It made Brodie feel weak. And he hated feeling weak. It reminded him of life under his dad’s roof. The feeling that he wasn’t good enough, couldn’t cut it, didn’t have the backbone to do an honest day’s work. He imagined Emmett walking in now, saying, “Someone hands you even an ounce of responsibility and you crumble. Typical.” His reflection in the pageant dress-up only seemed to make him more the fool.
So, he found himself saying, “Stay,” louder this time, with more conviction.
Maeve tipped her head uncertainly, brows raised. “Are you sure, Brodie?”
Zoey dared to wipe her eyes and smile hopefully.
“Of course,” he replied. “It’s not every day Aunt Eleanor’s Miss America outfits see the light of day. Here—” He took his tiara off and chucked it across the room to Maeve. “You’re woefully underdressed.”
ChapterFifteen
Zoey was tucked up in clean cream sheets, under plaid blankets. “I’ve had the best day,” she said.
Brodie was walking past the doorway and paused when he heard her say it. Now that she was going to bed—and he wasn’t having to perform, could sit down and finally have a drink—he saw it all as much sweeter.
He listened as Maeve said, “Good, I’m glad. Now go to sleep because you’re really tired.”
He peered in without them seeing and saw Maeve kiss her on the forehead and, stroking her hair back, say, “Call me if you need anything.” Then she turned the sidelight off and started toward the door.
Brodie backed away so she wouldn’t catch him listening.
Zoey said, “Mom?”
“Yeah.”
“He could be your boyfriend.”
Brodie bit down on a smile. It was cute. The kid was persistent.
He heard Maeve laugh. “No, Zo, he couldn’t.”
Brodie cocked his head and frowned at how easily she dismissed the idea. He caught his reflection in an old gilt mirror on the wall. Why not? What was wrong with him? He knew he was a better-than-average-looking guy, women flocked to him.
Zoey voiced his question for him. “Why not?”
Maeve paused.
He thought suddenly that she was going to tell her that he was her dad and he felt his heart almost stop, terror chase up his spine. How flippant he’d been when he’d told Maeve to tell her. Now he realized he was in no way ready for that revelation. Maeve of course didn’t say anything other than, “Because he’s just a friend.”
And Brodie felt his heart start up again.
He went and sat outside on the Adirondack chair, ankle crossed over his knee, looking out at the last embers of the sun rippling over the water. Thought of Maeve referring to him as a friend. It made him chuckle that she’d been forced to say it because he knew he was someone who wouldn’t normally register on her friendship radar. He imagined her friends sat around discussing literature and analyzing complex medical dilemmas. He knew she thought he was flighty. But she wasn’t someone he would usually align himself with. His bunch of friends were carefree and fun-loving, ring one of them up and suggest an impromptu trip to the Alps or Long Island and they were there. When any of them peeled off into the married-with-kids bracket he tended to wave them off with a wry look of pity. Heimagined them watching, dumbfounded, as he played happy families at the cabin.
Maeve came out onto the deck, her hair tied haphazardly on top of her head, wearing gray tracksuit bottoms and the yellow T-shirt. “That’s a crazy view,” she said.
He noticed she made no effort to dress up. Not that he would have expected her to, it just wasn’t what he was used to. Usually, there would be skin-tight leggings or a flash of bare midriff. But it wasn’t just that she didn’t dress to impress, it was that she wore things he had an active dislike for, like Birkenstocks—with their round toes like ugly mushrooms—worn with white sports socks. She didn’t seem to care what he thought of how she looked, which, he had to admit, was an anomaly in the women he met. Part of him wondered if she was doing it deliberately to put him off, but that felt too contrived for someone like Maeve. There was a possibility sheactuallydidn’t care what he thought.
He gestured for her to sit in the other Adirondack. “Do you want a drink?” He’d brought out the champagne and a couple of glasses. She laughed when she saw them, and he knew she was mocking his choice of beverage. Most women Brodie knew loved a glass of champagne in a mountain cabin.
“That would be lovely, thank you.” She sat down in the seat next to him, sitting back but definitely not relaxed.
The bubbles fizzed over the edge of the glass and ran down the side over his hand. He shook the liquid off as he handed her the glass. “Sorry, I can usually pour better than that.”
“It’s fine. I don’t usually drink champagne and watch the sunset.”
He wondered then if she hadn’t been mocking him, rather had been momentarily taken aback by the decadence.
She sipped her drink. Brodie sipped his. “You like it?” he asked, knowing that it was a loaded question.
