“As you already know, I grew up in Arizona. I had…” He pauses, shaking his head. “Have.Nothad.” He smiles at me, and though I already know what he’s going to say, I’m shocked to find we’ve created an inside joke so quickly. “Not past tense. I have two best friends who still live there. Lennon and Finn. We’ve been best friends since we were really young. And then we grew up, and things, well” —he raps his knuckles on the table twice— “they got more complicated. By about tenfold. Long story short, Lennon chose Finn.” He smiles, but it’s the saddest, most melancholy smile I’ve ever seen. “I didn’t get the girl.”
My hand leaves my coffee and covers my heart. I don’t know much about Brady, not really, and for a majority of the few days I’ve known him I haven’t liked him. But last night he showed me how important honesty is to him, and this morning he rushed to my grandma’s defense, obviously disgusted by the idea of her being bullied. It’s hitting me, right now in this very second, that I might actuallylikeBrady. And the idea of him not winning the object of his affection makes me feel dismayed. And maybe something else, something warm in the pit of my stomach, something I don’t have a word for.
“So they are still your friends?” I ask, at the same time the server drops off our breakfast. There are so many plates I almost ask her to join us, but then I remember Brady picking at the carrot muffin earlier and let the joke pass.
“Yes,” he answers, inhaling two bites of food before he speaks again. “Not being friends with them is impossible. They’re… my everything. I can’t imagine life without them.”
I nod, scooping up a forkful of my food. The love and loyalty he shows his friends, even when hurt by them, is inspiring. We’re quiet while we eat, until I think of something else to ask him.
“Was it really dramatic? It sounds like it would be.” I wince as I hear myself. Talk about insensitive. I open my mouth to apologize, but remember I’m not supposed to, so I get creative and think of a way around it. “Please accept my remorse at my question.”
Brady gives me a knowing look and shakes his head. “Roundabout apologies will be considered a violation of the agreement.”
I cross my arms and pretend to huff. “Ugh, what a lawyer.”
Brady chuckles. “Yes.”
He sees my confusion and says, “That’s the answer to your question about it being dramatic. But there probably wasn’t any other way. Not after so long.”
“You really loved her?” There it is again, that warm feeling in my belly. Still, I can’t name it.
He nods, glancing down at the table. “I loved her for most of my life.”
My heart. It hurts for him. And then I realize that I like how I hurt for him. Finally, I’m feeling pain for someone other than myself.
Brady looks up at me. “But apparently Lennon knew something I didn’t. She chose Finn, and I have no choice but to trust she made the right decision. If she’d thought I was the right man for her, she would’ve chosen me. And she didn’t.”
Without thinking, I reach across the table and run my fingertips over the top of Brady’s hand. “You’re the right man for somebody.”
Brady’s gaze stays locked on mine, then he glances down to where our skin touches.
I rip my hand away, embarrassed. “I’m—”
“Don’t say it,” Brady warns, a playful look in his eyes.
His playfulness relieves some of the embarrassment I’m feeling, but I’m still largely mortified. Looking at my plate, I stab a bite, but before I can lift my fork, Brady reaches for my free hand and touches it.
“It doesn’t bother me that you touched me. I was just surprised by how warm your touch was.”
Suddenly my mouth feels dry. How long has it been since I’ve been touched? A hug from my grandma here and there the past few days, but before that? It’s been a while. A long while.
It feels good. Too good. And, in a confusing way, it also hurts.
Slowly, I slide my hand out from under his, but now the absence of his touch is almost as excruciating.
To avoid hurting his feelings, I reach for the napkin in my lap and use it to dab at the corner of my mouth.
The server comes back to our table, coffee carafe in hand. She offers it to me first, but I shake my head, “No thank you.”
“Yes, please,” Brady says, pushing his cup closer to her.
I watch the dark liquid fill the cup, a few drops splashing onto the table. She sets our check down and tells us not to rush.
“So,” Brady says, lifting his freshly filled coffee to his lips. He looks at me over the rim of the white cup, his eyebrows raised. “I showed you mine. You show me yours now.”
Right. I knew this was coming.
“Addison!”
