She shrugs and takes a bite. “Their loss.”
I can’t take much more, so I move the conversation to the mundane and Grandma doesn’t stop me. We finish eating and pay. I pause a few feet from the outside of the restaurant, turning my face up to the summer sun. The air conditioning had been turned on so high I’d had goosebumps for most of lunch. The sun’s rays permeate my skin, and I’m busy enjoying it, until a harsh, gravelly voice interrupts me.
“Are you Addison West?”
Even though I’ve only heard it once, the voice is unmistakable. Reluctantly, I turn to look at Beatrice. She looks just as intimidating today as she did in the bakery the first and only time I’ve seen her.
“Yes,” I confirm, waiting to hear what she has to say.
“Why didn’t you tell me that day at the bakery when you saw me adding my name to the list?”
I make a face. I don’t know what kind of face it is, I just know that I can feel my cheeks scrunch. This woman is a few bricks shy of a load. Either that or her frontal lobe never fully developed.
“I didn’t view it as a vital piece of information, seeing as how I’d never met you.”
The woman makes a sound, kind of like a hmph. “I hear you owned a bakery in Chicago.”
Instead of answering, I ask, “Are you checking up on all the entrants?”
“Yes.” Her face is even, her lips in that permanent scowl. “It’s prudent to know one’s competition.”
Even if her baking is so good it makes a man of the cloth denounce religion, there’s no way she can take over the bakery. Her people skills are terrible.
“Okay, well, bye.” I scoot around her. “Nice seeing you again.”
I don’t know if she answers, because I don’t stop. Grandma is in step beside me, and I can feel the curiosity coming off her in waves.
“She’s my competition,” I explain, rolling my eyes.
“No she’s not,” Grandma quips.
“She’s in the contest.”
“Right. But she’s no competition of yours.”
I grab Grandma’s hand, bringing us both to a stop, and hug her tightly.
Sometimes, a person really just needs to have someone in their corner. Lucky me, I have two someones.
* * *
“Grandma, I’m going down to see Brady. He asked me to visit when we got back.” He probably wants to know what was up with me this morning. I told him only once, at the very beginning, about the day when I was supposed to be getting married. I’m sure he doesn’t remember.
“Bye, hon,” she responds, walking off to her office.
On the way down to Brady’s I notice for the first time since I arrived this summer how beautiful this place really is. The wide, sloping lawn of green grass, gently giving way to the trees, and beyond them, the guest cabins. Sunlight filters through the trees, dappling the ground I walk over.
Maybe, for the rest of my life, this day will be a sad one for me. Or maybe this year will be the hardest, and each subsequent year will feel easier, until there is no longer pain but only a memory.
I round the corner to the front of Brady’s cabin, quickly climbing the steps and knocking on the front door.
“Hi.” Brady opens the door only partially, just enough for his large frame to fit through. He steps out, his body pushing me back a couple feet.
“Brady, what is going on?”
“Here,” Brady says, ignoring me and holding out what looks like a t-shirt that has been rolled up length-wise. “Turn around.”
“Is that a blindfold?” I ask, doing as I’ve been told.
Brady slips the fabric over my eyes and pulls tightly. I can feel him tying the knot at the back of my head. He gets a couple stray hairs tied in too, and I wince in pain. When he lets go of the knot, the pain ceases.
“Can you see anything?” he asks.
I squint my eyes, trying to see through the fabric, but I really can’t. I shake my head.
“Good,” he says. “Now, let me guide you.”
He stands behind me, gripping my forearms and propelling me forward.
“Step,” he says, and I assume we’re at the front door. It’s weird to take a step when you can’t see, and so I’m certain I’ve lifted my leg too high. It makes me think of how I’d walk if I were wearing clown shoes.
He instructs me where to turn and helps me sit down. I sit with my hands in my lap, excited and impatient. I’d love to rip this thing off and see what he’s doing.
I feel something being placed on my head and automatically lift my chin.
“Put your head down,” Brady instructs.
I feel something slide against my scalp on top of my head, like the teeth of a comb. Brady mutters to himself, then takes a deep breath.
“Okay,” he says, the excitement in his tone barely contained.
His fingers work at the back of my head, and he gently pulls off the blindfold.
I gasp when I see it. When I see it all.
“Brady, I…” My fingers trail over my lips as I try to come up with something, anything, to say that will be appropriate.
Brady sinks down into the chair beside me at the table. He watches me closely, gauging my reaction.
“I don’t know what flavor you would’ve chosen, but I hope this is something you like.” He points at the small two-tiered cake sitting atop a silver cake stand. Grandma’s cake stand.
“It’s lemon cake with vanilla buttercream.”
Finally my ability to speak comes back to me. “It sounds incredible. Where did you buy it?”
“I made it.”
“You made it? You?”
He nods. He looks proud but nervous.
“Brady that’s so sweet. Why did you make me a cake?”
He licks his lips and purses them. “It’s a wedding cake.”
I stare, unable to speak. I reach for a finger on my left hand, seeking out a ring I’m not wearing. Speechless. Breathless. Rendered immobile. Brady’s gesture has reached down into the deepest part of me and filled me.
“Look on your plate,” he motions at the spot on the table in front of me.
I look down. A square gold box sits on a dessert plate.
“Can I open it?” I ask, reaching down.
Brady nods, giving me the go-ahead. Gently, I lift the top off the box and peer down. Nestled in cloth is a sapphire blue picture frame. There is no picture in the frame.
“That’s your something blue and your something new. And the veil is borrowed and old.” Brady watches me. “It was the best I could do.”
Oh my gosh, a veil. I’m wearing a veil. I didn’t even feel it. I lift my hand and capture the fabric on my back. I pull it to the side, rubbing the gauzy fabric with my fingers.
“This was my grandma’s,” I say incredulously. “You… you’re… giving me a wedding day.”
Despite the joy I feel inside at the kindness and compassion inside this man, I begin to cry.
“I’m sorry,” I sputter, as Brady leans forward and wraps his arms around me.
“Don’t worry. I think it’s normal for brides to cry on their wedding day.”
His joke stops the tears and I laugh.
“I can’t believe you would do something like this for me.” I pull away and look at him. “Actually, I can.” I kiss him, long and deep, hoping he can taste my gratitude. “What did I ever do to deserve someone like you?”
“You existed.” Brady kisses the tip of my nose. “You deserve everything good, Addison.”
I kiss him again, until I run out of oxygen and I have to pull away, gasping for breath.
“There’s more,” Brady says, getting up from the table. He goes to the small fridge and comes away with a bottle of pink champagne.
I feel happier now than I can remember feeling in so long. It’s warm and snuggly, this happy feeling. I want to stay in it forever.
Brady cuts the cake and pops the champagne, and I cheer.
“I want a big slice,” I tell him, moving the b
ox with the picture frame.
He places a monstrous slice on my plate. We toast, and I recognize the champagne glasses from my grandma’s stemware cabinet. Clearly she was in on it. Which explains the lunch she wanted to go out to.
“To many more good things,” Brady announces, clinking his glass against mine.
I tip my glass to his, echoing the sentiment and hoping fervently that his words come true.
20
Brady
My phone’s ringing. For some reason, I know who it is. I don’t know how to explain it, other than a lifetime connection.
Lennon.
Addison sees the name flashing across the screen and starts to lift off my chest.
“No, no, stay,” I tell her, placing my palm on her back.
She gives me an uncertain look but settles back down onto me.
I hit the button and Lennon’s face comes into view. She’s sitting on the couch in the living room of her place. Her smile falters.
“Brady, hi. And hello to you,” she says, addressing Addison. I can tell immediately that Lennon is sizing her up.
“Hi,” Addison chirps. “I’m Addison.”
“Nice to meet you,” Lennon responds politely. She looks off screen. “Finn, come say hi to…” She looks back at the screen, taking in the image of Addison’s head on my chest, “Brady’s friend who looks like more than a friend.”
I feel Addison’s chuckle.
Finn appears in the background, leaning over the back of the couch, his head next to Lennon’s.
They really do look good together. I’ve thought that before, but this is the first time the thought hasn’t hurt.
“Hi Addison, I’m Finn.”
“Nice to meet you, Finn. I’ve heard so much about you guys.”
Finn laughs, but Lennon looks disgruntled.
Addison continues. “All good things, of course. Brady loves to talk about the fun you had growing up.”
Lennon’s face relaxes a little. Perhaps she was afraid I’d vilified her in my retelling of our story. I’ll admit, it’s a tricky story to tell.
Finn nudges Lennon, and she glances at him. She looks nervous, and I bet I know why.
“What’s going on guys?” I ask. “Lennon, are you pregnant or something?”
Lennon’s eyes bug out. Finn smirks. Nothing fazes the guy. Nothing except for Lennon, of course.
“How did you know?” Lennon asks, her voice wobbly.
“Just a hunch,” I say, winking at them. I don’t want to throw Jane under the bus.
“Congratulations,” Addison adds. “How far along?”
“Fifteen weeks,” Lennon responds, happiness finally dawning on her face. “It’s a boy.”
Finn beams and pumps his fist into the air in front of them. “I made a boy.”
Lennon gives him a look. “We made a boy,” she corrects him. To us, she says, “He keeps saying that.”
Addison laughs again. Lennon asks her how she and I met.
“Well…” She gazes up at me, and I brush a kiss onto her forehead. “Technically, we met on the flight from Chicago to Oregon. But I thought he was married. Then—”
“Wait,” Lennon interrupts. “Why did you think he was married?”
“He was wearing his grandpa’s wedding ring.”
Lennon’s gaze turns quizzical. She doesn’t say anything, but I know she smells bullshit.
I try not to act like it’s a big deal, but inside I’m sweating bullets. “Just keeping it safe during travel. I didn’t want to put it in storage and I didn’t have a good place for it.” I shrug, acting like it’s not a thing.
Which it totally is. I wore that ring because my heart had been obliterated and the person I thought was my soulmate had chosen someone else. I was playing a stupid game of pretend. Just for a blip in time, I wanted to walk around like I was a person lucky enough to have found my other half.
“What are you guys up to this evening?” I ask brightly, steering the conversation away from Oregon and into Arizona.
“Usually someone would be going to sleep in a few hours,” Finn looks over at Lennon and she grins sheepishly. “She says the baby makes her tired.”
“He does make me tired,” she confirms. “But tonight we’re going on a double date. Finn hit it off with the handyman who has been coming out here to help with random things. Finn’s into learning everything about… well, everything, and this guy, Connor, has been showing Finn what he does when he’s out here so Finn can do it himself.”
Finn rarely makes new friends so easily. Maybe having Lennon has made him an all-around calmer, more easy-going person. “Is my best friend status in jeopardy?”
“Yep,” they both answer, looking at each other and laughing. Their heads are so close that they can’t help but nuzzle for a second.
“Ugh.” I pretend to be sick. “You two are nauseating.”
For the briefest second Lennon looks stricken, but then she realizes I’m kidding and sticks her tongue out at me.
“What are you two up to?” Finn asks.
Addison shrugs, but I say, “We need to get a good night’s rest. Addison doesn’t know it but I’m taking her somewhere in the morning.”
She peers up at me, surprised. “Where?”
“The rodeo.”
She sits up. “Are you serious?” She’s shocked, but her cheeks are pulling up, telling me she’s also happy.
“I thought it seemed like something you’d like.”
“Um, yes!” Her fisted hands open exuberantly, like fireworks exploding.
Lennon and Finn are laughing. “You two turn in early. We’ll go be party animals,” Lennon jokes.
We say goodbye and hang up, and I’m struck by how normal that phone call was.
“They seem great.” Addison trails a finger over my chest as she talks. “Lennon is beautiful.”
“She’s a troll,” I say, laughing because I know if Lennon were in the vicinity she’d kick my shin and pinch the skin on the underside of my arm.
“Brady,” Addison scolds.
I cup her face, my thumbs stroking her soft skin. It probably wasn’t easy for her just now, having to interact with someone I thought I was in love with.
Was I in love with Lennon? I think so. But being with Addison makes me question how I felt about anybody, ever. She’s a fresh breath of air for a soul who didn’t know it was being deprived.
“Addison, you are beautiful. Inside and out. Your blue eyes have little brown flecks in them. Your nose is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, and I don’t think I’ve ever thought a nose was cute before. Your lips are the prettiest shade of pink, and they’re so kissable that I,” I lean forward and plant a feather-light kiss on her.
“Just.” Another kiss.
“Can’t.” A third one.
“Help myself.” And a fourth, for good measure.
“Brady,” Addison closes her eyes and breathes my name. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I came here to escape, Addison. But every day I’m feeling more and more… found.”
A sound comes from Addison’s throat, a strangled, low moan. She’s on me in a flash, tugging down my shorts and pulling off her own. She sinks onto me, letting me fill her, and kisses me, long, slow, and deep.
She doesn’t say anything more, and neither do I. We don’t need to speak when our bodies are talking, saying everything for us.
Afterward we collapse into an exhausted, sweaty, sticky heap. Her blonde hair splays across my chest, her head rising and falling with my still-quickened breathing.
My fingers brush through her hair and I stare down at the profile of her face, the curve of her back, her long legs stretched out.
The words are there, on the tip of my tongue, but I hold them in because it’s too soon.
Too soon to feel the way I do. It’s impractical, inexplicable.
In a matter of weeks, this woman has taken my messy world and set it back on its axis.
I don’t know what my f
uture holds, but I damn sure know who’s in it.
* * *
“You ready, cowgirl?” I reach over and tap the brim of Addison’s hat. I have no idea how she managed to get a cowboy hat between late yesterday afternoon and this morning.
“Sure am,” she drawls, grabbing her purse from the floorboard of my truck and winding her arm through the strap.
We meet at the back of my truck, and just like this morning when I met her at the main house, she makes me pause and fumble for words. She’s wearing a bright red sundress that falls to the middle of her thighs, and matching cowgirl boots. As if her outfit isn’t enticing enough, there is no back to the dress, except for two straps that run like an x. When I saw that, I’d had to bite the skin on the underside of my lip to keep from dragging her into the trees and showing her how much I liked it.
We link hands and walk through the dusty parking lot to the arena. Around us are men and women in Levi’s and boots, and more cowboy hats than I’ve ever seen in one place. That’s saying something, considering I grew up in the desert southwest.
I don’t look the part. I have on jeans, but they aren’t cowboy tight. My shirt is collared, and the sleeves are rolled up onto my forearms. I don’t have boots, but my tennis shoes are leather. Does that count?
“Brady, we should get a hat for you,” Addison says as we walk by vendors. She stops at one and picks up a tan hat, holding it up to me. One eye closes as she considers it.
“Nah,” she says, replacing it and looking around. Her eyes light up and she pounces on a hat a few feet away. “This one,” she declares, bringing it over.
I take the black hat from her and place it on my head. The woman working the booth comes forward with a mirror.
“Hats pick the wearer, you know,” she intones seriously. “And that hat has certainly chosen you.”
I look in the mirror. After I get over the shock of seeing myself in a cowboy hat, I agree it’s the one. Addison does a little dance, then slips her arm through mine.
“You might have to wear that later,” she says under her breath.
I hand my credit card over to the woman and turn my lips so they brush the space beside Addison’s ear. “Only if you keep your boots on when everything else comes off.”
One Good Thing Page 17