, and I knew myself well enough to know I'd want to reach out to him sometime soon. Instead of preventing her from doing it, I nodded, and the three of us stood there in the cold while she typed out a text. She held up her phone after she sent it. "Sometimes it takes her a while to respond," she said. "I'll forward you the address once she gets it to me."
I told her that sounded good, hugged them, and said goodbye before we got in our vehicles and went separate ways. I hadn't even made it home when I got a message from Claire.
I glanced at my phone at a stoplight, and smiled when I read the text, which had been composed by Thomas. I knew that because he told me in the first line that he was typing. I read it, glanced over the address, and responded with a quick 'thank you' before taking off.
I drove toward my house, thinking I would give myself another night to think about everything before contacting Brock, but I just couldn't do it. I was ate up with wondering what had truly gone down with the ring and whether or not I had falsely accused him. I typed the address Thomas sent into the GPS on my phone and headed there without even going to my house first.
It took me about twenty minutes to get to his shop. I felt lost and confused as I pulled onto a street with rows and rows of industrial metal buildings. It was just past dinnertime, and the sun was setting. I should have been scared to be alone in a neighborhood such as this, but I didn't care. I had to know what really happened. I recognized Brock's truck when I pulled into the parking lot next to his warehouse, and I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking I'd soon be able to get this pending apology off my chest.
I felt nervous as I approached the glass door. It had a nice logo etched on it that read, "Rollin's Metal Works," and I smiled as I reached out to open it. I gave it a tug and was unpleasantly surprised to find that it was locked. My body assumed it would open easily, and my head jerked unpleasantly when it wouldn't give way. I tugged again, thinking I'd done something wrong, but again, it wouldn't open.
There were lights on, and I could hear music coming from inside, so I squinted to try to get a look inside. Nothing. The door was tinted, but I could make out some of the interior once I cupped my hands around my eyes. I could only see a portion of the room, but I knew he was in there. I knocked on the door several times before getting desperate and knocking on the side of the building. Again, nothing.
As you may already know, redheads are known for being stubborn. I knew Brock was in there, and
"Are you interested in some of his furniture?" Claire asked, smiling.
"Brock's my buddy," Thomas said. "Shane's gonna be my brother when he gets married to Emily, so that means Brock's sort of my brother, too."
"You know him pretty good?" I asked Thomas, completely trusting his ability to judge character.
"Yeah," he said. "His name's Brock Jacob Rollins and he builds expensive furniture by bending and welding metal together. I went to his shop lots of times. He used to live with Shane, but he just moved out so Shane can marry my sister."
"Where's he live now?" I asked.
"That's easy," Thomas said. "He lives at his shop. He just turned part of it into a hotel."
"An apartment, honey," Claire corrected.
Thomas slapped a hand to his forehead. "An apartment. I meant to say apartment. He put a bedroom and kitchen in his shop where he makes furniture."
I glanced at Claire who nodded, confirming Thomas's story. "Where is his shop?" I asked, glancing at both of them. When they didn't answer right away, I felt the need to explain myself. "I, uh, owe him something," I said, not elaborating that the something was perhaps an apology.
"I'm not sure of the address, but I can text Emily if you'll give me a second."
I started to stop her. My instinct was to tell her not to do it, but the thought that I might have blamed Brock for something he didn't do really bothered me, and I knew myself well enough to know I'd want to reach out to him sometime soon. Instead of preventing her from doing it, I nodded, and the three of us stood there in the cold while she typed out a text. She held up her phone after she sent it. "Sometimes it takes her a while to respond," she said. "I'll forward you the address once she gets it to me."
I told her that sounded good, hugged them, and said goodbye before we got in our vehicles and went separate ways. I hadn't even made it home when I got a message from Claire.
I glanced at my phone at a stoplight, and smiled when I read the text, which had been composed by Thomas. I knew that because he told me in the first line that he was typing. I read it, glanced over the address, and responded with a quick 'thank you' before taking off.
I drove toward my house, thinking I would give myself another night to think about everything before contacting Brock, but I just couldn't do it. I was ate up with wondering what had truly gone down with the ring and whether or not I had falsely accused him. I typed the address Thomas sent into the GPS on my phone and headed there without even going to my house first.
It took me about twenty minutes to get to his shop. I felt lost and confused as I pulled onto a street with rows and rows of industrial metal buildings. It was just past dinnertime, and the sun was setting. I should have been scared to be alone in a neighborhood such as this, but I didn't care. I had to know what really happened. I recognized Brock's truck when I pulled into the parking lot next to his warehouse, and I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking I'd soon be able to get this pending apology off my chest.
I felt nervous as I approached the glass door. It had a nice logo etched on it that read, "Rollin's Metal Works," and I smiled as I reached out to open it. I gave it a tug and was unpleasantly surprised to find that it was locked. My body assumed it would open easily, and my head jerked unpleasantly when it wouldn't give way. I tugged again, thinking I'd done something wrong, but again, it wouldn't open.
There were lights on, and I could hear music coming from inside, so I squinted to try to get a look inside. Nothing. The door was tinted, but I could make out some of the interior once I cupped my hands around my eyes. I could only see a portion of the room, but I knew he was in there. I knocked on the door several times before getting desperate and knocking on the side of the building. Again, nothing.
As you may already know, redheads are known for being stubborn. I knew Brock was in there, and
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