Her attention might no longer be on us, but apparently that doesn’t mean she’s moved on, because from inside the fridge I hear her say, “The Andersons sure seemed to be enjoying their conversation with you, Brady. Mr. Anderson looked disappointed when you said goodbye and hustled into the kitchen.”
I meet Brady’s eyes and he shrugs, unembarrassed to be called out. His confidence is admirable.
“Anywho, I’d better get back out there.” She pulls away from the fridge with the butter. “I’d say it has taken me far too long to grab the extra butter.”
Grandma closes the fridge with her hip and rounds the island. A moment later I hear her call, “I’m coming with that butter, Mr. Cooper. Sorry for the delay.”
“Do you want to grab a cup, Brady?” I hold up my coffee to show him what I mean. “I’m sure it’s gorgeous outside, and I’d like some fresh air.”
Brady pours a cup for himself, no cream, and we leave the kitchen. We have to walk through the living room and dining area to reach the back door, and I’m hoping nobody makes a thing about the two of us walking out together.
Thankfully nobody does, but I feel eyes on me. Certainly my grandma’s, and probably other pairs also.
“Where do you want to go?” Brady asks, falling into step beside me.
“Just for a walk. The kitchen was feeling a little small.”
“Was it—”
I shake my head, knowing what he’s getting at before he even has a chance to say it.
“No. That was…” I trail off, thinking of the charged moments in the kitchen, filled with a crackling, confusing electricity. “That was nice.” Such a lame word for how good that felt. “It’s been a long time since I felt something that made me feel even a little bit good inside.”
“That’s sad.”
“I know.” I shrug. “But it’s the truth.”
“You shrugged your shoulders.” Brady lifts his shoulders and drops them, the motion demonstrating the word. “People who really don’t care usually accompany a shoulder shrug with a dismissive expression.” He demonstrates this too, with one side of his mouth pulling back and the slightest shake of his head. “But most people who shrug actually care, and the shrug is a show, an attempt to hide what they’re really feeling.”
Suddenly I feel exposed. I reach for a sweater to pull tighter over my chest, but my fingers touch only bare skin. I don’t have a sweater, only the desire to cover myself. Frowning, I say with more attitude than intended, “Since when are you an expert on reading people? I thought you were a lawyer.”
“Good lawyers learn how to read facial expressions and mannerisms. People might withhold their thoughts, but their behavior often gives it away.”
I come to a halt. Brady stops a second later, his eyes questioning my sudden stop.
Crossing my arms, I ask, “What am I thinking right now?” I’m straining to make my face unreadable, and I wonder if he’s picking up on that, too.
He regards me with a cool expression. “You want me to stop being so invasive.”
My pointer finger lifts into the air and makes little circles. “We have a winner.”
Brady smiles a little and nods, his hands tucking into the pockets of his shorts. “Point taken.”
I nod, happy he’s understood. I feel too raw to be looked at so closely.
We start walking again.
“Can I ask you a question that skims the surface?” Brady asks.
The hope in his voice makes me say yes.
“Why did you hesitate when Charlie asked you about the baking competition?” he asks, wasting no time after I’ve given the go-ahead. “If you were a baker B.S.E., I mean.”
I look at him, my eyebrows drawing together. “B.S.E?”
“Yeah. You know, Before Sweet Escape. B.S.E.”
I smile at his acronym. I like it. “I’m not sure I’m up for running a bakery again. I didn’t have the best experience the first time around.” I don’t elaborate, and he doesn’t push.
