“Okay, I have to go,” Maeve said, kissing Zoey and throwing Brodie another warning glare. “Have fun.” Then she left before she could change her mind. But once outside, she glanced back at the cozy, low-lit living room, the film paused and ready on the TV, and knew this was the start. Good or bad.
She looked up at the sky, offering a silent plea:please don’t let him break her heart.
Then she caught sight of Brodie, watching her watching them, his eyes creasing, and a grin spreading wide when she noticed. He raised a hand in a casual wave. Maeve’s stomach tightened at the ease of it all for him, all chocolate-box handsome, sprawled on the couch, prodding Zoey in the ribs to wave, too. Brodie Carter was in her living room. She waved back, then turned quickly away, refusing to even contemplate what his presence might do to her own heart.
ChapterEleven
The birds were singing when Maeve came home. Finches and sparrows clung to the feeder that her grandma had hung in the aspen tree. She had sat with Zoey as a toddler pointing out all the tiny birds that relied on it. Maeve kept it topped up in her grandma’s memory and Zoey could name every bird species that fed from it. Now, however, the birds just served as a reminder that it was morning already and she hadn’t had any sleep.
The house was silent when she walked in. She’d let Brodie know as soon as she found out herself that she wasn’t going to make it back till morning and given him Carole’s number but he’d texted back a thumbs-up emoji and said all was good, he could stay.
Maeve felt weird about the idea of him being in her house. His zippy little car parked outside. His shoes in the corridor.
She peered into the living room to see Zoey asleep on one couch under her comforter and Brodie asleep on the other, tucked up under her grandma’s quilt that usually lived on the back of the couch. She paused in the doorway watching them sleep. Brodie on his back, legs too long for the space so his feet poked out the end. Zoey curled up like a mouse, all her stuffed animals positioned around her. Maeve imagined the scene, the total lack of bargaining that would be needed for Brodie to allow her to decamp downstairs. Zoey would have loved it.
Brodie opened one eye as if he could sense Maeve in the room. Then both eyes. Then he stretched and said, “What time is it?”
“Seven,” Maeve replied, feeling a strange intimacy at the fact he was waking up, stretching in front of her, his hair unkempt. He sat up and rubbed his face.
The night they had spent together eight years ago, he’d been up and dressed when she’d woken up. All traces of the Autumn Falls boy were gone and the famous person back in place. “Gotta go to work,” he’d said, like he was off to the office. With a quick peck on the forehead, he’d left, saying, “Enjoy the room service.” She’d gathered up her belongings and fled, couldn’t imagine anything more humiliating than sitting around eating eggs Benedict as a consolation prize.
She said, “Sorry it took so long.”
He shook his head. “Not a problem.” He yawned again. “I slept pretty well, actually.”
Maeve never slept well at other people’s houses. Brodie was obviously one of those people who could sleep anywhere, or, she thought wryly, had a lot of practice.
“Mom!” Zoey woke up. “Brodie let me sleep on the couch!” Her tone was gleeful.
“So I see.” Maeve raised a brow in mock-admonishment at her daughter, as they both knew it wasn’t really allowed.
Brodie frowned. “You said you always do it!”
Zoey bit down on a guilty grin.
Maeve said, “You were very lucky.” Then, “Now go and get ready for school and I’ll make you breakfast.”
After much cajoling, Zoey gathered up all her plushies and went upstairs to change.
Brodie followed Maeve into the kitchen. He’d slept in his jeans and a T-shirt. He watched her putting toast in the toaster and said, “Have you slept at all?”
She scooped coffee into the machine. “No.”
He pulled out a chair. “Aren’t you exhausted?”
“Yes.” She turned round to face him. “Toast or cereal?”
He shook his head. “I don’t really eat breakfast. Just a coffee. Do you want me to do it?”
She didn’t even pause, so unused to having another adult in the house to help. “No, it’s fine, thanks.”
Brodie sat down at the table. “Is this what it’s always like?”
She didn’t know how to answer. Couldn’t work out if it was a judgment. Didn’t want him to think that she couldn’t cope. “Not always. It’s fine,” she said, flicking on the coffee machine. “I’m used to it.” But it came out more defensively than she’d intended.
She felt his eyes on her back as she got the peanut butter from the cupboard and spread it on the toast.
“I want to tell her.”
