“I’m not saying that’s definitely what it is, but it’s a possibility. Or at least, it might be part of the reason.” She shrugged. “Pride’s a very powerful thing. It’s hard to admit our mistakes.”
Brodie nodded again, then he nudged her on the shoulder and said, “Do you think you make your parents feel foolish?”
“All the time,” she replied with a smile that told him it was an out-and-out lie. “I wish I did think that way. I still feel their judgment in everything. I worry sometimes that everything I do is trying to prove I’m not a failure.” She paused, running her hand through her hair, surprising herself that she was saying this much to him, but there was that look again like he wanted to hear what she had to say, like he was genuinely interested in her. “They made the thing I love the most—Zoey—out to be my biggest failing. And I look at her and I struggle to see how that could be true.”
“If Zoey’s your biggest failing, then believe me, you’re doing more than okay!”
Again, he caught her off-guard with his sincerity. She smiled more bashfully than she thought she was capable of, shy under his praise.
Brodie seemed surprised himself by the genuineness of her reaction. Without seeming to think about it, he reached up and very gently swept a lock of hair that had fallen over her eye out the way. “I think your parents are fools.”
Maeve quickly re-tucked her hair, hyperaware of where his fingers had touched her skin. “Well, maybe your dad is, too,” she said, trying to gloss over the moment. “Maybe he’s more embarrassed than he is angry.”
“Maybe.” Brodie sat up straighter, rolled his shoulders back. “See, this is what I need—someone sensible in my life.”
“Sensible?” Maeve said it before she could think about it. “That’s like the worst thing!”
“No, it’s not!” Brodie frowned, almost perplexed. “Sensible is great. It’s a compliment. Sensible and beautiful and—” He stopped.
There was that tension again, that crackle.
The air between them changed. Suddenly heavy and laden. She felt like time stilled. The noises outside receded. She could just hear her breathing, feel their hands side by side on the couch, almost touching. The sunlight streaming in through the window.
This time she couldn’t tear her gaze away, found herself caught by the realization—the hope—that he was going to lean in. Hewasleaning in, just a fraction at a time, his fingers hooking over hers on the couch. She swallowed. Felt the touch ricochet like a shock. But already his other hand came round, slipping under her hair, cupping the back of her head, drawing her closer. Every touch igniting something inside her that had been waiting. And she found she wanted him to do it, wanted to be close enough to feel the brush of his lips, the smell of his skin, the kiss, the release of everything bubbling under between them. She could feel the relief of giving into the moment, wrapping her hands round his neck, letting herself be pulled closer, tighter, feel in the smile of victory on his lips as he kissed her, remember the crackle and the flame of their connection. Of that night. Of letting go completely.
Her eyes drifted closed, her hand reached to his shoulder, the softness of his shirt, her thumb brushing the bare skin at his neck, her stomach knotting, reason abandoned for just that millisecond to have this one beautiful moment?—
Reason.The word immediately made her rationality kick in. Her sensibleness drew her back, made her say, “We should go downstairs, join the others.”
“Yep.” Brodie dropped his hand in an instant. His eyes shone with mischief as he nodded, though, seeing exactly what was warring inside her.
Maeve’s heart was in meltdown. Her legs carried her on autopilot. She feared she looked as disheveled and ragged as she felt. This wasnother.
When they got to the bottom of the staircase, walking through the downstairs living room to the deck, Brodie said, super casual, in a way only Brodie could, “Do you think you might want to have dinner with me sometime?”
Maeve stopped up short in shock at the question. “No,” she replied quickly. Then, “I mean, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Brodie put his hands in his pockets, strolling slowly, cool as ever, to the open doors. “Why not? What’s the worst that can happen?”
“Zoey gets hurt.”
He stopped and turned to face her, his eyes glinting playfully. “Zoey’s not coming for dinner.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Okay, take Zoey out of it,” he said. “She’s separate, ring-fenced. You’re stuck with me on that count. What then?”
I might get hurt.
Maeve knew the answer was a no however much her irrational mind might want to say yes, however hard he tried to persuade her.
“I’m not right for you, Brodie. Look at me.” She pointed down to her dress that was somehow crumpled already and her scuffed boots. “I’m scruffy, my house is a mess, I’m busy all the time. I don’t fit your lifestyle. Stop doing that face!”
“What face?”
“That one! That smug look, like everything I’m saying is just making you feel better.”
“It’s just my normal face,” he laughed.
