I chuckle, planting a kiss on her wet hair. “My little adrenaline junkie.”
“Let’s go,” she urges, standing and pulling me along with her.
We walk to the top and jump again. And again. And again. Finally, I have to be the first to quit. It was only this morning that I hiked for hours, and my legs are beginning to scream at me.
Addison pretends to pout on the way back to my truck. “What are we going to do now?” she asks, pausing in the open passenger door.
“Shower.”
A devilish grin lights up her face. “Together?”
I return her smile. “Is there any other way?”
* * *
Louisa has asked Addison and me to eat dinner with her tonight. She’s trying out a new recipe and wants us to be the guinea pigs.
We arrive in the main house freshly showered, and of course, freshly sexed. I’m sure it’s obvious. We both look pleased and relaxed, a telltale combination.
Louisa is in the kitchen, putting together a salad. When I offer to help, she tells me to uncork the wine and asks Addison to set the table.
We all sit down, and Louisa looks excited but nervous as she sets the casserole dish in front of us. “Chicken tetrazzini,” she announces, removing the foil from the top.
“It looks good,” I say.
“And smells amazing,” Addison adds.
Louisa dishes out portions onto our plates and I take a bite.
Oh, no. Looks good, smells good, does not taste good.
Louisa spits her bite out into her napkin. “Oh, crap,” she groans, looking at us. “If you haven’t taken a bite I would refrain from doing so.”
“Too late,” Addison and I say at the same time. Addison spits hers into her napkin, but I manage to swallow.
“How much salt did you add, Grandma?”
“Too much, apparently.”
Addison laughs. “Why don’t we let Brady take us out for dinner?”
“Oh, phooey. Brady doesn’t want to take an old lady like me out to dinner.” She says it, but she still peeks at me hopefully.
I clutch a hand to my heart and say dramatically, “It would bring me great pleasure, Louisa.”
Louisa pushes back from the table. “Well, then, I’ll just go get my purse.”
Addison leans over to me after Louisa is gone. Strands of her hair tickle my shoulder, and the scent of my body wash comes off her skin. “Thank you for taking me to the waterfall.” She kisses the corner of my lips. “You are a person worth doing scary things for.”
I’d love to respond, but I can’t. I’m struck silent. My whole life I’ve been the pursuer. Of good grades, degrees, accolades, popularity, friends, and Lennon. And then Addison happens. Every day she comes to me willingly, mangled heart open, ready to love me and let me love her in return.
Tucking her hair behind her ear, I look into her ocean blue eyes. “Addison, I—”
“You kids ready?” Louisa calls, her voice reaching us a second before she does. She walks in with her purse hanging from a shoulder.
“Crap, did I walk in on something?” Her features rearrange into an apology.
“No,” I say, and at the same time Addison says, “Yes.”
I push away from the table and walk to the front door, holding it open. “Ladies, your chariot awaits.”
For dinner, I take them to a place with white tablecloths and hardback menus printed on heavy card stock. We’re not dressed for it, but the maître d’ begrudgingly agrees to allow it if we’ll sit at a table in the full-service lounge.
Louisa peers over her menu at me. “I’m feeling like a fancy woman, Brady.”
“You are, Louisa.”
She gives me a withering look. “I’m wearing sandals.”
“We all are,” I remind her, taking a piece of bread from the basket in the center of the table. “Still fancy.”
Addison and Louisa tell me story after story of summers in Lonesome, and the wacky people who’ve been guests over the years.
“This man hardly spoke to me during his entire two-week stay, and then he came in the house and asked me if I had any” —Louisa’s eyes dart around us, and Addison and I lean in to hear whatever is so forbidden she has to check out our neighbors before speaking— “weed.” She holds pinched fingers to her mouth like it’s a joint.
I laugh. Louisa is sweet and innocent, thinking weed is that big of a deal.
“What did you say, Grandma?”
“I told him no. I certainly wasn’t going to share with someone like that!”
“Grandma!” Addison’s mouth drops open.
The sip of wine I’ve just taken fights to fly from my mouth. It stays in, along with my laughter, and I end up coughing as the red wine burns my throat on the way down.
“Don’t act like you’re a saint, Addison.” Louisa wags a finger at her. She turns the finger on me. “Or you, either. You two have been going at it like sailors on leave.”
I cough again, thank god this time it’s only water.
The rest of dinner isn’t nearly as raucous. We all eat too much and are less talkative on the drive home. Our energy has gone to our stomachs.
The moment we get back to the main house, Louisa announces she’s tired and goes to her room. Addison takes me outside to the set of lounge chairs on the lawn. I settle into one, and instead of taking her own, she slips between my legs and leans back against me. The curves of her body fit into the hollows of my own.
“Thank you for taking us to dinner tonight. That was very sweet of you.” Addison’s words rumble against my chest.
“It was fun. Your grandma is a special lady.”
I stare at the top of Addison’s head. Nerves build up in my stomach, twisting it into knots. I know what I want to say, I just don’t know quite how to get there. I stare up at the stars, attempting to wrangle my thoughts like those kids roping sheep at the rodeo.
“I can see why you loved Lennon.”
Her statement startles me. It’s so far away from what I’m thinking about.
I stay quiet, trying to figure out how to respond. Addison sits up, forcing me to do the same to make room for both of us on the one seat. She crosses her legs and twists her hands in her lap.
“She’s gorgeous and witty. She’s intelligent, too. And loyal. She watched me closely. Like a robot scanning me for flaws. She wanted to figure out if I posed a threat to the well-being of her best friend’s heart.”
Addison picked up all this from a video chat?
She looks up at me and opens her mouth to continue. “It’s not hard to picture you and Finn fighting over her. Figuratively, not literally. It’s a beautiful, heartbreaking story, really. You both grow up loving your best friend, and then she had to choose between you two.”
In the glow of the outside lights, I see a faint pink blooming on her cheeks.
“I’m jealous,” she admits softly.
“Of what?” I can’t fathom what there is to be jealous of.
“That you loved her.”
I can’t help it. I smile. She loved Warren, but of course that’s not the point. She’s as human as I am, and that means she can only see my situation as an outside observer. She sees a beautifully tragic love story. And it was… but it’s not anymore. I have a new love story.
Reaching for Addison’s hands, I wind my own through them and pull them so they’re no longer in her lap but lying in the crevice our folded legs create. She lifts her gaze to mine.
Here goes nothing. “Lennon chose Finn. Did she love me? Yeah, she did. But she didn’t need me desperately, all-consumingly, didn’t need me like she needs air. What air is to her lungs, Finn is to her heart. I didn’t understand that until I came here, Addison. Because it’s how I feel about you.”
Addison’s lower lip falls away from her upper lip, her mouth forming a surprised ‘o’.
“I’ve never felt like this about anybody. Not even Lennon. I didn’t know what I was missing out on, because I hadn’t met you yet. And
I know we haven’t known each other very long, but that doesn’t matter to me. I knew Lennon my whole life and thought she was the one for me, and I was dead wrong.” A smile tugs at my cheeks as I watch Addison absorb my words. “I want every one of your kisses and sighs and irritated looks. I want to love you loudly. I want to love you messy.” Addison laughs in a soft, incredulous way, and I continue. “I won’t settle for less, and less is anything that’s not you. And I thank god Lennon didn’t choose me. Because, Addison, I love you.”
I feel lighter and more terrified, more vulnerable, than I ever have.
Addison’s face breaks into a large, open smile. Until now, I hadn’t fully known what it meant to say someone was glowing, but now I get it. Addison is radiant.
She launches herself at me. I catch her, and the momentum takes us both back against the reclined chair.
Addison steadies herself on my chest, her beautiful face backlit by the moon. “I love you too, Brady. And it all seems so crazy and totally opposite of what I saw for my life, but that’s okay. Thank god someone else knew what I needed to feel complete, because obviously I didn’t have a clue. When we received Warren’s prognosis, I was certain my life was over. For a long time I was stuck in a waiting place, and it was hell. Finally I came here, and yes, I moved on physically, but emotionally and mentally I was in the same place I’d been in from the day the doctors told us. And then I met you. And you awakened in me something that has never been tapped, Brady. Never. Not even by Warren. And that made me feel guilty as hell. Honestly, it still does, but I’m learning how to navigate that. There’s nobody I’d rather wake up beside, or bake for, or jump off cliffs with.” She takes a deep breath, then says, “I love you.”
23
Addison
I’m high.
High on life. High on love. High on Brady.
Ready to move forward. Ready to be truly happy.
For the first time in so long, my soul feels at ease. The guilt is still there, but it’s a fraction of what it used to be. Instead of telling myself it’s wrong to feel that way, I’m accepting its existence.
Beside me, Brady stirs, tightening the arm he has wrapped around me, pulling me in even closer.
Last night, after the declaration that created this high, we went inside and quietly climbed the stairs to my room.
We laid down, and Brady pushed inside me, holding me together while I went to pieces beneath him.
I can’t imagine moments more perfect than last night, but then he’s beside me now, waking up, his brown hair sticking up in places, the sheet leaving behind an indentation on his cheek, and I realize I’m wrong. The perfect moments with Brady just keep getting better, like the swelling crescendo of a symphony that never ends.
“Morning, baby,” Brady croons, his voice thick and sleepy, wrapping around me like rough silk.
“Good morning.” I kiss the inside of his elbow, the soft skin where his forearm and upper arm join. “I wish I could stay like this all day, but” —I reach out, tapping the face of my phone where it lies on the nightstand— “we’ve overslept. By a lot. And I need to start the trial run for the bake-off.”
Reluctantly, I roll away from Brady and stand. I look down at him and use all my strength and willpower to fight the urge to jump back in bed. A body in motion stays in motion, so I keep going. First to my dresser, where I slip on shorts, and then to my closet, where I choose a shirt that has a neon rainbow on the front of it.
“I was hoping you’d change your mind,” Brady grumbles. I look at him in the mirror above the dresser.
He’s sitting up, the sheet bunching around his midsection. I know from our close proximity a few minutes ago that he’s naked.
Turning around, I lean a hip against the edge of the dresser. Right now, it’s best to keep my distance. If I walk any closer to him, even to swiftly peck his cheek, I’ll be a goner, like an insect perched on a carnivorous plant.
Unlike those insects, I absolutely want to be devoured. Which is why I have to keep my distance. I tell this all to Brady, and the smugness that crosses his face is endearing, not annoying.
“Do you promise to let me devour you later?” He gets out of bed and tugs on his clothes from last night.
“Pinky promise,” I tell him, holding out my pinky from my spot beside my bedroom door. As soon as his shirt is fully on his body, I open it. I’m much more likely to follow through with my plans if it’s open.
Brady winds his pinky around mine, using the union to pull me in. He kisses me, bites gently on my lower lip, and backs off. He’s teasing me.
“I know what you’re doing.” I step around him and start down the hall.
“Good.” Brady smacks my butt, and I yelp in surprise. When I recover, I do a little shimmy just out of his reach.
“I know what you’re doing,” he says as we start down the stairs.
“Good,” I shoot back, making him smile.
When we get downstairs, I avert my gaze to avoid my grandma’s knowing stare. Not Brady though.
“Hi, Louisa,” he says cheerfully. “Lovely day.”
I peer out the windows, where a light rain tumbles lazily to the earth.
“Addison needed help hanging a picture in her room,” Brady continues. A smile curls up one side of his mouth and his eyes twinkle.
“Bah.” Grandma throws back her head. “I told you last night I know what you two have been up to.” She shakes her head. “I swear, it’s like every generation thinks they invented sex. How do you think everyone else in the world got here?”
Brady and I break into a fit of laughter and Grandma rolls her eyes at us on her way to whatever it is she’s doing.
“Wish me luck baking today?” I squeeze Brady around the middle.
“Do you need luck for a trial run?”
“I’ll take luck any day, for anything.”
Brady crosses his fingers.
“Thank you.” I rise on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “After I’m finished, I’m going to take it all to Charlie’s book club meeting this afternoon. Do you want me to make dinner tonight?”
“I thought you were my dinner,” Brady’s whisper is more of a growl in my ear.
“I’ll be dessert.” I wink at him and take a step back. My bedroom isn’t that far away, and I need to start baking.
With a lingering look, Brady leaves the kitchen. I wait until I hear the door close, then I go to the pantry and begin assembling ingredients.
* * *
“You’re officially the most well-liked person in this place,” Amanda announces, leaning in and grabbing a blondie. I’ve just removed the cover from the plastic container, amid the watchful gazes of twelve women ready for a sugar onslaught.
I move away to make room for more hands to reach in. In a matter of thirty seconds, the mound of goodies has dwindled by half.
Appreciative moans surround me.
“No offense, but my thighs hope you don’t win,” says a woman I haven’t met yet. She takes another bite of the lemon cupcake.
Through a mouthful of blueberry muffin, Charlie says loudly, “I hope you win, Addison.”
“Of course, of course,” the other woman rushes to say. She looks flustered. “I didn’t mean I don’t want you to win. I only meant…”
I stop her with a hand on her arm. “It’s okay. I know what you meant.”
She smiles at me gratefully.
The book club meeting begins. I haven’t read the book, but based on the discussion I might have to. Of course, if I don’t leave soon, they’re going to ruin it for me.
“Can you even imagine losing your best friend like that?” An older woman with a chic white bob clutches her chest.
“No,” Charlie answers, shaking her head. Her eyes fill with tears. “The portrayal of grief in this book was so raw, so stark, I felt like I was the one grieving. I went through at least one box of tissues and had to open a second.”
“That’s because you’re pregnant,” I joke, helping myself to a cup
cake. Quality control.
A chorus of rebuttals rings out around me. I raise my eyebrows.
“Read it and try not to cry.” Amanda tosses her copy on my lap. I pick it up and look it over. The cover shows a worn dog tag, just above the author’s name. Kate Masters. “Military?”
“Yes, and based on a true story. It’s sad, but it’s so much more than that. Just trust us.”
“Oh-kay.” I slip the book into my bag. “Ladies, I’m going to leave you to your meeting.”
I spend a minute transferring the desserts to a bed of napkins and put the container in the bag alongside my new book. I bend to plant a kiss on Charlie’s cheek, wave goodbye to the other women, and duck out of the coffee shop where their monthly meetings are held.
I told Brady I would make dinner for him tonight, but maybe it would be more fun if I taught him how to cook something.
Hmm. It’ll have to be something basic. Then again, he taught himself how to bake. Sort of. He said he watched me and then found a few good tutorials on the internet. Something tells me he’s a quick study.
On Fridays in the summer, a cute outdoor market stays open until six. I’ll swing by there and grab some things for tonight. We’ll start easy with pasta. A light sauce, a bunch of roasted veggies. Pre-made noodles so as not to complicate things.
The market is a collection of white topped tents and folding tables, people selling their wares. I choose organic summer squash, one green and one yellow, an orange bell pepper, and cherry tomatoes. Very colorful. I also pick up an orange blackberry jam with the idea of making thumbprint cookies. My next stop is for Sancerre. Pasta like the one we’re making tonight needs a light, crisp, but not sweet wine. Sancerre will be perfect.
A memory invades my brain. A cool Chicago evening, the leaves on the trees just beginning to turn. I’m walking to my apartment from Whole Foods, carrying dinner and wine, to be enjoyed alone because Warren’s state had been determined by then. I glanced down to admire my new shoes. I splurged on them. Being a baker means always wearing sensible, flat shoes. I gazed lovingly at the pointed-toe black Jimmy Choo’s. I felt a pang knowing they didn’t really belong to me; every month, until I paid them off, I would only own a fraction of them.
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