Remembering the fauxbs, I laugh as best I can while being short of breath. “They went to the bathroom so Amanda could show them her breast implants.”
Brady stops short. By the time I’ve slowed, I’m a few feet in front of him.
“Seriously?”
I laugh at his wide-eyed expression. “Yes. It’s not that uncommon.”
“I know implants aren’t uncommon. My mom has them. I just didn’t know girls went around showing them to other girls.”
“Oh, Brady.” I walk closer and throw my arms around his neck. “Girls share everything.”
“Is that right?” Brady winds his arms around my waist. “What did you tell them about me?”
“Nothing.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Why not?” He sounds a tiny bit offended.
My tongue slips over my lips in anticipation, knowing that what I’m about to say will be taken as a challenge. “There wasn’t much to tell.”
Brady’s eyes narrow. He pushes his body weight into me, walking me backward until my backside meets the solid shape of a tree trunk.
“I’m going to give you something to talk about,” he says against my hair, his deep voice tickling my ear.
He pulls back a few inches, his steady gaze traveling over my face. My lips part, my stomach muscles contract, the breath in my throat suddenly has weight, as if it has been mixed with something hot and sweet.
Brady gathers my hands, lifting them above my head and pinning me against the tree by my wrists. His free hand traces its way up my rib cage, pressing gently against the fabric of my sports bra, and over my chest, coming to rest at the base of my throat. He leans in, kissing first the hollow space above his hand, then up my neck and over my chin. When he gets to my lips, he pauses before taking the tiniest bite.
I exhale a quick breath, surprise and desire coursing through me. Brady’s lips crash against mine and he swallows my surprise, inhales my desire, devours me. We are lips and limbs, kisses and ragged breathing, bodies pressed close and at the same time not nearly close enough.
“Brady,” I moan against his cheek, dragging in a breath, more winded now than from our run.
“Addi—”
Overhead, the sky booms like a cannon. We look up, and above the green trees, I see a bruised sky, heavy with moisture.
“I think it’s going to—”
He doesn’t get to finish this sentence either, because there’s another loud crack, and the sky opens.
Brady lets go of my wrists, only to grab ahold of my hand and pull me onto the path. We start back, and now we’re running, not jogging. The rain pours down, the water soaking through my clothes, rivulets entering the top of my sports bra and sliding down through the valley of my breasts.
We reach Brady’s cabin and climb the steps to the covered porch, finally out of the downpour. Brady shakes his head, and water droplets from his hair go flying. He runs a hand through his hair a few times, and although it’s messy, his hair looks relatively dry. Me, on the other hand…
“Can I use your bathroom?” I rub my palms on my forearm. It’s not actually cold outside, but I feel cold anyhow. “And maybe borrow some dry clothes from you?”
Brady leads me inside, and I grab a towel from the linen closet and begin drying off. It’s a standard-issue Sweet Escape sage green cotton towel. I may have even been the one to fold it.
“I’ll be right back,” Brady says, disappearing into the bedroom. He comes back a minute later with a button-up shirt and shorts, his expression apologetic.
“You’ll probably have to roll the shorts up a lot, if they even fit at all.”
“I’ll make do,” I tell him, taking the clothes and walking into the bathroom. I close the door behind me and peel off my wet clothes, laying them on the edge of the bathtub.
I dry off and get to work on my hair, toweling as much water out of it as possible and then attacking it with Brady’s brush. The tangles make the whole process take longer than usual. Grabbing Brady’s shirt, I slip it over my head, breathing deeply as it passes over my face. It smells like him. I grab the shorts, holding them up to see just how big they are. They look huge. I’m pretty sure they won’t fit me even with multiple rolls of the waistband.
I look in the mirror, my gaze drawn to my lips. I run my fingertips over them, remembering Brady’s kiss, the feel of his hips pressed to mine, the bark of the tree digging into my back.
Reaching down, I unbutton one more button of his shirt, so it falls open even lower, and roll up the sleeves until they’re almost to my elbows. I take a deep breath, gazing at myself in the mirror, then open the bathroom door and walk out.
Brady’s sitting on the couch. He’s wearing a dry set of clothes and paging through a magazine about the Oregon coast. He looks up when I get closer, and understanding dawns in his eyes.
“Addison, don’t do anything you’re not ready for.”
But that’s the thing about Brady that I can’t seem to fathom. When it comes to him, I feel ready for everything.
I keep going, walking until I’m standing between his knees. My fingers find the button located between my breasts and get to work, until every last button is undone. The shirt falls open, and Brady’s eyes rake over my skin, his gaze burning into me.
“You’re beautiful, Addison,” he says, dragging his stare up to my face.
I place one bent leg on either side of him and sink down onto his lap. “Give me more to talk about at girl’s night, Brady.”
In reality, I’d never share private, intimate moments, but it’s fun to pretend.
Brady kisses me, his lips hungry and searching. And then he does just what I’ve asked of him.
Skilled hands give me a story to tell.
Lips and tongues make certain the tale is scorching.
And somewhere in the tangle of limbs and toe-curling pleasure, our hearts collide, setting us up for something that will either deliver what we want most, or leave us more broken than when we arrived.
* * *
Before I open my eyes, I know where I am. It takes a few seconds to orient myself but I’m aware of him beside me. The heat of his skin warms me, and his scent tickles my nose. At some point we made it back to his bedroom, and after all the exertion we fell asleep.
Eyes still closed, I allow my mind to wander. What happened after our run was hot and intense, not awkward and fumbling. We were experts in a field for which we’d never studied. Our bodies fit perfectly, our movements practiced as if we’d been in that position a hundred times, and at one point I thought why is this so easy for us?
My sample size isn’t large, so I don’t have a lot to draw on, but with Warren—
Warren.
Shame licks its way through me, lapping at the bubbles of happiness I feel inside.
I didn’t think about Warren even once. Shouldn’t he have been on my mind? A fleeting thought, at the very least?
I know it’s over. The accident was like the blade of a guillotine, its effect swift and eternal.
Guilt is a fucked up thing. I would have felt it if I thought of Warren while I was with Brady. And right now, I feel it because I didn’t. Damned from all angles.
I tense as something touches my face, then relax as the finger continues, brushing hair from my cheek.
I open one eye first, then the second.
Brady. Messy hair, from both the rain and our time. A lazy smile creeps across his face.
“I can think of a lot worse ways to wake up.” His husky, sleepy voice curls over me, disappearing beneath the sheets and awakening the part of me that took control after our run.
“Me too,” I say, curling myself into his body, pressing myself against him. I grin slyly and look up.
He chuckles. “There’s no hiding how I feel right now.”
My tongue moistens my lips as my heart beats faster. “How I feel isn’t worn on the outside of my body. Instead, I’ll have to show you.”
Once again, everything is smooth and effortless, n
o hesitance or bashfulness.
Maybe, after all the pain we’ve endured, we are more than ready to be seen.
* * *
“Farewell,” I say dramatically, placing the back of my hand against my forehead and pretending to swoon.
“I’ll write,” Brady jokes, leaning on the front door of his cabin.
He’s still rumpled from our nap, and, well… other things.
“Are you sure you don’t mind taking me into town?” Today’s the last day I can officially enter the baking competition.
Brady grins. “I’m more than happy to drive Miss Daisy.”
I stand on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you soon.” With at least three backward glances on my walk out of his cabin, down the steps, and across his small yard, I finally turn a corner and stop, dragging in a long breath.
Overwhelming feelings threaten to consume me. Being in his presence fills me with the highest high and being apart from him makes me feel depleted. I shake my head, a physical attempt to clear the mental fogginess and keep going toward the main house.
I freeze the second I open the back door. My grandma sits at the dining room table, steam swirling up from a cup of hot tea on the table in front of her.
“That was quite a run you went on,” she says, leveling her knowing gaze on me. “In the rain, no less.”
Walking to the table, I grip the back of a chair and say, “It started pouring while we were on the trail. I ducked into Brady’s cabin to get out of it.”
“Is that right?” A smile tugs a corner of her mouth, causing the wrinkles around her lips to fan out.
“Housekeeping is doing a good job. The place was clean and the linen closet was stocked with fresh towels.” Every afternoon a team of ladies shows up and tidies the rooms. My grandma used to do it, but the labor became too much for her. I tried to tell her she could also pay them to wash the sheets and towels, and she was offended by the very notion that she could be too old to do something so basic, which of course wasn’t what I was saying. Attempting to get her to understand what I meant was futile. Instead, I try to get to the laundry before she can.
She smirks. I can tell she won’t be deterred by my report of the cabin’s cleanliness. “And tell me, Addy, how were the sheets? Soft? Comfy?”
I sigh, lifting my hands off the chair only to lean forward and rest my forearms. “Grandma…”
Her shoulders shake with her chuckle. “Don’t blow smoke up my ass, granddaughter. I know a sated face when I see one.”
A blush warms my cheeks.
She lifts her tea to her lips and blows across the top of it. “How are you feeling about it?”
“I was feeling great about it actually, until a moment ago. Now that I’m away from him,” my forehead meets my cupped hands, my weight supported by them, “I’m starting to feel like it wasn’t such a good idea.”
Grandma’s chin tips to the side. “Why not?”
“Warren.” I feel a little stab as I say his name. “I wasn’t thinking about him at all while I was with Brady, but then on the walk up here, I just…” I trail off, shrugging. “I don’t know.”
“You came back down to reality?”
I nod.
Grandma shifts in her seat, leaning forward. “Does the way you’re feeling right now make you want to hop on the next plane to Chicago and rush to sit beside Warren?”
My arms cross in front of my body, my hands gripping my skin. I feel uncomfortable.
Grandma keeps her expectant gaze on me, and because she’s waiting for me to answer before she continues, I say, “No.”
“Tell me then, what good is feeling guilty doing for you?”
“Warren deserves a person to feel guilty. A person who feels like it’s wrong to move on. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”
“Nobody deserves what happened to Warren. Not him, not his parents or his sister, and certainly not you. So now you get to make a choice.” She raises her palms into the air, lifting one higher than the other. “Do you lie down and give yourself over to a lifetime of pain,” she lowers one palm and raises the other “or do you let yourself continue on with the same things you once enjoyed?”
I know what the right answer is, I just can’t seem to make the words leave my mouth.
“Do you still like reading a book in the sunshine on a warm summer day?” Grandma’s expression is an odd mix of stern and gentle.
“Yes,” I answer.
“Then go do it and don’t feel guilty because you’re alive to do it. Do you like what it feels like when Brady touches you?”
I nod.
“Then, my god, let him touch you and don’t feel wrong for it. Of all people, you know how precious life is and how it can change on a dime. Don’t deny yourself another day of misplaced indentured servitude. And” —she points a stiff finger at me— “you’d better get your behind into town and sign up for that baking competition or so help me I will drive there and put your name in the running myself.”
For the first time since stepping foot in the house just now, I feel myself smiling.
Grandma straightens, pride etching its way onto her features. Her talk worked.
“Don’t worry, Grandma. Brady’s driving me into town after a while, so I can add my name to the list.”
She makes a fist and punches the air in front of her in excitement. “That’s my girl. You fall down seven times, you get back up eight, Addison. You’re last name might be West thanks to your father, but you’re a Craft in spirit, and Craft women don’t belong on the ground.”
I come around the table and wrap my arms around her. “I love you, Grandma.”
She pats my arm. “I love you, too. Why don’t you go take a shower and get ready? You smell like sex and you look like a bedraggled kitten.”
I pull away, laughing. “You don’t always have to say what you think.”
“That’s one of the joys of getting old. You get to relax your filter and everybody attributes it to old age.”
I kiss the top of her head and go upstairs, heading directly for my bathroom. I peel off the damp clothes and step under the hot spray of the shower.
My grandma is right. I can’t use what happened with Warren as a crutch, allowing it to keep me from living. I thought I wasn’t sure how to take the next step forward, but then I made it here to Lonesome, befriended Brady, and had a baking competition fall into my lap.
While my mind was busy freaking out, my heart was doing exactly what it knew I needed.
18
Brady
“There,” Addison says proudly, bouncing on her toes and beaming. “I did it.” She tucks the pen into her purse while I look at the piece of paper on the cork-board at the bakery.
Addison West scrawled in her loopy handwriting. I take her hand and bring it to my lips. “It’s in the bag,” I murmur against her fingers.
“Your biased, but thanks for the vote of confidence.” She walks to the display case and bends, perusing the treats. Straightening, she tells the girl behind the case, “We’ll take a chocolate eclair and a sticky toffee bread pudding. And a blueberry muffin.” Twisting to look back at me, she winks and says, “Research.”
We sit down with our food and Addison grabs a fork, but instead of taking a bite she dissects everything but the blueberry muffin. When she’s done with them, they resemble the leftovers of a messy toddler.
“I left the muffin for you. Those are easy.” She places a tiny bit of filling from the eclair on her tongue, then runs it along the roof of her mouth before closing her lips and swallowing.
She must see the curiosity burning in my gaze, because she says, “I’m trying to get a feel for what the customers expect in terms of flavor. What if I’m into vegan baking and I show up and take over the place using cashew cream instead of custard? That’s not what people expect when they come here.” She looks around. “This place is cute, right? I love how it looks like a little home. The front door needs a new coat of paint, and maybe I could put a
couple small tables with chairs on the front porch. The homier it feels, the more time people will spend here.”
I grin. I love watching her talk about her passion. She’s not only incredibly talented when it comes to baking, she has a good head for business. Too bad her ex-fiancé’s family couldn’t get past themselves long enough to see that. Their loss, my gain.
The bell above the door chimes and in walks a woman with black hair and a purposeful gait. Maybe it’s the severe bun at the nape of her thick neck, but her energy is palpable and off-putting. She marches to the counter and thunks her flattened palms on the surface beside the register.
“I’m here to sign up for the baking competition.” Even her voice is harsh. This woman gives off the general sense that she doesn’t take an ounce of shit from anybody. Ever. I think she missed her calling in law enforcement.
“Oh-kay?” the poor girl behind the register stammers. Compared to the woman in front of her, the girl looks like an innocent dove.
Tearing my gaze from the situation, I glance at Addison to see if she’s aware of what’s happening. Her gaze is glued to the woman also, her eyes scrunching slightly.
“Well?” the woman demands. “How do I sign up?”
The girl stays silent but points at the cork-board on the wall above the offered utensils and napkins. The woman twists her thick neck to see what the girl is pointing to. From my seat, I can see a portion of her face, enough to know she has bushy eyebrows and a permanent frown.
She looks back at the girl, nodding once at the case. “I’ll take a blueberry muffin.”
Addison and I look at each other. She’s as astonished as I am at this interaction. The woman takes her muffin and stops by the board, using a pen to write in the space below Addison’s name. She settles at the table beside us, facing me, and just when I think the spectacle is over, it’s not.
“Too much sugar,” the lady declares, after taking a bite. And then I realize she’s talking to me.
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