4. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Why hadn’t Aunt Lu told me Brady Jackson was the vice president of the bank? She had to have known. Of course, she knew. Letting the drama unfold face-to-face was her signature move.
I froze as we were ushered into his office.
Brady stood immediately—but paused. His eyes drifted over me slowly, blinking like he wasn’t sure I was real.
I felt the same. Seeing him was like watching a ghost breathe again.
After a few beats, he crossed the room. His gaze locked on mine with that familiar look—the one that, long ago, had always said he saw me.
Mr. Howard extended his hand to greet him.
Brady didn’t even glance his way.
He came straight to me.
His sandy hair had deepened over the years, but his eyes . . . those piercing, gentle blue eyes were unchanged. Unmistakable.
He didn’t look like a boy anymore. He looked like a man—broader shoulders, a five o’clock shadow, a presence that made him hard to ignore.
In a nutshell, he was too attractive.
“Ellie,” he whispered, like my name still meant something to him.
I refused to believe that.
“It’s Elle now, Mr. Jackson,” I said as steadily as possible, even though I was shaking inside.
His countenance fell, but he recovered quickly. “Well, Elle, please have a seat.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jackson.”
“Maybe you forgot, but it’s Brady,” he said, slipping into that Southern boy charm I used to fall for so easily. That was so not happening. Not today. Not ever. Surely, he didn’t want that anyway. He was, after all, the one who left me.
Refusing to respond, I sat down, along with Mr. Howard, and let him take it from there.
Mr. Howard cleared his throat and began.
“Mr. Jackson, thank you for meeting with us. We’re here on behalf of Ms. Eaton’s aunt, Luann Eaton, to finalize documentation related to power of attorney and banking access.
Ms. Eaton has been appointed as her legal representative, and we’ll need to add her as a cosigner on the accounts listed under Luann Eaton’s name. ”
Brady nodded, professional but distracted. “Of course. I believe we’ve got everything prepared. We just need your signatures, Ellie—I mean, Elle.”
I refused to react to that name slip, even though my chest tightened in betrayal and muscle memory.
Mr. Howard stood, stacking his papers into a tidy folder with the air of someone who’d just checked a box. “Perfect. I’ll leave you to it then, Ms. Eaton.”
I blinked. “You’re leaving?”
“Afraid so. I’ve got a four-thirty appointment I can’t miss.” He offered me a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry—I think you’re in good hands with Mr. Jackson.”
Oh, no. No, I was not in good hands. They were the worst hands imaginable. Hands that once knew exactly how to touch me. How to raise my skin. How to make me believe I belonged somewhere I didn’t.
“I’ll take good care of her,” Brady assured him.
Mr. Howard rubbed his hands together and grinned. “Excellent. If you need anything, Ms. Eaton, you have my card and cell number.”
I did need something. I needed to escape.
Brady walked him out and asked his executive assistant to bring in the paperwork prepared for me. Then he returned—slipping into Mr. Howard’s empty seat, settling beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world.
A stack of documents appeared, delivered by his assistant with polite efficiency. She handed them to Brady and left quietly, closing the door behind her.
The click of the latch felt louder than it should.
And just like that, I was trapped.
Brady caught my eye and grinned, a little abashed.
I didn’t return it. All I wanted was to get this over with.
“You look fantastic, Ellie,” he offered, voice quiet.
“Mr. Jackson, can we please skip the niceties and just get on with it?” And why must he call me Ellie?
“Please—call me Brady.”
I pulled my pen from my bag with clipped precision. “Tell me where to sign.”
He studied me for a moment, as if searching for the girl he used to know. Then he began arranging the documents across his desk. Each one was neatly marked with signature tabs—efficient, yet impersonal.
I began signing. One after the other. It felt like it was all I’d done all day.
As I moved to the next page, his voice cut gently into the silence.
“How’s your aunt?”
Of course, he knew she was in the hospital. Everyone in Kaysville probably did.
I didn’t even bother to look up at him as I wrote out my signature for the hundredth time that day. The sooner I could get out of there, the better. “Feisty. She’s driving the doctors and nurses crazy.”
Brady laughed a knowing laugh. He, better than anyone, knew how feisty she could be. “How long will you be in town?”
I gave in and glanced his way. That was a big mistake. While he was older and even more attractive now, he was still Brady. The Brady I fell in love with. The Brady who shattered my heart. And I could still feel the sting of it all.
I turned back to the paperwork. “Hopefully not long.”
“Are you staying at your aunt’s house?”
“What is this, twenty questions?” I snapped—sharper than I meant to. Why did he care where I was staying?
Brady reached across and lifted the pen from my hand with infuriating ease. “Come on, Ellie. Can’t we talk?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why do you insist on calling me Ellie?”
“You used to like it.”
I snatched the pen back. “That was a long time ago.”
He had the gall to tug on a strand of my hair. “It wasn’t that long ago.”
He was starting to get on my nerves. This was supposed to be business.
“Do you treat all of your customers like this?”
“No,” he said, grinning. “But you are by far my most beautiful customer of the day.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Jackson.”
“Please,” he drawled. “You’re killing me with the Mr. Jackson .”
Yeah, well, he’d killed something inside of me a long time ago. I wanted that part of me back. The girl who used to be able to love with all her heart.
I signed the final document and pushed it toward him. “I think that’ll do it.”
Before the ink even dried, I stood and hurried toward the door, chest tight, breath shallow.
“Please don’t go yet.”
I spun around. “Why, Brady? If I remember right, you’re still a Jackson. And I’m still an Eaton with no titles and no crowns. And this,” I pointed between us, “is still against the rules.”
“Things have changed, Ellie.”
I stepped backward, inching closer to the exit. I didn’t know what he meant by that. Didn’t care to find out.
Because one thing hadn’t changed. I still loved him. And I could never have him.
“I appreciate your help,” I said, reaching for the doorknob.
Brady stood, as if the movement jarred something loose. “My niece loves your books,” he blurted out. “She’d be thrilled to meet you.”
That caught me off guard. I didn’t expect him to know that I wrote children’s books.
Or anything about me, for that matter. And his niece would be way older now than my target audience of four to eight-year-olds.
That was, unless he was married, and he was talking about his wife’s side.
Admittedly, I had already looked at his left hand to see if there was a ring there, and there wasn’t.
Maybe he was just one of those guys who didn’t wear one. That didn’t sound like him. Or maybe I just hated thinking about him being married. Look at him; he was a catch to be sure. He was definitely already married.
“That’s really sweet. I’ll have my office send some signed copies to the bank for her,” I said, flustered and clearly not thinking straight. Why had I offered that? I didn’t need to send Brady’s niece anything. This wasn’t a goodwill tour.
Before I could say anything else ridiculous, I turned and bolted.
I marched through the bank, heels clicking against polished floors, heart pounding loud enough to drown out the murmurs.
The stares followed me.
I wanted to yell— Don’t worry, Brady and I didn’t do anything against the rules.
But I didn’t.
I just kept walking.
I hated this town.
***
After the banking ordeal, I sped through town toward Aunt Lu’s house—technically mine now—just in time for the arrival of three freshly cut Christmas trees.
Aunt Lu had also ordered fresh garland for every mantel.
I let the delivery crew in and pointed them toward their respective destinations. Each tree had a theme.
The one in the foyer—orange and blue. Always orange and blue.
The tree in the family room was decked in crisp white—lights, ribbon, the works.
But the drawing room tree . . . that one was my favorite. It held ornaments from around the world, collected over the years during our travels. They represented a lifetime of beautiful memories.
Doris was off, so I had the house to myself.
Once again, I was alone with my thoughts, and they centered on that insufferable Brady Jackson.
My aunt was going to get an earful from me tomorrow.
She could have at least given me a warning I might see him.
And why did he have to be so dang nice to me?
Ex-boyfriends should be cold and indifferent.
They shouldn’t look fabulous in their suits and ties, and they shouldn’t call you Ellie.
Worst of all, they shouldn’t be perfect.
I peeled off the suit and rummaged through my old closet. I hadn’t packed anything remotely appropriate for tree decorating—everything I brought was too nice to risk sap stains or ornament glitter.
Thankfully, Aunt Lu never threw anything away. And somehow, I could still fit into my high school jeans. Small miracle, really. I tugged them on, slid into my faded Auburn jersey, and made my way up to the attic.
I began pulling down box after box filled with ribbons and lights. Glass globes wrapped in tissue as old as some of the ornaments themselves.
I didn’t know why she insisted on decking out the house. She rarely entertained anymore. I was sure she would say, “Because that’s what Southern women do.”
It took me an hour to haul all the boxes out and set them in the appropriate rooms. By then, my stomach was growling loudly enough to be embarrassing.