4. Ro
Seven minutes after almost dying at the sight of Brody’s abs, I cycled on my old cruiser along the pristine sidewalks of Tuft Swallow. He walked beside me as the early sun beat down on our backs and the green lawns that lined the asphalt shone with dew. Brody walked faster than I expected for someone with a busted leg.
At least with him striding out, I didn’t wobble too much. If I went too slow, I risked veering into a garden and ending up face-first in a flowerbed. The two times I did get ahead, I swung out onto the road and double-backed in a circle to rejoin him.
“What happened to Daisy One and Two?” he asked.
“Sorry?”
“This is Daisy three.” He moved a hand toward my bike. “What happened to the others?”
I followed his gaze to the sign hanging off the back of my saddle and my cheeks heated. He’d probably taken a hefty eyeful of my ass while he examined it. I’d painted the plaque myself, but I hung back when Brody’s eyes drifted toward it again. My work shorts were high cut, and I couldn’t remember if I’d de-fluffed my thighs this week.
“OG Daisy met a terrible end,” I told him.
“This, I’ve gotta hear.”
Under his blue-eyed gaze, how could I resist? “I was at the medieval fair and got a bit carried away in the bicycle jousting. Daisy ended up wrapped around a lamppost after my trash can lid got tangled in her spokes.”
He huffed a gentle laugh, his brows raising.
“Don’t worry, it’s fine. I put her to good use in the community garden. She’s currently growing chives out of her handlebars.”
Brody grinned at me. “A trash can lid? Chives? Only you, Ro.”
“The lid was part of my weaponry. You know, like a shield.”
He chuckled, and the sound made my insides flip in delight. “Listen, buddy, when someone’s charging at you with a vacuum nozzle, you’re grateful for anything solid. I was just unlucky, and it slipped out of my hands.”
He shook his head, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Okay, point taken. So how about Daisy Two?”
I gave a theatrical sigh. “Losing Daisy Two was a little more traumatic.”
The corners of his eyes did that crinkling thing they did when he smirked. “Dare I ask why?”
“They kidnapped her.”
“What? Kidnapped her? Who?”
A breeze whipped the end of my ponytail into my mouth, and I blew a raspberry to get rid of it. “Coop and a couple of friends played a trick on me. They stole her after a night at the CrowBar. Wrote me a ransom note and everything.” Nights out at the Crow, Tuft Swallow’s only watering hole, often ended in shenanigans.
Brody curled a perfect, fair brow at me. “What did they demand?”
“Three cases of beer, the phone number of one of my friends, and breakfast in bed for a week.”
“For all three of them? Wouldn’t that involve a lot of cooking? A lot of coordination? Did they assign you a schedule for overnight stays? Kind of like a timeshare plan?”
I tried hard to glare at Brody, but his grin had my lips tugging at the corners.
“The breakfast was just for Coop. Anyway, I caught the measles and had to stay in bed for days, so I forgot. I figured Coop would get bored and bring her back.”
“And he didn’t?”
“No. I found her chained up in the branches of a tree two weeks later, covered in rust.”
Brody scoffed. “Did you make her useful as well?”
“Not really. I couldn’t think of a safe way to get her down on my own, so I abandoned her. It’s okay, though. A family of Woodpeckers made a nest in her basket, so the town council declared her a site of ornithological importance. No doubt she’ll be up in that tree until the apocalypse.”
As I circled around him, Brody’s shoulders shook with laughter, straining against his T-shirt. Powerful, solid, and impressive. I sucked in my lower lip. How the hell had he even created them? Surely carrying a wooden stick around for a living didn’t result in the natural equivalent of a suit of armor?
When his shuddering subsided, he ran his hand through his hair and turned his eyes back on me. “I’ve missed you, Ro.”
The softness of his voice and those four simple words kicked my heart up a notch, and I sucked in a breath. Something stirred in the air between us, and I planted my eyes firmly on the road ahead. Could he hear my heart beating from the sidewalk? It was deafening to me.
He drew up closer alongside me, all lemon and mint. “Ro…”
“Flock!” A jolly voice rang out from across the road.
We’d made it into town, and Tuft Swallow was alive with people going about their business. Popping in and out of the shops lining Main Street and swapping gossip on corners.
We both looked up. Wally Hawkshank, one of the oldest residents in town, strode over, his hand outstretched in greeting.
“Flock, son, so good to see you. Heard about the leg. Just wanted to wish you a speedy recovery.” The grizzled old man pumped Brody’s hand like he was drawing water from a standpipe. I stopped and put my toes on the ground to balance my bike.
Brody’s cheeks glowed. “Thanks, man. I’ve got it under control. But I appreciate it.”
“Well, I just wanted to say hello. Let you know we’ve all been rooting for you. I’ll be seeing you around.”
The old man stepped away, and I winked at Brody. “Look at you. We better be careful in case you get mobbed. Maybe you should hire a bodyguard while you’re here.”
Brody flipped a look at me. It was a cross between “I know, right?” and “Don’t mock me.”
I snickered, picking up one pedal with the top of my foot before setting off again.
“Ro…” he said, more quietly this time, and my gut clenched at the gentle roll of my name on his tongue.
“Look! It’s Flock!” came another, younger voice. Some whoops and a couple of howls followed it. A group of school kids that were gathered in the town square rushed over to join us, their backpacks bashing against their spines as they ran.
“Way to go in the cup last year,” said one.
“Didn’t know you were back in town,” said another. “My dad’ll be buzzed. He’s followed you for years.”
“When you heading back to Denver?” asked a third, giving him a solid high-five. “You here to watch the game in Robin Springs?”
They all looked at Brody like he was the second coming, jostling to have their chance to speak to him. Their eyes glowed with adoration. As the kids squabbled to be near him, one pretty young girl fought her way to the front of the group, waving a black Sharpie in her hand.
“Sign my shirt?” she asked, presenting her surprisingly ample chest to him. She batted her eyelashes like a pro. She couldn’t be older than sixteen.
Brody studied her with a cheeky smile. “I think you should turn around, don’t you? I’ll sign the back.” With a dramatic eye-roll, the girl flounced around, sticking her tongue out at a giggling friend. Brody still had the power to break young hearts.
I sucked in a breath, allowing the scent of the spring tulips in the park to wash over me. I loved spring. It was a chance for rebirth, a bit like Brody’s career. He’d been on hiatus with his leg, and now he was ready to return to the big time. If this fan club was anything to go by, he had the full support of the town behind him.
It’d always been this way, though. There wasn’t a day growing up that I hadn’t seen him somewhere, somehow. Or heard people talking about him. The small-town boy done good. He was Tuft Swallow’s answer to Wayne Gretzky. There’d always been posters up in town before his matches in the junior league. And the screenings of his NHL matches in the Crow were always full. He was a titan in our little town. A treasure.
If I was honest, though, I had it as bad as everyone else. I’d stopped filling my Flock scrapbook around the time he left, but my heart still jumped when I saw him on the news or in the paper. Or when Coop talked about him.
The high-pitched giggle of Sharpie girl jarred me out of my thoughts. She was showing off the newly signed back of her school shirt to the crowd. Brody was busy penning his signature onto the caps of a few other boys, and as he leaned down, the girl, full of bravado now, closed in, giving him a peck on the cheek. She blushed fuchsia and ran away to shrieks of delight from her friends.
I grinned. I couldn’t help myself. It was seriously like cycling down the street with Elvis or Harry Styles.
Brody brought his gaze to mine, and the crinkles I adored spread from the corners of his eyes. The girl wasn’t the only one blushing. His cheeks wore a healthy pink glow. As the surrounding gaggle dissipated, I shook my head slowly.
“What?” He bowed his head a little.
“Wow. It’s like taking a puppy for a walk. You can’t go five feet without someone stopping to pet you. Do you think we’ll make it to the Easy Swallow before dusk?”
His chuckle carried in the crisp air around us. “Are you jealous? Would you like to tickle my tummy, Ro? I might growl, but I promise I won’t bite.”
I ran my eyes over his sexy smirk and the dimple on his cheek. Damn him and his teasing. He wouldn’t bite, huh? Well, wasn’t that a pity? Not that I subscribed to anything kinky, but allowing Brody Flockhart to bite me might just be the exception.