Brodie laughed along, but as he stood there, the notion that his dad had actually taken the comment seriously enough to mention it to John-Luke made him suddenly want to defend the idea. “Though I am interested in the vines,” he said. “I own a vineyard in Napa.”
John-Luke chuckled. “We’re small fry compared to that, Brodie.” The older man’s eyes twinkled at the idea of someone like Brodie tending his ancient orchard.
Again, Brodie laughed along, but in his mind he suddenly saw his life ahead of him split in two. On one side was him on his yacht, bobbing in the waves, or careening down off-piste slopes in Switzerland with a bit of tinsel round his neck, waltzing in and out of his vineyard whenever he felt like it. And on the other side, he was up a ladder pruning apple trees and tending a tiny plot of vines, picking Zoey up from school at three on the dot every day, maybe finally breaking down Maeve’s barriers and getting her to have dinner with him, go on a date even, but to what end? He never looked to the future, and suddenly it dawned on him that he was currently chipping away at something that he was yet to envisage. Yes, he was attracted to Maeve. Yes, she made him laugh. Yes, she challenged him to try harder. But he couldn’t see her fitting in with his life, with the St. Moritz ski crowd, for example. Or maybe that was unfair. Maybe he just wouldn’t want to inflict his skiing buddies on her and Zoey. It all suddenly seemed very juvenile with Maeve there watching. If he went skiing with Maeve and Zoey, he’d want fondues and mulled wine in a little alpine chalet. Evening sledding, lit with twinkling lights, plaid blankets and thick hot chocolate round a roaring fire. Maybe if he carried on down the path he was currently on, he wouldn’t just be going around to Maeve’s house at Christmas in a novelty holiday sweater but he’d be there every day.
Every. Single. Day.
Brodie swallowed down an almost suffocating panic at the idea, felt his throat close and his palms sweat, but before he could think much more about it, his dad was there, walking over with his own rosette for the Horse Showmanship, shaking John-Luke’s hand, reaching up to hand Martha a soda that she’d obviously asked him to go and get for her.
John-Luke said, “Brodie doesn’t want my orchard, Emmett.”
Brodie winced, feeling immediately his dad’s judgment.
Emmett’s only reaction was a raise of a brow but it was enough to shrink Brodie down to size. For a second, he even wondered if his dad had told John-Luke he might be in the market for the orchard just for this moment, to prove that Brodie would never have the staying power to make such a move.
He thought of Maeve saying that maybe he made his dad feel like a fool, that it was pride that provoked him to say certain things, to cut Brodie down to size. He tried to stay calm and rational, but he was already too on edge and couldn’t help himself reverting to type. Itching to defy his dad, to provoke for the sake of provocation. He shrugged a shoulder, a smirk on his lips, and said casually, “I just don’t think apples are my thing.”
And just as Zoey came skipping back over, his dad scoffed, like Brodie was a child himself, and muttered, “Might be about time you made up your mind whatyour thingis.”
In that moment, Brodie thought there might have been many times when his dad said stuff because of pride, but he knew deep down inside that this wasn’t one of those times. That was a look, father to father, questioning whether Brodie had it in him to step up.
ChapterThirty-Five
Maeve lay in bed thinking about the previous day at the fair. Dancing with Brodie in front of everyone, Old Mr. Zimmerman encouraging her to let her hair down and have some fun. It made her roll her eyes up at the ceiling. Then she remembered the feeling of being pressed so close to Brodie, his hand wrapped around hers, the angle of his jaw as she looked up at him, the feel of his laugh vibrating through her chest. She pulled the quilt up over her head to try and hide from both the tingling excitement and the cringing mortification at having been watched by the Carters and Zoey.
She took a calming breath and let the quilt come down a fraction so she could see again, and looked up at the ceiling rose as she remembered him giving them a ride home. It made her wonder if Martha had planned the offer of a ride to the fair for exactly that reason.
Brodie had walked them up the path to her front door. Zoey ran off inside to display her third-place rosette in her bedroom, and Maeve said, “I think she had a great day.”
Brodie leaned against the veranda post and with a tilt of his head, said, “See, you gotta love the fair.”
Then there was a pause, both awkward and expectant, hanging between them like ripe fruit.
Maeve found herself suddenly shy, smiling but trying not to. She glanced back into the house and, thinking that it suddenly looked a little dark and lonely compared to the zinging, almost unbearable tension out there on the veranda, found herself saying, “Did you want to come in for a cup of coffee or something?”
Brodie seemed uncharacteristically hesitant at the suggestion, which made her say, “You don’t have to!”
As quickly as she’d glimpsed it, the reticence vanished, and she wondered if she’d just been paranoid as she watched the corner of Brodie’s mouth tip up and he said, “I appreciate the offer but—” he paused, with a slow smile “—Iwouldn’t want you to think I had a reputation.”
Maeve bit her lip, looked down at the scuffed wooden floor and smiled at the shared joke, aware however of an underlying shiver of disappointment.
Then Brodie had reached forward, lifted her hand and kissed the back of it, looking up as he did, back to his normal flirtatious self. “Goodnight, Maeve.”
When he’d let go, she could still feel his lips on her skin. “Goodnight, Brodie.”
Now, as she lay in bed, Maeve caught herself grinning like an idiot. She got up, shaking her head at herself in despair but not without stealing a glance at the back of her hand, running her thumb over the skin.
Zoey was still snoring. Brodie was coming to take her to a basketball game. Maeve had to be in work in an hour and a half.
She’d had a shower, was changed and putting the coffee on when she checked her phone.
There was message after message, piling up from all her friends, people she hadn’t spoken to in years, including moms at Zoey’s school. There was one from Janette Rogers that just read,OMG, Maeve!with a shocked-face emoji and a link to a gossip website.
Maeve hardly dared let her thumb press on the link. Her skin was on fire, her mind racing. She felt the shot of adrenaline as the story loaded and then a sudden cold shiver at the picture itself and the headline:
PLAIN JANE SNARES BRODIE CARTER WITHLOVECHILD!
Like a fortress locking down, she felt every barrier she had click firmly into place.
