Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Maeve looked up from her book to see Zoey rowing them back to shore. The oars kept popping out of the water midway through a stroke, or sometimes missing the water completely, but she was clearly working her hardest and making steady, if slow, progress.
Brodie was leaning back, propped up on his elbows.
When they got closer, he took over the rowing to navigate the landing, and Zoey jumped out while they were still in shallow water, splashing her shorts she was in such a hurry to tell Maeve all about it.
“It’s okay, we didn’t kill any fish, but Brodie made me row, which was totally unfair but I didn’t mind it in the end—and look, I’ve got a blister on my hand.” She held up the soft skin of her palm for Maeve to inspect.
“That looked like really hard work,” Maeve said. “Well done.”
Brodie came loping over having hauled the boat onto dry land. “She was really good,” he said. “A natural.”
Maeve felt that tiny prickle of jealousy that Brodie could seemingly persuade Zoey into anything. She couldn’t imagine her daughter ever agreeing to row if she’d asked her.
But then as Zoey proceeded to recount every second of the trip with exuberant excitement—especially the bit when Brodie had said they didn’t have to do any actual fishing—as well as the faint envy, Maeve felt something else that she couldn’t quite get her head round.
Brodie came and stood next to Zoey, swiping a bug or something off the shoulder of her T-shirt as he said, “You were awesome. Much better than I was at your age. This girl’s got some muscles.” He gave Zoey’s bicep a squeeze and she flexed it proudly. “Check those out!” he added with mock amazement.
Maeve watched the interaction, the care that Brodie took around Zoey, the obvious fun they had together and realized that the feeling bubbling inside her was hope.
Maybe this could work. She didn’t want to give it too much room, but just a little gap in the guards she had up around them that might allow Brodie to squeeze through—if he really tried!
They spent the rest of the day hanging out.
Zoey drew pictures and pressed flowers with Maeve.
Brodie taught her to skim stones and then she made him do somersaults and handstands in the water.
Sometimes he’d flop down on a chair but then Zoey would yank him up again for a diving competition or similar.
When Zoey got really tired, they went inside and she watched TV. Brodie and Maeve sat on the deck again.
“What would you normally be doing right now?” Maeve asked him.
Brodie thought for a second, looked at his watch and said, “Not sure, having a long lunch somewhere. Or surfing, if I was at home.”
“Home?” she asked. “Where would you say that is?”
“Malibu at the moment,” he replied, “but I’m not sure if it’s home home.”
She took a sip of the water she’d brought out with her. On the grass, birds pecked at the fallen breadcrumbs from their lunch. “Where’s home home?”
Brodie thought. “Nowhere.” He grinned. “Everywhere.”
She looked heavenward, his lifestyle was incorrigible. “So … what would be your plan—with Zoey—if—When you tell her who you are?”
He shrugged, all casual. “I’ll be here.”
“All the time?” she asked, brow furrowed uncertainly.
“Not all the time,” he replied, like that was crazy. “But when she wants to see me.”
Maeve stood up, she found the conversation made her skin feel too tight. “What if she wants to see you all the time?” she asked, leaning against the balcony.
He paused, had no immediate answer. Then he grinned and said, “Some of the time she wants to see me.”
Maeve frowned.
Brodie stood up, too, came to stand next to her. “I’m kidding. I’ll be here. We’ll work something out. Times I have to be here, times I don’t.”
Maeve nodded, he was too close and she couldn’t concentrate. She turned and started walking toward the water. What he’d said was fair enough. But it made her heart dip a little: times I have to be here.
She would never have expected anything more than part-time with Brodie, but there was always that smidge of hope.
Hope. She kicked a stone. It felt like life with Brodie might involve a lot of it. Swept along by that persuasive smile, hoping he didn’t let you down.
“Maeve,” he said, standing next to her on the shoreline, “You don’t have to look so worried.”
She glanced at him, was it that obvious?
There was that smile. She shouldn’t have looked.
But she was looking. The forest around them fell suddenly silent.
She was seeing the way the corner of his mouth curved, the slow blink of his dark feathery lashes, the hypnotic lure of his sky-blue gaze.
She remembered. The way his arm reached like it was right now, so close, the way she leaned slightly toward him, pulled by an invisible thread of simple want, desire to let his palm touch her cheek, to kiss and be kissed like that one fateful night, to relive a moment carved so memorably in her mind it sent a shudder down her spine.
Then she saw the long black thin legs on his shoulder. “Brodie, there’s a spider on your shoulder. Oh, my goodness!” She gasped.
Brodie froze, then, glancing to his right to see the massive black spider edging its way to his neck, he went literally bananas, swiping at his T-shirt, dancing about in horror.
Yanking his T-shirt off over his head and hurling it to the floor he then turned and raced into the water, diving in and fully submerging himself.
Maeve could only watch his reaction in shocked amusement.
He surfaced, said, “Do you think it’s gone?”
Maeve, still stunned at the reaction, said with a laugh in her voice, “I would imagine so.”
Brodie exhaled, pushed his hair out his face, said, “That was close.” He shuddered. Then started out the water.
“You really don’t like spiders, huh?”
“Hate them.” He shuddered again. Tanned torso glistening with water, endearing vulnerability on his face as he shook out his T-shirt. No pretense at machismo, no front. As he was about to put his T-shirt back on, he paused and said, “I might get a different one.”
“Brodie,” Maeve said, “I think the poor thing is long gone.”
“I’m not taking any chances.” He chucked her the T-shirt, unable to cope with even holding it.
She walked back to the cabin, slightly behind him, carrying the shirt still warm from his skin, thinking what a lucky escape they’d all just had.