Chapter 27 Elizabeth
ELIZABETH
By the time we turn onto the narrow road leading to my parents’ house, my pulse has finally slowed.
Between that kiss, his words, and the way he let me in, I feel like I’ve been on the teacups at a theme park.
My head is spinning. And now, faced with my own childhood issues, I’m not holding out much hope for my emotions regulating any time soon.
The house looks exactly the same. Two stories of white clapboard, black shutters, and a wraparound porch with four rocking chairs lined in pairs.
Two ceiling fans turn lazily overhead providing little relief from the summer heat.
The yard is a riot of blooms—zinnias, coneflowers, and black-eyed Susans.
Even the beds along the driveway are trimmed to perfection.
Brady gives an appreciative hum as he shifts into park. “I might never leave.”
“Give it forty-eight hours. You’ll be dying for decent wi-fi and food delivery.” A nervous twist pulls at my stomach.
His eyes stay on the house. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s…” What should I say? “It’s a lot of flowers.”
It’s a lot. Period. The knot in my stomach pulls tighter.
“I noticed.” The corner of his mouth lifts.
“People drive in from Tennessee for my parents’ floral arrangements.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep.” The ‘p’ makes a popping sound as I push my door open and step out. My nerves are already getting the best of me. Why can’t I just relax? Be normal.
“A family of high achievers then,” he observes, joining me at the front of the car. “That’s impressive.”
“Yeah.” When I don’t elaborate, he glances at me.
“The apple didn’t fall far then?”
“Nope.”
He takes my hand, pulling me to a stop as I start toward the porch. Tipping my chin up with one finger he forces me to meet his eyes. Brady might be the only person more stubborn than I am.
I heave an irritated sigh. “My parents raised me to be independent, to always reach for the next goal, and then acted surprised and offended when I stayed that way.”
The screen door opens, cutting the conversation short. My mother steps out onto the porch in white jeans and a pale blouse, lipstick the exact shade of her shoes. Her eyes lock on me.
“Beth.” She comes down the steps in a measured stride and wraps an arm around me, the gesture hovering somewhere between a hug and an awkward back-pat. I force myself not to stiffen. This is new. My mom is not a hugger.
Her fingers skim through my hair, tucking it behind my ear. “You look tired. Are you still working those long hours?”
“I’m fine.” Brady gives my hand a warning squeeze at the word, and I almost smile. “You look well and the garden is thriving.”
I don’t get a response because her attention has already moved past me to Brady. Her eyes skim over him in curious appraisal. “This must be your boyfriend. I didn’t realize you had gotten serious with anyone.” She pauses pointedly. “I didn’t even know you had a social life at all.”
“Mom,” I warn.
“What? I’m just saying he must be important if you brought him here.”
Brady steps forward, one hand on my back and one hand extended to my mother.
“Ma’am. Brady Worthington. It’s a pleasure.
” He flashes one of his trademark, flirtatious smiles, obviously convinced he can charm my mother into making this visit painless.
If only he knew—my mother is the passive-aggressive champion.
She shakes his hand, studying his face. “Even better looking than she said.”
“I didn’t say anything,” I cut in.
“You didn’t have to.” She pats Brady’s arm. “We all know about your high standards, Beth. You must have the patience of a saint to put up with her.”
“She keeps me on my toes, Mrs. Howell.” His voice is smooth, but his easy tone is gone, and he moves to slip an arm around my waist pulling me close.
For some reason, that seems to please my mother, and a genuine laugh slips out. “I like you already. Please call me Jean.”
The warmth she’s giving him is nothing like the careful politeness she normally gives me. I’m not sure if Brady notices, but when I catch his eye, he lifts his eyebrows. Yeah—he notices. Fuck. This is embarrassing.
“Come inside,” she says, already turning toward the porch. “I didn’t know if you’d be hungry when you got here, so I put some appetizers out just in case. Nothing fancy of course.” She darts a look at me. “Just some deviled eggs and a little charcuterie.”
“That sounds perfect,” Brady says.
My spine feels like it’s frozen as we follow her inside, and I feel Brady’s hand brushing up and down my back. Whether it’s for reassurance or encouragement I don’t know, I’m just glad he’s here with me.
My foot is on the first porch step when my mother says in an overly bright tone, “Oh, I forgot to mention—I invited your brother and sister to come by. And a few of your cousins. We’re doing a cookout this afternoon. Your father’s had the smoker going since you called last night.”
My stomach drops. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“The prodigal daughter returns with a boy.” She quirks an eyebrow. “What did you expect? It’s not every day my daughter brings someone home.”
She glances at Brady again before continuing. “Your brother won’t be able to make it—someone has to keep the shop running—but Ashley’s hoping to come with their kids.”
“That’s nice,” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral.
“She’s got her hands full, bless her. Not as busy as you, sweetie, of course—but being a stay-at-home mom is a job, too. Even if some people don’t think so.”
My teeth clench. The jab lands like it always does. “I never said it wasn’t. At least I get a lunch break and can sleep through the night. Ashley’s on the clock twenty-four-seven.”
That earns me a small smile. Like I’ve finally given the right answer about something. Brady’s gaze slides between us, and I know he’s reading every beat of this exchange.
Inside, the cool air smells faintly of lemon cleaner and fresh-cut flowers, and my mother is still filling me in at full speed. “Business has been wonderful this year. We’re booked out past Christmas if you can believe it. Weddings, anniversaries, you name it.”
Brady glances around the bright entryway. “You run the florist shop yourself?”
“Oh no, my husband’s there most days.” She waves a hand in the air.
“I’m in and out—consults, on-site event installations.
The rest of the time I’m here, keeping this place together.
We always dreamed of it being a business our children would inherit and run together.
Our son Robert works with us full time, and even Caroline, Beth’s little sister, helps even though she’s so busy during the school year. ” Her smile is brittle.
Her eyes flick to me for just a second, and I feel the old, unspoken refrain: we all pull our weight, Beth. But I didn’t, in their eyes. I left. Moved away and shirked my familial duties.
“Come on in. You’ll stay in your old room. I aired it out and changed the sheets this morning.”
Brady hefts his duffel with a too innocent smile. “Where would you like me to put my bags, Jean?” I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
Her brows lift. “Oh, I just assumed you’d be sharing. The guest room’s my craft space now. Is that a problem?”
My mouth falls open. “Who are you?”
She titters, and reaches up to smooth down her still perfect hair. “You’ll make Brady think we’re prudes. You’re both adults.”
Before I can scrape together a reply, Brady’s hand curves around my hip. “Why don’t you show me which one’s ours, sweetheart.”
Heat rushes to my face—not the good kind—and I catch the smirk tugging at his mouth. He’s enjoying this way too much.
Upstairs, I drop onto my bed with a huff. “This is total crap. My parents are not this progressive. Keith wasn’t even allowed upstairs in college.”
Brady chuckles as he pulls a fresh shirt out of his bag and shakes it out. “Big difference between a twenty-year-old and a thirty-three-year-old.”
“Humph.” I rub at the headache forming between my eyes.
“You okay?”
“I’m not sure.” I tug open the dresser drawer out of habit, even though it’s empty, then shut it again. “I have no idea what I’m supposed to say about Keith. Or us. Or how to hide the fact that I feel like I’m about to come out of my skin at any second.”
He closes the small distance of the room and pulls me against his chest.
“I don’t want to lie, but…” I inhale his scent, and my body relaxes like it’s my own personal aromatherapy. “I obviously can’t tell the truth. They’ll be scared, and worried.”
“Dodge. Change the subject. People love talking about themselves.”
I angle my face up, resting my chin on the solid wall of his chest. “I’m not you, Brady. I don’t have that… charm switch you flip on whenever you need it.”
One corner of his mouth lifts. “You’ve got other tools.”
I narrow my eyes. “That sounds vaguely insulting. You could lie to me and say I’m charming, too.”
“I’ll never lie to you.” He dips his head to kiss me.
“Charming you are not. But…” His massive arms tighten around me as I try to pull away.
“You’re clever, and you listen. And even though you like to pretend you don’t…
You care about people and don’t like to see them taken advantage of or hurt.
I listened to you talk to a woman about her dog’s kidney meds, for fuck’s sake. ”
“I don’t know why being here makes me feel like a little kid again. It’s so annoying.” I exhale, angry at myself for letting this situation get to me. “I can do this.”
“I know you can,” Brady assures me. “You aren’t alone in this. And if it starts to get too hard, I’ll flip my…” He grins. “What did you call it? My charm switch.”
“I’m going to regret saying that, aren’t I?” I grumble as I step back, missing his touch almost instantly.
He waggles his eyebrows at me. “Definitely.”
Too soon, we are headed back downstairs. I can already hear extra voices in the kitchen. As we pass through the doorway joining my family in the kitchen, his hand catches mine, entwining our fingers.
“Relax,” he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear. “We’ve got this.”
We.
But despite Brady’s optimism, something tells me the next few hours are going to test every fake-it-till-you-make-it skill I’ve got.