I don’t hear if she responds, because I’m already through the back door.
8
Addison
“Canwe please get breakfast before we do anything else?” Brady asks the second the doors of the Jeep are closed.
I give him a look and he starts to explain. “I was late to breakfast.”
I give him another look, remembering the coffee I made him a few days ago when he was hungover.
“I’m not making it a habit. And I wasn’t hungover,” he adds, smiling. “I was working out this morning and then a friend called. By the time I got to breakfast there wasn’t much left.”
I decide not to tell him I spent a few seconds watching him pick carrots from his carrot muffin before he flew to my grandma’s defense. Instead, I ask, “What were you doing for a workout? Hopefully not going for a run in the woods. Don’t want you to get lost.” I smile to let him know I’m teasing.
“Very funny.” He adjusts his seatbelt and sits back. “I was doing a circuit of various exercises.”
I nod, trying not to picture those abs rippling with each repetition. “Where do you want to eat?” I ask, to change the subject.
He shrugs, glancing over at me. “Aren’t you supposed to be the tour guide?”
Oh, right.
“I know of a good place,” I tell him, taking another turn and using all my arm strength to wrench the wheel.
“No power steering?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t know how my grandma drives this thing. Although, I don’t think she drives often.”
Brady nods thoughtfully. “Doesn’t seem like a good car for someone her age.”
I snort. “Try telling her that.”
He lets out a derisive laugh. “Uh, no thanks.”
We’re quiet for the next few minutes until I pull into the restaurant parking lot and majorly curb it. The Jeep jumps and sputters, and I laugh.
Brady, however, grimaces and grips the handle on the doorframe.
“Sorry about that,” I say, my cheeks warming.
“It’s okay,” Brady assures me, but his voice is off. “I’m still a little jumpy. I was in a bad car accident not too long ago.”
“Crap. I’m sorry.”
“Seriously, don’t apologize. It’ll just take time for me to chill out.”
“Were you hurt?” I ask, twisting around and grabbing my purse from the back seat.
“Broken leg,” Brady responds, getting out of the car. I’m digging in my bag for my Chapstick when I hear my car door open.
“Oh!” My hand flies to my chest in surprise.
Brady steps back to allow space for me to get out. “I’m sorry. Did I frighten you?”
“You took me by surprise.”
“I was trying to be polite.”
