Zoey burst back in and said, “You want to playMario Kart?”
“Ialwayswant to playMario Kart,” Brodie replied, getting up and following Zoey into the living room, just one amused backward glance at Maeve.
Maeve blew out a breath and slumped against the kitchen counter. She looked at the remains of her pie and, torn between wanting to throw it in the bin and have a taste of it, she got a fork and scooped up some of the sweet apple and sugared crust. It wasn’t half bad, maybe Brodie had been impressed, she thought, then as quickly, frowning at herself, she muttered, “Get a grip, Maeve.”
ChapterTwenty-Nine
Brodie came back the following afternoon and they all went to the park. Zoey walking between them, holding both their hands. Maeve glanced at the connection, loving it, hating it, fearing it. She found herself looking round self-consciously and warily for anyone watching, waiting to take a picture. She feared it all becoming bigger than the three of them, whatever Brodie said to the contrary.
She could still see so clearly Zoey’s face when she’d told her, before the river accident, that Brodie was leaving, that his lifestyle was calling him away, her daughter’s heartbreaking crumple into tears. But now they were all playing ball and she forgot about it, was back in the moment, dodging Brodie’s tackle, batting him away, their skin glistening with sweat, competitive, laughing, too close. Pausing to take a step back, relieved to watch as he picked Zoey up so she could score a basket. Panting on the sideline and sharing a bottle of water. Internally flinching with awareness when his hand touched hers as he took it from her. Far too aware every time his eyes met hers and pulled his well-practiced, slow, crooked smile.
This isn’t real, she had to keep reminding herself. It was the honeymoon period before real life intervened.
Then they went home and, of course Zoey insisted they playMario Kartagain, but that time Brodie had to have time penalties because he was too good. “Weren’t you quite good at this?” he said, eyes alight, and Maeve knew he was talking about their night together—had assumed he’d forgotten. She had visions of his hotel room with his Nintendo Switch connected to the TV. Remembered his mouth dropping down to hers, his fingers gently tucking her hair behind her ear, his palm cool against her back. Her skin got hot again. Zoey said, “Mom, you crashed out!” She looked at the screen and saw poor Princess Peach overturned on the tarmac. Brodie smiling slyly next to her as his Mario cruised over the finish line.
When Maeve made dinner, Brodie and Zoey went out the back and ran races. She watched them out of the kitchen window and had visions of him forever in her backyard, all sweaty and laughing. She would never be able to relax.
When Zoey ate dinner, Brodie asked her questions about school and boys she fancied, which made Zoey pull faces of horror.
Later, they all made name bracelets. “Who’s yours for?” Zoey asked, leaning over the table to look at which letters Brodie had threaded onto his bracelet. Then she said delightedly, “Mom, Brodie’s made one for you!”
Maeve looked up from her own—which had Zoey’s name on it—and saw Brodie holding up a bracelet with Maeve spelt out with two little stars on either side. “Oh, lovely, thanks,” she said, aware of Zoey grinning widely beside him.
“Put it on!” Zoey pleaded, and Maeve found herself reluctantly holding her arm out for Brodie to tie the bracelet on her wrist. She knew she was blushing and hated it.
Brodie, however, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the whole process. “There you go,” he said, tying the knot tight. “Looks great.”
Maeve couldn’t cope with the attention—the two of them grinning at her with their matching dimples. “Okay, it’s bedtime,” she said, standing up.
“Can Brodie read my story?”
“He probably has to?—”
“I’d love to.” Brodie cut her off.
Maeve wondered if she’d ever be able to relax in her house again.
When Zoey had cleaned her teeth and got into her pajamas, Brodie came upstairs and said, “So what are we reading?”
Zoey reached up to her bookshelf and her Harry Potter collection. “I thought we could read number five—from where you’ve got up to.”
It was such a sweet gesture that Maeve found herself pausing in the doorway to watch as Brodie took the book and said, “Great idea!”
Zoey climbed under the covers and he sat down on the rocking chair beside the bed. But he didn’t open the book straight away, instead he looked at the cover for a second, then, after a moment’s thought, said, “Zoey, I’ve got a confession to make.”
Maeve froze. Was he leaving again? Please don’t let him leave. Even though moments ago all she wanted was for him to leave, she only meant leave the house. She almost crossed her fingers. Please don’t let her down.
He swallowed and looked up, Zoey watching with her wide, wary eyes. “I’m not a Gryffindor.”
Maeve almost collapsed against the doorframe with relief.
He looked down again, took another moment’s pause before, clearly bracing himself, added, “I’m a Hufflepuff.”
Zoey clutched the quilt for a second then, hands relaxing, shoulders dropping, she said, “Me, too.”
Brodie flinched in surprise. “What?!” He shot a look at Maeve who nodded.
He turned back to Zoey, open-mouthed, then to Maeve again. “But you—” He seemed to be recalling his teasing of her being a Ravenclaw. The two of them united in their superior Gryffindorness. She watched the gradual softening of his expression as he realized that she had simply done it for them, for him and Zoey to unite.
