4. Brody
Brody
I drop bread into the toaster and toss another coffee pod into the machine. My second cup of the morning, but it’s possible I’ll need at least one more, or a dozen, to get through this day.
If the idea of spending the day with Jami kept you awake half the night, then why did you volunteer to show her around, dumbass?
Dumbass, indeed.
Especially after I nearly kissed her outside the bathroom at my aunt’s diner—my mouth a heartbeat away from hers, my hands braced against the wall, caging her in like she was prey I was about to devour—when we could’ve easily been caught by her brother.
Her very protective, punch-first, ask-questions-later brother.
Maybe dumbass isn’t a strong enough word. Maybe I need something with more syllables. And legal ramifications. But I don’t have time to workshop my poor life choices, not when I hear soft footsteps padding down the hall.
As the coffee drips, I turn, and there she is. Jami, paused in the doorway like she doesn’t know where she belongs, and I suspect she doesn’t. Something flickers across her face. Awareness. Caution. The kind of look you get the morning after a one night—a most excellent night, I might say—hook-up.
Ah. So, this is why she slipped out under the cover of darkness, leaving me alone in a hotel bed.
Morning afters are awkward.
Even when you didn’t really have a night before.
“Morning,” I say, and immediately regret having eyes. Or a pulse.
Her flannel pants ride low on her hips, just enough to show a strip of soft skin at her midriff—the same skin I once pressed my lips to when neither of us knew better. Her T-shirt hangs loose, the collar stretched like she tugged it on half asleep.
Eyes on the coffee, bro.
“Morning,” she replies, her voice a little husky, like she’s still climbing out of sleep.
She glances around the kitchen, then rubs at her eyes. “Is Jaxon here?”
“Gone.”
“Already?”
“Work.”
Jesus, what happened to my ability to use more than one word at a time?
She takes a careful step closer, like she’s approaching a skittish animal. Or maybe she’s remembering last night, when I closed in on her like a predator. She has nothing to worry about, considering my current mental state is run away with a side of arousal.
“I thought I’d see him before he left.” She lifts her phone, squinting at the screen. “Guess I slept later than I meant to.”
“He waited around,” I say, finding my voice. “But he had to go.”
Look at you. Forming whole sentences. Growth.
The coffee machine lets out a gurgle, and I’m happy for the distraction. I grab the mug and set it on the table, then gesture with my chin toward the chair as I pull the milk from the fridge and the sugar from the cupboard.
“For me?”
I nod. “Unless you’re one of those people who wakes up cheerful and hydrated and emotionally stable.”
She huffs out a quiet laugh, tension easing just a notch as she moves toward the table. “Far from it. I hope it’s as strong as legally possible.”
She sits. I set the milk and sugar on the table. There’s space between us.
Not nearly enough.
Especially when she reaches for the milk and her fingers graze mine, sending heat through me.
I pull my hand back quickly, and she adds a splash of milk and cradles the cup with both hands, shoulders curling in slightly, like she’s trying to warm herself from the inside out. The sight of it—of her making herself small—does something uncomfortable in my chest.
I walk over to the thermostat and jack the temperature up a couple of degrees. When I turn back around, her eyes are on me.
“Brody…” She hesitates, like she’s so unsure about everything in life. “Why…why are you being so nice?”
The question crushes a part of my heart as I take in her vulnerability.
“Who says I’m nice?” I joke, desperate to pull a smile from her, to lighten the weight on her tight shoulders.
“You are. Don’t deny it.”
“You got something against nice guys?” I ask, still aiming for light, but missing by a mile.
She lets out a sad snort—one I’m starting to recognize. It’s unguarded. Real. “No. Not at all. I’m just not…” She trails off, lifts the mug, and takes a careful sip. “My brother’s a nice guy.” Her mouth twists. “When it comes to other men, I guess kindness is about as rare as unicorns.”
“Maybe you’ve been hanging around the wrong guys.”
“No maybe about it,” she says easily, settling back into the chair like she’s made peace with that truth.
The toaster pops, loud in the quiet kitchen. I butter the toast and slide it onto a plate, setting it in front of her before she can protest. Then I grab a pan and crack a couple of eggs.
“Thank you,” she says again, softer this time.
I don’t know why those two words do the strangest things to me. Like the simplest things mean so much to her. Has no one ever taken care of her before?
“You don’t have to show me around today,” she adds. “It was nice of you to offer, but it’s not necessary.”
“I told Jaxon I would,” I say, flipping an egg. “So, I will.”
She arches a brow. “You’re a man of your word, are you?”
“I try to be.”
Though, Jesus, it’s a lot harder to stick to anything when I’m around her.
“Unicorn,” she whispers and then takes a bite of toast. Her eyes widen. “Wow. This bread is really good.”
“Ma made it.”
She grins.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. You’re grinning at me.”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs, still smiling. “It’s just something in the way you said Ma.” She takes another bite. “You’re close to your family, huh?”
“Yeah.” I drop another coffee pod into the machine and stifle a yawn.
“What do they think about your business venture with my brother?”
“They’re behind it.”
She makes a sound low in her throat, half laugh, half something else.
“Okay,” I say, turning. “Now what was that?”
“Just thinking about my own parents.”
Something in her tone shifts, and something in me softens with it. I lean against the island, giving her space. Giving her time with her thoughts.
“I’m sure Jaxon filled you in,” she says. “Told you how supportive they are of our career choices.”
“I’m sorry, Jami.”
She shrugs, a slight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “In my case, they were right. They get to say I told you so.”
“That doesn’t mean they should.”
She stares into her coffee. “I should’ve become a teacher. Like they wanted.”
The words hang between us, heavier than the smell of coffee and butter and morning.
And for the first time since she walked into the kitchen, I don’t feel awkward.
I feel protective.
Her voice drops. “Maybe then I wouldn’t have to be here…”
I turn from her, the comment stinging a little more than I want to admit. I’m very protective of my hometown, and those who live in it.
“I’m sorry, Brody. I didn’t mean it like that. I appreciate all you guys are doing for me. I just mean…” Her shoulders tighten. “Don’t listen to me. I don’t know what I mean anymore.”
What she really means is that she’s made some questionable life choices, and moving to Churchill Falls completely broke, single, and miserable wasn’t exactly on her bingo card.
“Teaching… is that what you want to do?” I ask carefully.
“No.”
“Maybe not all your choices have been perfect,” I say, shrugging, “But if teaching isn’t what you want, then you’re making the right choice by not doing it. It would’ve made you miserable.”
“Miserable, right,” she says dryly, and I catch the twitch in her lips. I grin. “Because I have no idea what that’s like.”
“Right. Okay,” I say, leaning against the counter and ignoring the way my heart is ticking faster than normal. “How about this? Today, we do fun things. Things that make you happy. When was the last time you did something just for you? Something that actually made you… smile?”
A burst of color warms her cheeks, and she glances down like she was just caught doing something forbidden and yeah, I get it. Her thoughts are on the night we hooked up.
“Um… yeah.” I clear my throat. “Okay. Well…we can’t do that again—”
“You’re a man of your word,” she cuts in smoothly, and I can’t tell whether she’s happy or sad about that.
“Yeah, so we’ll find other things to do to make you happy,” I add, and her expression softens, the tension in her shoulders finally letting go.
“These carbs are making me happy,” she admits, taking a bite of toast, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Then wait until you taste Sadie’s pie,” I tease.
“Sadie?”
“My sister,” I say casually, flipping the eggs. “She has two kids.” My heart warms as I think about my niece and nephew. “She manages the grocery store.”
“You just have one sibling?”
“Yes, Sadie is older.”
“So, it’s your mom.” She stops herself. “I mean, Ma, Sadie, Aunt Verna, and…”
“And Aunt Theresa. She’s the manager of the hotel here in town.”
“Hotel. Which one? The Ritz?”
I snort. “Smart ass.”
“Amateur.”
“Really, I would have guessed professional. You’re so good at it,” I add playfully.
She grins. “Sounds like your family runs this town. What business does your mom and dad manage?” she asks, curiosity in her tone.
My chest tightens at the thought of my father—how he walked out when I was six.
I bite back a humorless laugh. Apparently, life’s cruel joke runs in families, because Sadie’s husband did the same damn thing.
So did Verna’s and Theresa’s. It’s like a goddamn pandemic.
Honestly, what the hell is wrong with people?
Sure, small towns aren’t for everyone, but you do what you gotta do when you have a family.
“Dad’s not in the picture,” I say finally, failing to keep my tone neutral. “Ma works at the Churchill Falls generating station.”
She brushes crumbs from her fingers, eyes widening slightly. “Oh…Brody, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s okay,” I assure her.
“Is that why you wanted to be here? To be close to your mom?”
“And my aunts and sister, and her kids.” I shake my head. “They’re all single, and I like to be here for them.”
“Jars,” she murmurs, almost teasing, and I pause mid-turn. She crinkles her nose. “They can be hard to open.”
I go still for a second, confused, then it clicks. She’s teasing, yes—but she gets it. Totally. She knows exactly what I mean.
“Your sister…raising two kids alone can’t be easy,” she continues.
“Yeah. Abby is six and Mason is five. Ray left when his kids were toddlers. Asshole,” I mutter, voice tight.
She smirks, a glint of humor and sympathy in her eyes. “I wasn’t too far off with the unicorn comment after all, now was I?”
“I guess not,” I say, and the corners of my mouth twitches into a real smile. She’s sharp, she’s funny, and—damn it—she keeps getting under my skin without even trying. And somehow, I don’t mind. Not even a little.
I slide the eggs onto a plate and set them in front of her. Steam curls up between us, rich and buttery.
“Aren’t you eating?” she asks.
“I will.” I reach for the pan again. “Just wanted to feed you first.”
She blinks at me like the concept needs decoding, and that’s when I’m certain no man—other than her brother—has ever put her needs ahead of their own before. I turn back to the stove and crack two more eggs, giving her a moment to herself.
That’s when the front door swings open and boots stomp snow off on the mat.
“How ya gettin’ on?” a familiar voice sings out, too cheery for this time of day.
Jami straightens, shoulders lifting instinctively. “Who’s that?”
“Sadie,” I say. “Looks like you’re meeting my sister sooner rather than later.”
She frowns. “She has a key?”
“Doesn’t need one.”
Her eyes flick to the kitchen archway. “It wasn’t locked?”
I bite back a grin. “This is Churchill Falls, Jami. No one locks their doors and no one knocks. You’ll get used to it.”
“If you say so,” she mutters, clearly unconvinced.
“In here,” I call.
Sadie sweeps in like it’s her place, and not mine. Her gaze lands on Jami, her smile widening just a touch.
“Well, wasn’t Verna right,” she says, nodding once. “Look at you, Ducky. Pretty little thing indeed.”
Jesus. Not her too.
“Coffee?” I ask. She shakes her head. “What brings you by?”
“Verna said Jami got in last night,” Sadie continues, already setting the pie she’s carrying on the table. “And I just ran into Jaxon. He said Brody was going to show you around today.”
“We were just talking about your pie,” Jami says.
Sadie beams. “Dig in. Around here, it’s perfectly acceptable to eat pie for breakfast.”
Jami’s mouth curves into a genuine smile. “Ah. A perk of small-town living. That’s one thing I could get used to.”
Sadie hums, thoughtful. “Some things are easy to get used to.” Her gaze sharpens slightly. “But not everyone’s cut out for a small town.”
Here we go.
She glances at me. “Dad, Ray…. Elise.”
The name hits like a jab to the ribs. I swallow hard. Why the hell is she bringing her up?
Jami’s curiosity sparks. She opens her mouth, no doubt ready to ask, but Sadie turns back to her before she can, continuing with, “And you.”
Jami narrows her eyes. “What about me?”
“You’re not cut out for a small town.”
“Sadie,” I warn.
She holds up a hand. “I’m not being unkind. Truly. You just have city girl written all over you. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Her tone softens. “I just don’t think you could make it here, Ducky.”
“I—” Jami lifts her chin. “I could make it.”
Careful. Controlled. But there’s a sting under it. From what Jaxon’s told me, she’s spent her whole life being told what she can and can’t handle. Where she fits. Where she doesn’t. And clearly, she’s damn tired of it.
Sadie’s expression shifts, gentling. “It would be lovely if you could,” she says. “We’d love for you to stay. Wouldn’t we, Brody?”
I scrub a hand over my chin, buying myself a second. What game is she playing?
“Yeah,” I say finally. “We would.”
Sadie smiles, satisfied, and tightens her scarf. “Well, I’d better go. Don’t want to be late. I just wanted to stop by and say hello.”
She’s out the door almost as fast as she came, leaving behind the smell of cold air and fresh apple pie. The house settles again, quiet enveloping us.
Jami looks at me, eyes deeply curious.
“Who’s Elise?”