He shakes his head. “Technically, no. I tried to back away quietly.”
I stare at him for a moment, determining how I feel. I want to be angry he overheard, but I know that’s stupid.
Mentally I put on my proprietor cap and ask, “Why did you come to the main house? Do you need something?”
His fingers press against his temple. “I have a headache. I was wondering if you have any pain reliever?”
“Sure.” I hop off the stool and go to a cabinet. He has two choices from the stock my grandma keeps, and I hold up the bottles to show him. He points to one and I hand it over.
“So,” he says, unscrewing the cap and tipping the plastic bottle into his hand. “You have a broken heart too?”
I lean back against the counter and eye him. “I knew I was right. Girl trouble.”
He tucks the pills into his pocket and places the bottle on the counter beside me.
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
I’m already emotionally exhausted, and I don’t want to go into it tonight. It’s not an easy story to tell. Pushing off the counter, I tell him, “Another time.”
His chin dips quickly, a curt nod. “You still don’t trust me, do you? Even though I told you about the ring.” Brady’s eyebrows knit, and I can see how upset he is by the idea that someone doesn’t trust he’s telling the truth.
I grab a glass and fill it with water, letting the seconds pass before I respond. This question of belief, of whether I think he’s telling the truth, makes me uncomfortable. It’s like having some kind of weird inside joke, but it’s not a joke. It’s just something that binds us, when nothing should. We’re two broken souls, spending a short time traveling parallel roads. He’ll go on his way in a couple weeks, and I’ll…well, I don’t know what I’ll do.
“I believe you,” I assure him. It seems imperative to him that I believe him, and besides, I actually do.
“Honesty is important to me,” he says, his arms crossing in front of himself.
His arm muscles flex because of his stance, and it doesn’t escape me that he’s attractive, so ridiculously attractive, even more so than usual thanks to the ardent expression on his face. I swallow down all those thoughts, and with the goal of ending our conversation, say, “I’m sure one day you’ll find a girl who will appreciate that quality.”
His gaze falls to his arms, and I feel like an idiot. I didn’t mean to make him think ofher. The girl who sent him looking for solace in wooded Oregon. I was just being a bit flippant, not careful of my words.
“Right. Well, anyway.” He starts to walk out of the kitchen. “Thanks for the medicine.”
I feel bad. “See you at breakfast?”
He answers with a wave as he goes, which isn’t an answer at all.
I listen for the back door to close, then count to fifteen and follow his path, locking the door behind him.
7
Brady
I needto blow off some steam, and exercise has always been the best way for me to do that. As far as I can tell, there aren’t any gyms within walking distance, so I’m completing a circuit in my cabin. Push-ups, planks, jumping jacks, mountain climbers, and burpees.
I’m in the middle of my third set when my phone rings, cutting off the music I’d been listening to. I grab it and look at the screen.
Lennon Facetime.
I stare at the phone for a second, deciding if I should let it go. Guilt and a sense of duty win out. I reach for my shirt and pull it over my head. There was a time when I wouldn’t have covered up before answering, hoping my shirtless self would send Lennon’s libido soaring and she’d realize her attraction to me was far greater than it was to Finn.
That ship has sailed.
“Hi,” I say, Lennon’s face appearing on the screen. My heart twists at the sight of her. Her lips, her eyes, her collarbone. She’s gorgeous, and painfully familiar.
“Hey, you.” She grins. “Where are you hiding yourself?”
“What do you mean?” I hadn’t told her or Finn I was headed anywhere, so I don’t know why she thinks otherwise. The truth isn’t something I feel like telling her. If I do, she’s going to feel guilty. The guilt she feels already clouds everything we do, a dark tinge on every conversation.
