Chapter 14
fourteen
MAC
Our February book club meeting was bustling when I arrived. Becca was hosting at the homestead that overlooked Clark land and Grandpappy’s below.
The house had originally been my great-grandfather William’s. When he’d moved to an assisted-living facility after a difficult dementia diagnosis, he’d asked my cousin Will to take over the responsibility and upkeep of the house. Will had done some renovations here and there throughout the years, and even more now that Becca was in the picture.
The kitchen had been updated months ago, and that was where everyone was now, gathered around the large central island where Becca had arranged a giant charcuterie spread directly onto the surface. It looked like a work of art, with small dishes of jams, dips, and spreads nestled in among fruit, slices of cheese, neatly arranged crackers, and flowers made out of salami and prosciutto. It was honestly too beautiful to eat, but everyone looked to be giving it their best effort.
I greeted Becca with a big hug, then said hello to Chloe and her friend Andie. Magdaline was there from Apollo’s restaurant, along with my sister, Bonnie. Candace and Joan Judd were passing out mimosas to everyone. My eyes snagged on Larry sitting at the end of the island on a tall stool. She was a slash of dark in an otherwise bright kitchen, and her mood matched her goth-pixie attire .
Larry had been off for the last couple of weeks. We still saw each other at work, but my tasks kept me mostly in the office. We were officially in the off-season now. There was no corn maze or pumpkin patch or tree lot to staff. But Grandpappy’s was still open to the public for hayrides and apple-cannon shooting, and for any visitors to the General Store or the Bake Shop.
Larry and I saw less and less of each other these days. It probably didn’t help that I’d been spending most of my free time with Brady. But when my cousin and I did manage to hang out at family dinners at Aunt Maggie’s or trivia night, she’d been reserved, not her usual sassy self.
Things had been different since that bonfire last month, and I wasn’t sure what was going on. She’d yet to open up about whatever was troubling her. The shift in her mood had me concerned. Larry hadn’t confided in me, and the longer she kept dealing with whatever it was on her own, the more worried I became.
I made my way to her now, dragging over a nearby stool and plucking the cracker out of her outstretched hand. “Hey, cousin.”
“Hi, Mac,” Larry said, tone flat. “You’re late.”
“I wanted to run home and get changed after closing,” I said without meeting her eyes. Brady had stopped by my office after work, and things had gotten a little, ah, messy. Good messy. But I’d needed to run home for a new shirt. And underwear. I bit down on my grin, thinking about how I’d see him later when we finished up our girl dinner and monthly book discussion.
Candace reached between us, passing Laramie a champagne flute. “Hey, Mac, would you like a mimosa? We’ve got orange, cranberry, and apple.”
I smiled, genuinely happy to see Brady’s sister. “Hi, Candace. Yeah, apple would be great.”
She called over her shoulder. “Joanie, another apple pie mimosa.”
“Coming up,” Joan replied, then turned to make my drink. I watched as she confidently went to work mixing sparkling wine and fresh-pressed apple cider before draping a curling apple peel on the side of the glass and carefully grating a cinnamon stick with a piece of kitchen equipment I’d never used before.
Brady’s sisters were an interesting pair. Candace was bubbly and fun, while Joan was stoic and reserved. Joan was only six years older than me, but somehow she’d always seemed like the adultiest adult in any room. She didn’t smile often and laughed even less. But she was one hell of a farmer and would do anything for her family. I’d watched her represent Judd’s Orchard over the years and answer any call put out into the community for volunteers or donations.
It was funny to hear Candace call her “Joanie.” Joan didn’t have the sort of attitude or facial expressions that invited nicknames, but she was here interacting with all of us nonetheless. She kept quiet during book club for the most part, but she was polite and seemed to really listen when people talked. I’d caught her nodding along when Bonnie made a good point or when Becca noted a touching quote from whatever we were reading.
Joan wasn’t the sort of person you could just win over with baseless charm. For some reason, I wanted to earn her respect. Hell, I thought I might want to be her when I grew up.
“Here you go,” Candace said brightly, placing the drink at my elbow.
“Thank you,” I said. “Both of you.”
Candace smiled and moved down to Magdaline to get her order. Joan nodded at me and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It was brown, shot through with a healthy amount of silver. She’d started going gray in her twenties, and I loved that she’d embraced it. It suited her.
Ten minutes later, once the charcuterie spread was demolished, we moved the meeting to the living room. There was more furniture now than there had been the last time I’d visited, and a large area rug really pulled the room together.
We discussed this month’s book for the next hour, but I noticed Larry stayed quiet at my side, wedged into the corner of the large sectional sofa. She was usually the first to voice her opinion or call out the miscommunication trope or an unnecessary third-act breakup. But today she mostly nodded along to what everyone else said. Becca tried several times to draw her into the conversation but eventually gave up when Larry persisted in one-word replies.
My worry grew as the evening progressed, and when everyone stood to gather their jackets and bags, I hung back, hoping I could get my cousin alone so we could talk.
I hugged my sister goodbye and promised to grab dinner with her sometime this week, and as I turned back to find Larry, I saw her lingering in the living room with Becca.
The typically cheerful woman wore a serious face as she spoke, and Larry nodded along to whatever she was saying. Then Becca wrapped her in a tight hug.
When they finally broke apart, Becca met my gaze and approached. She didn’t say anything, just smiled and squeezed my arm as she passed to say her goodbyes to the remainder of her guests.
The concern that had been developing became fully formed after I witnessed their exchange. What did Becca know about my cousin? And why weren’t they telling me?
I beelined straight for Larry, wide-eyed and a little frantic. “Are you sick? Are you dying? What is going on?”
Larry’s sullen expression turned to one of surprise. “What? No, I’m not dying. What the hell? Why would you think that?”
“Because,” I accused, “you’ve been off for a while. Not talking to me and not being yourself. You’re too quiet. Too reserved. And then I see Becca over here comforting you. If I were dying, I’d want Becca to hug me too.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Larry muttered with an eye roll, completely ignoring my panic. “Come on. Let’s go talk in the Jeep.”
We grabbed our coats and made our way to my vehicle. I watched my cousin warily while I turned on the engine and cranked up the heat.
“Well?” I prompted, annoyed with how high my voice came out but too worried to care.
Larry rubbed her hands together in front of the vent before sighing. “I’m not dying, Mac. I’m perfectly healthy. I’ve just been going through some things.”
“What things?”
“I ...” She paused, searching the windshield and the trees beyond for words or courage, I didn’t know what. “I’m bi.”
I blinked, waiting for her to finish her sentence. When she didn’t, I asked, “Bi what? ”
Finally, she turned to look at me. “Bisexual, Mac. I am bisexual. I am attracted to both men and women.”
My mind went fuzzy like static between stations. I thought about Larry dating Edgar Matthews in the eighth grade and losing her virginity senior year to Justin Crabtree. I thought about the numerous dick jokes over the years and the way she was obsessed with Henry Cavill and his muscles.
“Oh,” I managed. Then I thought about how Larry had been acting recently, how she’d been awkward with Kayla and needed backup for the bonfire when her friend had brought a guy with her. “ Oh ,” I repeated.
“Yeah,” Larry breathed, looking away.
“Wait.” I hurried to reassure her. “I don’t care about that, Larry. I mean, I do care, but not, like, to judge you or something. You can love whoever you want to love, and I’m going to keep right on loving you. I just mean, what happened to make you so unhappy lately? Did something go down with Kayla?”
I wasn’t lying or just trying to tell Larry what she wanted to hear. She was my family, my best friend. All I wanted was for her to be happy. Was I surprised? Sure. Did it change the way I loved my cousin? Not in the least. I was more curious than anything. And , a small but peevish part of me whispered, disappointed she hadn’t told me sooner .
Larry sighed with such force that the windshield fogged. “No. Kayla doesn’t know.”
“You’ve never thought about telling her?”
She flopped back against the headrest. “I have thought about it. I want to. I’m just scared. I don’t want to lose my best friend because I accidentally fell in love with her.”
“What if she feels the same?”
Head still tipped back, she looked over at me. “She doesn’t. Or she wouldn’t be hooking up with randoms at Magnolia every week.”
I pivoted in my seat to face my cousin. “Maybe it’s like a multiple-choice test, and Kayla thinks she has to pick A, B, or C without knowing that you’re even an option. Maybe she just hasn’t considered it because she doesn’t know this part of you. Because you’ve been hiding it your whole life.” I worked hard to keep the petty accusation out of my tone, but Larry caught it and gave me a pained look.
“Fuck,” I muttered, voice tight. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. This is not about me. I just”—sudden emotion made my nose sting—“hate the thought of you going through this alone.”
“Mac—”
“I would have been there for you. I love you, okay? All I want is for you to be happy. If that’s with a man or a woman or Kayla or whoever. I want it for you.”
Larry smiled, watery and barely there, then she reached for my hand. “I’d like to tell you I have it all figured out. That I’m confident and know exactly who I am. But I don’t.”
I nodded because that made sense. I figured most people didn’t know what the fuck they were doing. I sure didn’t have my life figured out.
After a long moment, I squeezed her hand and asked quietly, “What’s it like? Being with a woman.”
Larry did something I didn’t think I’d seen since our third-grade talent show when her skirt had gotten stuck in her underwear on stage. She blushed a violent red that I could see even in the cool glow of the dashboard lights. “I don’t know,” she eventually mumbled.
I frowned. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I’ve never been with one. I just know I’m attracted to them. We live in this tiny-ass town. And there’s only ever been the way I feel about ...”
“Oh. Well, maybe you should go out and see what it’s all about. We could go to Asheville or Charlotte, even. You could try to meet someone. I could be your wingwoman.”
Larry smiled. “I appreciate you offering. But I don’t think I’m ready for that.”
“Okay,” I assured her. “It’s up to you, but I’m here for you whenever you’re ready.”
“Thanks, Mac. And for the record, I wasn’t scared to tell you because I thought you wouldn’t support me. I just—I didn’t know how. Becca found out by accident. I was drunk and rambling, and she guessed. Anyway, I just wanted you to know.”
I nodded, the petty, shameful part of me slightly relieved to know that she hadn’t intended to reveal the truth to Becca. “Thank you for telling me. And I won’t say anything to anyone. This is your decision—when and who you let know you.”
“I love you, MacKenzie Eloise.”
Smiling, I said, “I love you too, Laramie Annabeth.”
Time passed quick and easy from the chill of February into the dampness of March, the way anything comfortable does. Like floating warm and lazy in the middle of the lake, time drifted away from me.
One minute, Brady and I were rushing to get each other’s clothes off, and then we were wading into calmer waters. He cooked dinner for me and left notes on the windshield of the Jeep. He texted me throughout the day, making me laugh, and showed up at my office in the afternoon, making me smile in a variety of ways.
If we didn’t have the benefit of secrecy keeping us in a tidy box, I would have said I was in a relationship, dating the boy next door. But all I had to do was recall the agreement we’d made, how Brady had required we keep this thing to ourselves. It was easier then to remember we were just having fun, fooling around and playing out some covert mission to the tune of our inexplicable attraction and lust-addled bodies.
When the end of March brought my birthday, Brady showed up on my doorstep one Friday evening with two sacks full of groceries and a gift bag with sparkly tissue paper.
“What are you doing?” I asked in surprise as he shuffled by me and into the kitchen.
“Making your birthday dinner,” he replied easily while divesting himself of his burdens.
My stomach fluttered, but it was probably just in anticipation of Brady’s cooking. He really knew his way around the kitchen. I ignored the swoopy sensation in my middle and said, “I didn’t tell you it was my birthday.”
Brady just rolled his eyes. “I’ve known you since preschool, MacGyver. Of course I know when your birthday is. I’ve had so many of Maggie’s cupcakes during classroom celebrations that I can practically taste them in my sleep.”
“It wasn’t that many. I’m only twenty-eight, you jackass.”
“Twenty-nine,” he corrected with a dimple-popping grin.
Then he snagged the gift bag off the counter and said, “Close your eyes.”
“Why?” I narrowed them instead.
“Good girls have to follow directions if they want their presents.”
“I think we both know I’m not a good girl.”
He bit his lip briefly, distracting me, before replying, “Oh, sometimes you are a very good girl.”
Heat blazed a path through my middle, and I cursed the way my body still seemed unsure how to handle this inconvenient attraction. In all these months, it hadn’t worn away or gotten easier to ignore. But I closed my eyes like he asked rather than jump him in the kitchen.
I heard the tissue paper rustle and smiled to myself, realizing he was opening my own damn present. Something soft and warm settled around my shoulders before Brady gently scooped my hair out of the way and wrapped it around my neck.
“Okay, you can open them.”
I blinked, finding him watching me, more serious-faced than usual.
Looking down, I saw that there was a red knitted scarf draped around me. The yarn was variegated and soft between my fingers, and the scarf was long enough to loop around my neck twice.
“Do you like it?” Brady asked shyly, hands worrying the tasseled ends.
I nodded, touched by his thoughtful gesture. This wasn’t the same as him grabbing lunch and surprising me in my office or leaving a candy bar in my Jeep because he knew I was on my period and craved chocolate like crazy .
This was something else.
“Thank you,” I said, meaning it. Then I smirked. “Bet you’ve been dying to do this.”
“What? Ensure you dress weather appropriate?”
I shook my head. “No, strangle me and dispose of the body.”
He laughed, bright and happy—and if I had to guess, a touch relieved. Then he used the ends of the scarf to tug me forward, off-balance and into his arms.
I hugged him hard, laughing too. “Thank you. I love it,” I repeated.
“Happy birthday,” he murmured into the sensitive skin below my ear, making me shiver.
When we separated, Brady went back to his grocery bags, unloading ingredients for what would be an undoubtedly tasty dinner.
I examined the scarf more closely, noting the tidy knitted rows. “This is really pretty. Did your mom knit this?”
“Nope,” he said absently, grabbing a pot out of a cabinet and moving to fill it with water.
That weird hollowed-out feeling in my gut returned as my fingers smoothed over the soft yarn. “Brady, did you knit this scarf?”
He grinned at me over his shoulder.
I straightened, alarmed. “Shut up. You did not.”
“I did,” he confirmed easily, rooting around until he found a box of pasta in the mess of items on the countertop.
“You can’t be serious.” He’d made this for me ? “Am I being Punk’d ?”
“Pretty sure no one has been Punk’d since 2007.”
I stepped around the center island and stood next to him, eager for his attention. “You knit? You are a knitter? One who traffics in handknits?”
He shrugged like it was no big deal and not the single greatest revelation of my life, besides the butt-tattoo thing. “Yeah. My mom taught me. We started with crochet, and then once I got that down, we switched to knitting. I was always a busy kid, couldn’t sit still and caused trouble when I got bored. On nice days, I’d go outside and kick a soccer ball because that was what I liked doing. But when it was cold or rainy, I’d knit. I liked the repetition, the sense of producing something and seeing the quantifiable results.”
Brady said all this easy enough, like it wasn’t an admission. Like it was just something to chat about while he gathered and prepped vegetables for the saucepan. He and I were so different. If I had revealed something so personal about myself, I would have been snapping and snarling like a distrustful mutt, afraid someone would use my vulnerability against me.
But I could remember a young Brady in elementary school, how he’d been a troublemaker early on before he’d eventually embraced his class clown persona. Oftentimes, he’d been hyper and unable to sit still. Some teachers had been better than others at managing his energy and keeping his attention.
In third grade, our teacher had let him stand up and walk around if he needed to, not requiring him to stay seated while he listened. There’d been Mrs. Ostler in sixth grade who’d given him a fidget block that he kept in his desk. But early on, there had also been educators who’d made him sit out in the hall when he talked too much or called him out in front of the class when he hadn’t paid attention.
Something I’d noticed over the years was that if Brady liked something and was engaged in it—like soccer or geography and maps—he could stay focused, no problem. But if it was fourth-period biology that basically had us regurgitating the textbook, then he had trouble. He’d skipped that class a lot junior year.
Brady was never on the honor roll, and he hadn’t received any academic awards on banquet night, but he’d utilized his athleticism and his personality. He was a charmer, and teachers liked him. In high school, he came in early and stayed late. It was obvious he didn’t like reading our biology assignments, but he helped Mr. Ammons set up experiments and participated in extra-credit events at the local wildlife center to bring his grade up.
Hearing Brady speak so casually about his ADHD made me wonder how he managed the specifics of it now. Then I thought more about the way he could focus easily on the things he cared about and how his attention on me had never wavered.
I swallowed and wrapped the scarf more snugly around me. “You’re a man of many talents, Brady Judd. ”
He gave me a pleased grin, then went back to chopping onions.
“So how’s it going with Amos lately?” I asked, suddenly eager to change the subject.
It had been nearly two months since the kid had gotten caught and been put to work. Brady had mentioned him a few times but didn’t say if his punishment was over yet. At first, it had been pretty rocky. Amos had a typical teenage attitude. The little punk hadn’t realized he’d been lucky in the long run.
“Good,” Brady offered. “His six weeks were up a while back, but he kept showing up. I’ve been setting aside wages for his mom, figured it was the right thing to do. He’s been helping me prune, and we’ll have pest control to manage soon. The kid has actually taken to Joan. Follows her around like a puppy, asking questions.”
The teen with the chip on his shoulder and the grumpy farmer. The image made me smile. “And she actually answers him?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s way more patient with him than she is with me.” Brady laughed.
Eventually, Brady didn’t let me get away with just standing and watching. Despite my protests and evidence of being horrible in the kitchen, he was pretty determined to teach me a thing or two. We made it through meal prep with minimal incident and enjoyed a casual dinner together in the sunroom.
After I’d shoveled in the last bite of my individual-sized chocolate-peanut-butter lava cake, I heard a sound from outside.
“What’s that?” Brady said, setting his plate aside and rising to his feet.
I joined him at the back door as we watched a shaggy black bear wrap its paws around the hanging birdfeeder.
I sighed. “That’s my grandmother’s bear.”
“What?” he asked, incredulous.
“See her left ear?”
Brady’s breath fogged the glass as he peered out into the dark .
“She comes around every now and then and breaks the birdfeeder,” I explained. “My grandma Nola loves her.”
“Well, don’t worry,” Brady said, opening the door. “I’ll protect you.”
I rolled my eyes. “She’s just hungry and probably couldn’t find a full trash can anywhere. And I don’t need protecting,” I shouted over the sound of Brady loudly clapping his hands, trying to get the bear to move along.
As expected, the bear ignored Brady’s efforts. But then movement off to the side of the porch caught my eye. Two smaller furry bodies were sniffing eagerly along the flower bed. The bear cubs looked young and adorable. However, their presence just complicated matters. Black bears weren’t really aggressive unless they felt like their offspring might be threatened.
“Brady,” I hissed right as the bear raised her head and abruptly abandoned the birdfeeder, attention focused on her cubs and their proximity to the two dumb humans.
Reaching forward into the chilly night, I snagged Brady by the back of the shirt and yanked. “Get inside!”
The momma bear was already on the move.
“Shit,” Brady said, scrambling back as he finally caught sight of the two cubs and their enraged mother. We hurriedly slammed the glass door as she charged across the yard.
The two little cubs kept up their perusal, totally oblivious. And I breathed a sigh of relief when the momma bear veered in their direction, pace slowing.
Brady and I retreated further into the room as we watched the bear family through the glass doors of the sunroom. Eventually, the babies made it over to the birdfeeder, and then all three bears went to work dismantling it and eating the contents.
“Damn,” I muttered. “That’s the fourth feeder she’s busted this year.”
Then I snapped a picture for my grandmother.
“They are really cute,” Brady said with a big smile on his face, like a four-hundred-pound bear hadn’t just herded him back indoors .
Eventually, we cleaned up and made our way to my bedroom, where Brady peeled off my clothes and gave me another present for my birthday. He was focused only on me and my pleasure until we collapsed boneless and spent. He asked if he could stay the night, and while it wasn’t something I ever let myself do at his place, I found myself saying yes easily enough.
Brady borrowed some toothpaste and climbed under the covers naked, making himself right at home.
It wasn’t until later, when Brady was wrapped around me like a weed, that I wondered about him showing up here tonight, eager to spend my birthday with me—something a boyfriend might do.
He hadn’t asked why I was home tonight or why I wasn’t out celebrating with Larry or Becca or anyone else. Truth be told, there was going to be a party for me tomorrow at my parents’ house, and most of my family would be there.
For a wild moment, I realized I wanted to invite him. I wanted him with me. In front of God and everyone.
But as he breathed evenly into the side of my neck and my fingers carded through the soft hair at his nape, I reminded myself that Brady wasn’t my boyfriend—he wasn’t mine in truth. And I should just keep my mouth shut and not get too comfortable.
The next morning, I awoke to the sound of the garage door opening and sat up in alarm.
Brady grumbled something and pressed his face into my pillow, one ass cheek hanging out from beneath the covers, a double cheeseburger on full display.
I stood, grabbing the first article of clothing I could find—Brady’s hoodie—and ran to the window. Shoving the curtains aside in a panic, I peered down to see my grandparents’ RV backing into the driveway. “Oh shit,” I breathed.
What were they doing here? I mean, technically, this was their house, but they were supposed to be in Florida until Easter. I grabbed my phone off my bedside table and checked the time—7:02 a.m.—and then cursed when my calendar app didn’t reveal the answer to my question. Easter was still a week away .
Why were they here early?
With frantic movements, I grabbed the closest pair of pants—Brady’s joggers—and sat down on the edge of the bed to slide them on. A tanned forearm snagged me around the waist and attempted to drag me back to bed.
“No,” I whispered. “We can’t go back to sleep. You have to get up.”
Brady tugged me closer, his face burrowing into my messy hair. “Uh-uh,” he complained.
“My grandparents are here,” I hissed, trying to free myself from his hold so I could go downstairs and run some interference.
A door slammed somewhere, and I froze.
Brady’s eyes popped open. “Okay, I’m up.”
I wriggled out of bed. “Stay here. I’ll go distract them.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but I was already rushing out my bedroom door and closing it gently behind me.
I reached the kitchen just as my grandparents came through the front door with what looked like their second load of luggage.
“Mac!” they said in unison when I came into view.
“Hi, guys,” I returned.
“Sorry if we woke you, honey,” Grandma offered.
“It’s okay,” I said, walking over and giving them both a hug.
Grandma took in my appearance, forehead lines crinkling. “You don’t have any clothes that fit?”
I swallowed uncomfortably, noting that Brady’s rec league softball hoodie was definitely two sizes too big and his joggers dragged the ground while being snug through my hips. “I, uh, need to do laundry.”
She nodded like she understood. “Me too, sugar. We took the long way and have been cooped up in that RV for two days. I can’t wait to take a long, hot bath.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked .
Grandma smiled. “We came home for you, birthday girl. Your mother invited us to your party tonight. We wouldn’t miss it.”
“Oh,” I breathed, surprised they’d returned to Kirby Falls early, just for me.
“I’m going to get the rest of the food out of the RV,” my grandfather said quietly before letting himself back out the front door.
Once he was gone, Grandma Nola narrowed her eyes and said, “Okay, spill, MacKenzie Eloise.”
“What?” I nearly choked.
“Who do you have upstairs in your bedroom, young lady?”
“Grandma!” I hissed and then lowered my voice. “I am a grown woman.” And I’d never once brought a man home. There were limits to the humiliation of living with my grandparents. I loved them, but I was not about to parade some hookup or casual fling in front of them. And, Brady, well ... he was something else entirely. But that didn’t matter. I hadn’t known they’d be rolling in this morning at the ass crack of dawn.
“I’m aware,” she replied, unbothered. “I took you to get your first bra. Remember?”
“Oh my God,” I moaned, wishing she wasn’t so damn sassy. “Can we not?”
“Whose car is in the garage? And when can I meet him? Bring him down. I’ll make eggs.”
She was way too delighted by the prospect. And, truthfully, if Brady and my grandma met, they would probably be best friends, texting each other memes and cooking together on the weekends. Jesus .
I gave up. “You can meet him the next time you visit. Not right now. It’s not a good time.”
“Because he’s naked?” she asked seriously.
I could feel the blush creeping up to my hairline.
“Wow,” she murmured. “Your face is really red.”
A hysterical laugh burst out of me. “Grandma! Stop it. ”
“Okay, fine.” She grinned. “I’ll go out and keep your grandfather busy. I’ll tell him I heard the RV making a weird sound. You go smuggle your man friend?—”
“Don’t call him that,” I groaned.
“—out the back. Tell him I look forward to meeting him next time.”
I nodded. “Thank you for covering for me with Grandpa.”
“Honey, neither one of you is ready for that conversation.”
While I hurried up the stairs to my bedroom, I couldn’t help but think about the next time my grandparents would be in town. Grandma Nola wasn’t going to forget this. It would probably be Memorial Day before they returned. They threw a big party at Lake Archer every year.
I wondered how much longer Brady and I would be able to keep this up.
My steps slowed as my chest grew inexplicably tight.
Would we still be sleeping together by the summer?
The uncomfortable ache over my sternum only worsened. Sleeping together . I hated how that sounded. But what else were we really doing? We weren’t dating. We were secrets and lies. Rivals to the outside world, sniping on social media, starting fake arguments at trivia night, and bickering for fun at bonfires, while we stole glances and touches where we could find them.
We were something else behind closed doors. Something that had become soft and comfortable without me noticing. The longest non-relationship I’d ever managed.
I was frustrated and overthinking when I opened the door to my bedroom.
Brady spun around from his place by the window and made a sound I would have gladly teased him about if I hadn’t been suddenly bitter and angry for no damn reason I could pinpoint.
He was still naked, with a pillow in front of his middle.
“Why didn’t you get dressed while I was gone?” I said.
Brady blinked like I was an idiot and then motioned in my direction with his free hand. “Did you want me to grab something out of your closet? ”
“Oh, right.” I was wearing all of his clothes.
We did a frantic clothing swap while I explained that we had only a few minutes to get him out the back door and to my Jeep while my grandparents were occupied. I told him we could switch cars later. I failed to mention that my grandmother was in on everything. I figured Brady would vote for an introduction and eggs if he had that tidbit of information.
We managed to sneak down the stairs and out through the sunroom. Pausing briefly, we took in the bears’ destruction from the previous night. It was unapologetic in the light of day, bits of plastic birdfeeder scattered and the iron pole that once held it bent to an unnatural angle.
“Damn,” Brady said.
“I’ll pick up another one this weekend,” I said with a sigh. “Let’s go.”
We hurried to where my Jeep was parked near the side of the house. I pushed the keys into his hand as his lips pressed against my forehead.
“I’ll text you later,” he said before sliding into the Jeep. “Look at us. Doing covert spy shit.”
I chuckled and shook my head, the irritation from earlier draining away as I watched him grin from behind the wheel of my car.
“I’ll see you later, you maniac.”
It wasn’t until that afternoon when I got home from work that my grandmother was able to corner me.
I’d planned to slink up to my room and get ready for my birthday party, but she popped out from the half bath on the first-floor hallway and scared the shit out of me.
“Jesus,” I gasped, grabbing my chest.
“Good. You’re home.” She grinned, white teeth flashing. She looked so innocent with a sleek gray bob, pleated trousers, and a cardigan set. But I knew better.
“You’re a menace,” I said, walking into the kitchen.
“I know. I want to show you something. ”
I eyed my grandmother warily as she led me toward the sunroom. Then it clicked. The birdfeeder. The damage from the bear last night.
“Sorry, I forgot to tell you,” I said, still following her. “Your little friend stopped by with two babies in tow and destroyed your ...” My words trailed off as the backyard came into view. The broken pieces that had been scattered around were gone. In their place stood a brand-new pole—sturdier-looking than the previous one—with a replacement birdfeeder on top. Three starlings were gathered around, pecking at the new offerings while a squirrel hopped beneath, content to grab what the birds dropped.
“A nice boy brought that by and left it on the front porch,” Grandma said.
I cut my gaze to hers, eyes wide.
She smirked. “He looked very familiar. In fact, I’m pretty sure he was the Judd boy from across the street. The one who accused you of vandalizing their property.”
My heart was beating very fast all of a sudden. “You should have your eyes checked,” I managed, pretty proud of myself.
Grandma just cackled, utterly entertained. “I stopped him before he could leave and introduced myself. He said he was delivering for Burke’s Hardware. He gave me a fake name that I’m relatively sure was a character in a James Bond film.”
I groaned, and she laughed again.
“He stayed and put the birdfeeder in for me. We chatted for a bit.”
A moment passed while I watched the birds enjoying their supper, not sure what to say, even less sure how to explain.
Eventually, my grandmother asked quietly, “Why didn’t you want him to meet us?”
“It’s complicated.” My voice was sandpaper rough and barely above a whisper. But the answer in my head—the one I couldn’t say—was loud, a vicious reminder. We’re a secret. He doesn’t want anyone to know.
“What’s complicated about it? Are you embarrassed of us?”
I quickly turned to face her. “No, Grandma. Of course not. We’re—we’re keeping it a secret. It’s complicated for the reason you just said. He’s the boy from across the street. He’s a Judd. And he accused me of vandalism, among many other things over the years. We’ve fought like cats and dogs our whole lives. Everyone in this town knows who we are to each other.”
“No,” she replied, blue eyes gentle. “They might know who you’ve been to each other. But only the two of you know the truth.”
When I didn’t respond, my grandmother smiled, the laugh lines around her eyes and mouth deepening. “I like him.”
That made me chuckle despite my mood. “Everyone likes him.” Even me , I thought wearily.
“Even you,” she said, reading my mind like a damn television infomercial psychic.
I swallowed.
She laughed again. “Sometimes, the way we feel changes, Mac. And that’s okay. Maybe you did fight like cats and dogs. Maybe you did hate him.” No, I didn’t , my heart protested. “But it’s not admitting defeat now because your point of view shifted. I’ve known your grandfather for almost fifty years. Don’t you think we’ve changed? How you care about someone changes with you. Love isn’t a true-or-false statement. It’s a spectrum, and it sounds like you’ve experienced both ends.”
My nose was stinging and I didn’t think I could answer her. I couldn’t bring myself to argue and say Brady and I were just fooling around. That it wasn’t anything serious. My mouth wouldn’t have formed the words if I tried.
“It’s okay to be happy, Mac. Even if you didn’t expect to be.”
She sounded hopeful, but I didn’t know if what she’d said was true. Expectations were weighty, cruel things. They pinned you in place and held you hostage, if you let them. Like butterfly wings on a board.
Finally, she said, “You should have invited him to your party tonight, sweet pea.”
With a knowing smile and a squeeze to my hand, my grandmother turned and walked back into the kitchen.
I listened to her footsteps fade, and when I was sure she couldn’t hear me, I whispered to myself, “I know.”