One Good Thing

by Millikin, Jennifer

  “Don’t you agree?” She’s pointing at the blueberry muffin sitting in front of me.

  I look down at the completely intact muffin. “Oh, uh,” is all I manage to say.

  “Too much sugar,” she repeats, and I see a smear of blueberry across one of her front teeth.

  Addison swipes the muffin from in front of me and takes a bite. She shifts her upper half in her seat so she can directly address the lady. “I don’t think they’re bad.” Her gaze flits over to the girl behind the register, who I’m certain is listening to our conversation. It would be hard not to.

  “I’ll make a better one,” the woman says. “I’ve entered the competition, and I’ll win. I’ve been a baker my whole life.”

  Addison smiles serenely. Unlike the harsh woman, she does not have blueberry smeared on her teeth. “Good luck,” she tells her, turning back around to me.

  “Let’s go,” she mouths, gathering the dirty plates and placing them in a bin on a shelf above the trash can. Grabbing the poor muffin, I nod my head at the woman and follow Addison out the door.

  I take a bite of the muffin on the way to the truck. “Tastes okay to me.”

  Addison glances at me. “Beatrice was right. It has too much sugar.”

  “Beatrice?”

  “Beatrice Connelly, according to the sign-up sheet. I looked when I was putting away our dirty plates.”

  I nod my understanding and finish the muffin, using a balled-up napkin from my pocket to wipe crumbs off my lips.

  “I’ve had the world’s best blueberry muffin,” I tell her, climbing into my truck. Addison clicks her seatbelt and stares at me expectantly.

  “It was from a little bakery in a town in northern Arizona. Brighton. That’s where Finn and Lennon are living right now, with Finn’s uncle.” In my mind, I see the cabin Finn built, the road into town, and the quaint street with the bakery. “The window literally has a sign that says ‘World’s Best Blueberry Muffins’, and they sell out of them every weekend by mid-morning. The place is like an institution.”

  Addison grabs her phone and starts typing, pauses, then her fingers are scrolling. She glances at me triumphantly. “Got it!” She presses a button and puts the phone on speaker, holding it sideways so the part with the microphone is closer to her mouth.

  Ringing fills the truck cabin, and then a pleasant voice answers, “Lady J bakery.”

  Addison’s excited, nervous gaze meets mine. “Hi,” she says, her eyes still on me. “Can I please speak with the owner of Lady J?”

  “You already are. This is Jane. What can I do for you?”

  “Jane, my name is Addison West. I live in Lonesome, Oregon, and I used to operate a bakery in Chicago. My friend Brady was lucky enough to eat one of your famous blueberry muffins recently, and he was raving about it.” Addison’s fist clenches as she speaks. “I’m in a baking competition here in Oregon and the prize is a bakery.”

  “That’s quite a prize,” Jane says. “But I don’t quite see what this has to do with me.”

  Addison glances at me, then back to the phone, as if willing the person on the other end to give her what she’s after. “I think my competitor is going to make blueberry muffins. We’re supposed to make three things, and I want one of the things I make to be blueberry muffins that blow hers out of the water. And to do that I need—”

  “My recipe?” Mild amusement trickles through Jane’s voice.

  “Yes, I know it’s a weird request, but…” Addison taps her knee with a finger and looks at me. “I really want to win.”

  I try not to show her my surprise. I thought she was entering just to enter, to have something to fill her time. When did it go from reluctant interest to something she’d set her sights on?

  Jane laughs, a quiet, easy sound. “You seem like a nice person, Addison. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-seven.” Hope shimmers in Addison’s voice.

  I think it’s a good sign Jane is asking Addison a question. Perhaps she has a daughter and she’s thinking of her. Maybe that will tilt things in Addison’s favor.

  “I use one tablespoon of lemon zest, and I mash a quarter of the blueberries and mix them into the batter,” Jane says. Addison turns a wide-eyed stare at me, and smiles so huge that it pulls her skin taut.

  “Also,” Jane continues, “the remaining blueberries should be coated in flour and then folded in. It keeps them from sinking to the bottom.”

  “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, thank you so much!” Addison gushes.

  Jane laughs again, but the sound isn’t pure happiness. Somewhere in there, I detect a sliver of sadness.

  “You said your friend was in Brighton recently?” Jane asks, the sadness now gone.

  Addison brings the phone closer to me, urging me to speak.

  “Hi, Jane. This is Brady. I’m the one who’s guilty of bragging about your bakery.”

  “Well, thank you, Brady. Word-of-mouth does seem to be the best form of advertising. When were you in?”

  “About eight months ago. My friend just finished building a cabin there. He and his…girlfriend live there.” I glance at Addison. Did she notice the change in my voice at the reference to Lennon?

  “Are you talking about Finn?”

  I grin, the pleasant, surprised feeling of knowing the same person running through me. “Yes, exactly. Finn has been my best friend since I was a kid.”

  “He’s probably one of my best customers. If he’s not in here for his uncle, he’s in here getting something for his girlfriend. She came in with him yesterday. They’re just about the sweetest couple I’ve ever seen, and she’s finally showing.”

  Showing? Showing what?

  Addison’s eyes widen in alarm.

  My mind scrambles, trying to understand, and then the fog clears and the meaning of Jane’s words click into place. Lennon is pregnant.

  An uncomfortable tingling sensation starts in my chest, blocking any words from exiting my mouth.

  “I bet she’s just the cutest,” Addison says, her tone not giving away the worry in her gaze as she looks at me.

  “Yep,” Jane agrees happily. “Well, listen, I have to get back to what I was doing. You use that recipe, and call me when the competition is over. I’d like to know how it works out.”

  “Will do.”

  Addison says goodbye and hangs up. She’s quiet. I’m looking down, studying my hands as they rest on my thighs, the light skin a contrast to the dark blue of my shorts.

  How can Lennon be pregnant? I know how, but how? And why haven’t they told me yet?

  I know the answer to that question. Telling me isn’t something either of them are looking forward to. I know them well enough to know they’d rather bury their heads in the sand than face me and tell me something they know will upset me.

  “Brady?” Addison’s voice is cautious. Her hand snakes its way over my thigh and onto my hand. Her fingers slip into the empty spaces between my fingers. Her hand is warm.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks.

  It’s hard to choose from all the emotions floating inside me, but there is one feeling that dominates. “Confused. I should feel blindsided, and I do, but I’m not devastated. I’m shocked, but it doesn’t hurt like I’d thought something like this would.” I shake my head, sighing. “Maybe moving on is supposed to feel like this. Surprising, but not painful.”

  Addison’s free hand touches my head, her fingers running through my hair and down my neck like a trickle of warm water. I turn to look at her. Beautiful Addison, so gorgeous both inside and out.

  “I understand.” Addison’s fingers reach for my hair, retracing the path, stroking me.

  I look into eyes that hold empathy. “You do, don’t you?”

  She nods, and it’s right now, in the cab of this used truck that still smells like its previous owner, that what I felt for Lennon turns opaque, the way a memory should.

  Here is Addison, sitting beside me, living, breathing, giving me her next steps.

 
And here I am, wanting to give her my next steps too.

  19

  Addison

  I’ve done it.

  I grab my phone and text Brady, unable to wait for him to show up at the main house on his own time.

  Come up here. You need these in your life.

  I take a picture of the blueberry muffins and hit send, but it won’t go through.

  Brady shows up ten minutes later, a look of anticipation on his face.

  “Here,” I announce proudly, grabbing a muffin off the cooling rack and presenting it to him, along with a kiss on his cheek. His face falls, which makes my face fall.

  “What?” I ask, worried.

  “When you said I need these in my life, I thought you were talking about something else.” His eyes lower to my chest, and with a glance around to be certain we’re alone, he uses a fingertip to follow the hem of my V-neck tee.

  “First,” I say, giving him a stern look, “you need to eat this muffin. And then—”

  “I can eat another muffin?”

  I give him an exasperated look, but it’s mostly an act. If sex with Brady is a drug, consider me addicted. I haven’t slept in my own bed in three days, not since Brady got the news about Lennon.

  I was afraid he’d pull away after that, but it only seems to have caused him to double-down on me and whatever it is we’re doing here, which we’ve yet to discuss. At some point we’ll have to, especially considering I’m now a contender in a bake-off that will keep me in Lonesome if I win.

  “Fine,” I say, crossing my arms and looking away playfully.

  Brady tips up my chin with one finger, leveling his lust-filled gaze on me. “Don’t act like you don’t love it. Last night you said—”

  “Okay, okay.” I hold up my arms in defeat. “I can’t be held accountable for what I say when I’m in the throes.”

  Brady laughs. He takes the muffin from me and makes it disappear in two bites. He lifts his eyes to the ceiling. “God, that’s good.”

  I watch him chew and swallow, then hand him a second option. “Okay, now, try this one.”

  Brady eyes it. “I thought you were going with Jane’s recipe.”

  “It is Jane’s recipe, but with an Addison kick. I don’t want to copy her exactly.”

  “The topping?”

  I nod, my hands urging him on.

  He takes a bite, closes his eyes again, but this time he sighs deeply. “Heaven,” he says simply.

  A mixture of joy and relief swim through me. “Yeah?”

  He nods solemnly and takes a drink from my water cup sitting on the island counter. “There’s no way you won’t win that competition, Addison.”

  I make a face. “It’s only a couple weeks away.” I glance at him, a sudden feeling of nervousness coming over me. Grabbing the dirty bowl, I take it to the sink and run water into it. Without looking at him, I say, “Your stay is ending soon. Where do you think you’ll go after Lonesome?” I work to make my voice nonchalant, but on the inside it feels like all my organs are squeezing together.

  It’s only been a couple weeks since I decided I liked him. Too soon to care this much. And even though I know that to be true, even though I can hear and feel the practicality of these words, my heart rejects them.

  I came here thinking good things weren’t in the cards for me.

  And then, along came Brady.

  And, according to the calendar where my grandma writes her bookings, in a few days, there he’ll go. The notion twists my stomach into knots.

  The bowl has filled with water, so I turn it off and spin around, my lower back resting on the edge of the sink.

  Brady’s eyebrows are drawn in confusion. “After Lonesome? I thought…” He pauses, running the pad of his thumb across his lower lip. “Maybe I read us wrong, Addison. If I did, I’m sorry.” He pushes back from the island where he’s been leaning.

  I stick out a hand as he turns to go. “Brady, what did you think?”

  Brady looks at me, his hesitance plain on his face. He’s just come from a terrible rejection. Telling me how he feels now must be terrifying.

  So, I put on my big girl panties and walk closer to him. I don’t feel brave, but I can damn sure act like it.

  “You already know I like you, Brady. But what you don’t know is how much I’d like you to stay in Lonesome. I know we’re not meeting in a typical, easy way. We’re both coming into this with some baggage. But, if you’re willing to push through the fear and give this a shot, then I am too.”

  Brady’s eyes roll back and he looks upward. “Thank you,” he says to the ceiling.

  I laugh, closing the space between us and molding my body to his. He kisses the space beneath my ear and murmurs, “I talked to your grandma this morning and extended my stay through the summer.”

  I pull back and glare at him. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

  His grin is playful and fiendish. It makes my toes curl, because I’ve seen it before, and good things usually follow it. “I wanted to hear how you feel about me.”

  “Oh yeah?” My eyebrows lift in defiance. I can’t pull it off completely because a smile tugs at my lips. “Do you want to hear how I feel about you at this exact second?”

  “Nope. Come on.”

  Brady grabs my hand and leads me out of the kitchen. He stops when we get to the living room, craning his neck as he searches for somebody who might spot us. Namely, my grandma.

  “Let’s go to your cabin,” I whisper-hiss against his back.

  He shakes his head. “No time. I won’t make it. I’ll end up taking you on the lawn and then we’ll get arrested.”

  I laugh into his back until I have to gulp in air, and when I do, his manly, clean scent fills my nose. It’s so overwhelming it makes me want to rip off my clothes and risk being walked in on. Now I understand what he means about not making it all the way to his cabin.

  When he’s decided we’re in the clear, he leads me through the living room and to the stairs. He takes them two at a time and I have to speed up my climb to keep up with him. He pauses at the top and looks back at me, making me realize he doesn’t know which room is mine.

  I dart around him and to the third door on the left, pulling him inside and locking the door behind us. Brady is all over me the second the lock clicks into place.

  There goes my shirt.

  My shorts are pooled at my ankles.

  He’s wasting no time today. That’s okay with me, because last night he acted like time was the very last thing on his mind. I don’t think I could take it if he did that again so soon.

  Brady drops to his knees, dragging a trail of kisses up the inside of my thigh. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me, Addison, but I don’t want it to stop.” His words invade my heart, and yet I also feel them on my body, their heat searing the delicate skin at the apex of my thighs where his mouth hovers.

  “Brady,” I groan, quickly slamming a hand to my mouth to cover the sound. I’m too late, though, and the hand covering my mouth is there for no reason.

  Except, it’s not.

  Brady gives me every reason to keep my hand in place.

  Twice.

  * * *

  After the day in my bedroom, whatever walls we’d constructed to keep what was happening between us at bay crumbled as if they were made of sand. Wherever one of us was, the other was sure to be nearby. Brady helped me with the never-ending laundry, though I’d had to show him the proper way to fold a towel. I didn’t ask, but assumed he learned towel-folding from the same person who taught him to cook: nobody.

  And even though I didn’t want it to, even though I willed it away with all my strength, the day came anyway. My fervent whispered prayers didn’t slow its approach.

  June 29th.

  My would-have-been wedding day. I’ve been wouldhavebeen’ing all day long.

  I would have been getting my hair done right now.

  I would have been drinking champagne before getting into my dress.

&n
bsp; Warren would have been trying to peek at me before the ceremony.

  My grandma must somehow know the turmoil inside me, because she’s asked me to take her into town to eat lunch. Leaving Sweet Escape is something she does so rarely, the unusualness of the request jolted me from my despondency.

  “Thank you,” Grandma says as the server sets down her food.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask, taking a bite of my salad. “It’s not often you ask me out to lunch.”

  “All good,” she says cheerfully. “Let’s talk about you. Let’s talk about what today would’ve been.”

  I push aside the mixed greens with my fork. “You really know how to get right to it.”

  “No use in beating around the bush. You’ve been moping around all morning.”

  “I know,” I sigh. “Do you think Brady noticed?”

  “Well, yes. He’s not blind. Did he mention anything to you?”

  “No.” My fork clatters to my plate and I catch my head in my hands and groan. “Why is this one day such a big deal? It’s no different from yesterday, or every other day before it.”

  “Addy, this was supposed to be your wedding day. Of course it’s different from every other day.”

  I lift my head. “But the circumstances are the same. I know today what I knew yesterday. My Warren is gone.”

  And he took with him our entire future.

  A little thought digs at me, poking, forcing me to acknowledge it. Would I have married someone I wasn’t one hundred percent certain about? The answer scares me. I’d like to think I would’ve either decided I was all in or been brave enough to back out. I guess now I’ll never know.

  “None of this matters anymore, you know that, right?”

  I flinch. Grandma’s tendency to cut through the bullshit can sting.

  “Of course I know that. Warren’s not coming back, obviously.”

  “So how long are you planning on letting it hurt you?”

  “How does someone let something hurt them?”

  Grandma snorts. “Easily. You either allow the emotion to affect your thoughts and actions, or you don’t.”

  “Maybe not everyone is as iron-willed as you.”