I nod, adjusting to the idea of someone getting my door.
“Are you going to open the door of the restaurant too?” I’m teasing him again.
Brady presses his lips together and nods. “Probably. It’s how I’m hard-wired.”
And then he does exactly what he said he would do. He opens the door and I step in, scanning the room for an open booth. I spot one and we get settled in. A server brings us menus and backs away with our drink order.
“I bet you put your hand on the small of a girl’s back when you’re opening the door for her, don’t you? You guide her in?” My heart twists. Warren always did that.
“I’m not giving away all my moves,” Brady says, laughing and winking.
My stomach drops, and for a second I stare, trying to determine if he was flirting.
Brady looks down at his menu and says, “Whatever happened, it was bad, wasn’t it?”
Tears immediately spring to my eyes. “Yes,” I whisper.
Brady looks at me, his gaze full of remorse. “I’m sorry, Addison.”
I sniff. “We’ve managed to say I’m sorry a lot this morning and we’ve only been together for about twenty minutes. How about we make a deal?” I extend a hand across the table. “No more I’m sorrys.”
He looks relieved when he places his hand in mine. “That sounds great.”
The server approaches to drop off our coffee, and we place our orders. Brady orders enough for two people.
“Those carrot muffins didn’t do it for you?” I ask. Immediately I realize my blunder.
A smug look creeps onto Brady’s face. “You were there for way longer than I was behind you last night.”
“I would’ve said something, but you shot out of your seat and raced across the room.” I take a sip of my coffee. “Thank you, by the way. For coming to my grandma’s rescue.”
Brady drinks from his own cup, nodding as he swallows. “If they’re determined, what I said this morning will only hold them off for so long. They might try to strong-arm your grandma. Hopefully they have the brains to know they have nothing but bloated threats. If not, she’ll need a lawyer.” He sees my raised eyebrows and adds, “And it can’t be me. I’m not licensed to practice outside of Illinois.”
“What do you practice in Illinois?”
“Family law.”
He seemed right at home in his role this morning. I wonder if he’s always that passionate when he’s doing his job. He was articulate and clear, and his voice reverberated with his belief that what he was fighting for was the just choice. I’d believe him in a second.
“What do you do in Illinois?” He sits back in his seat and extends an arm, draping it across the top of the booth’s cushion. It causes the sleeve of his shirt to creep up his upper arm, revealing even more of a large and impressive bicep. He said he was doing circuits in his room this morning, and now I’m wondering what they consisted of.
I tear my gaze from his arm and say, “I was a baker. I owned a bakery.”
His head tips to the side. “Past tense?”
The fingers on my right hand drum against the worn wooden table. “You don’t miss much, do you?”
He shrugs with only one shoulder. “Being perceptive was a job requirement.”
“Past tense?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.
He grins, taking a sip of coffee. “Past tense, for now. I took a leave of absence.”
“Can I ask why?” My words come out slowly, my tone gentle. I know this is a sensitive subject.
“I had my heart broken. I needed some time to get over it.” He looks around for a moment, his gaze falling back to me before he speaks again. “And it seems I needed a change of scenery to make that happen.”
I nod but don’t speak. Memories of my own heartbreak creep in, but I push them away when Brady keeps going.
