Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Brodie felt the moment that the words registered in his brain. He went from thinking, cute kid, to just wall-coming-down blankness. Maeve was staring at him, pale face suddenly flushed red at the cheeks, eyes momentarily pulsing with panic before she blinked and looked away.
All the while, the back of Brodie’s mind was whizzing like a rollercoaster but he wasn’t listening. As if his body sensed danger, he felt an instinctive urge to back away, to ignore. “Okay,” he said, one foot stepping back. “Well, that was all I wanted to say.”
The kid was still swinging on the gate, the squeaking noise piercing the air as she watched him with eyes as big and round as one of Noah’s cows.
He thumbed behind him. “I should get back to the wedding.”
“Yep,” Maeve replied, now cool and calm, like she’d drawn on her unflappable, doctor persona in the brief moment it had taken Brodie to get his words out.
“Okay,” he said again, unable to pull out one of his usual charmingly witty one-liners. Like his head had nothing in it. Taking another backward step, he stumbled on a piece of loose paving, then laughed and said, “Need to get that fixed.” All the while he felt the scrutiny of the kid’s wide eyes.
He raised a hand to wave before turning on his heel and striding away in the direction of the wedding music, chin raised a touch, trying not to think of those huge bovine eyes following him.
When he was almost back at the orchard he reached up and loosened his tie, undoing the top button on his shirt, then he shrugged off his jacket. Everything suddenly felt too constricting. His skin hot, like he had the flu.
Around the side of the main orchard house, he could see the lights of the dance floor, the air strobing with color, the leaves of the apple trees illuminated, he could hear laughter and the buzzing hum of chatter.
The clink of glasses. He walked up the front drive, lit with tealights and strung with white wedding bunting, remembering how smug he’d felt when his recollection of Maeve that night at the concert had flashed into his mind, he’d laughed as his champagne glass touched his lips.
He’d found himself driven by a conceited desire to tell her what he had decided she already knew and had been haughtily pretending she didn’t.
He’d arrogantly assumed that people didn’t forget a night with a celebrity.
He strolled back into the wedding reception, trying his best to appear blasé, and hooked a glass of champagne from the bar. But his hand was shaking so he put it back down on a table. Then he stood with his hands in his pockets, not totally sure what to do with himself.
Noah sidled up. “So, how’d it go with Maeve?”
“Maeve?” Brodie frowned, feigned nonchalance. “What about her?”
Noah laughed, deep and satisfied. “She blow you out?”
Brodie could feel sweat trickle down his back.
I’m eight.
“No,” he scoffed, like the idea was absurd. His mouth was dry, he needed a drink but knew Noah would clock his trembling fingers.
“What are you talking about?” It was Ren, Noah’s girlfriend. One of Brodie’s new favorite people, he admired anyone who could keep his monosyllabic brother on his toes. She looked adorable in cream hotpants and a lacy vest.
“Maeve,” Noah said.
“Maeve and Zoey, Maeve?” Ren clarified.
“Know any others?” Noah replied dryly.
Ren whacked him affectionately on the stomach. “I was just checking!”
Willow appeared from the dance floor, guzzling down a glass of water. “I’m boiling!”
So was Brodie.
“Why were you talking about Maeve?” Ren asked.
“Brodie likes her,” Noah replied as if it were fact, grabbing an OJ from a passing waiter and thanking him.
Willow took a glass of champagne. “You know she’s got a kid?”
“I don’t need to know!” Brodie said, exasperated. “I don’t even know why we’re talking about Maeve!”
“Ooh, defensive.” Willow sniggered.
Noah raised a brow, clearly enjoying himself. “You did get the brush-off.”
Bella came over to join them. Draping her arm round Brodie’s shoulder, she said, “Who? Maeve?”
Brodie tipped his head back. “I hate you all!”
Noah laughed out loud.
Ren crossed her arms and, looking thoughtful, said, “Who’s Zoey’s dad?”
Bella shook her head. “Don’t know.”
“No one talks about it,” Willow added, sipping her champagne.
I’m eight.
“I never knew you lot were such gossips!” It was probably the first time in his life Brodie had ever taken the moral high ground. Noah spluttered into his drink in surprise, but Brodie didn’t care, he needed to shut this down or his heart was going to fail. “You should be ashamed of yourselves.”