7. Jami #2
“We’re joking, Rach,” Jaxon says gently. “My little sister does look like me, and she’s thankful for it every day. Aren’t you, sis?”
“Oh, puh-lease.” I roll my eyes. “It’s a curse.”
Rachel relaxes, laughter returning, though her gaze lingers on my brother just a beat longer than necessary.
Ah. Interesting.
“So,” Jaxon says, glancing around again, businesslike now. “You like the space? Anything we missed? If there is, tell us and we’ll fix it.”
“It’s perfect,” I say. “I’m going to work on a schedule this afternoon.” The words make my stomach flutter. “I’m excited to get started,” I add, surprised at how true it feels.
“Hey, Rachel,” Brody says as he steps into the room.
“Looks like you two have met.” He glances at me.
“I played hockey with Rachel’s brother, Hunter, for years.
We’re also on the same dart team.” He drapes an arm over Rachel’s shoulders, casual and comfortable.
It does not—not even a little bit—stir something strange in my chest that feels suspiciously like jealousy.
“Rachel is the little sister I’ve always wanted. ”
Rachel laughs. “And Brody’s the big brother I’ve always wanted. Just don’t tell my actual big brother.” She grins. “Kidding. I love my brother.”
“Darts?” I say. “You have a dart team?” When did Brody turn fifty? I bite back a chuckle and keep the question to myself. Clearly, things are different in this town.
“Saturday nights. Once a week. At Moose and Mugs.”
I cock my head. “Come again?”
Everyone chuckles. “Moose and Mugs, it’s our one and only pub. I’ll show you that later. It’s a little further down the street.” Brody tugs Rachel closer. “How come you never come out?”
“Laci,” she says simply, and he nods in understanding.
She turns to me. “Jami, if you ever want to hit up dart night and talk about something other than sports, marathons, or—God forbid—hunting…” She wrinkles her nose. “I’ll try to get a sitter.”
“I’d love that,” I say, warmth spreading through me.
Brody drops his arm, and she waves. “I’ll see you guys later.”
He walks her to the door, and I hear her excitement in her voice when she says, “I’m going to teach Jami pickleball.”
I miss Brody’s response, because Jaxon drops onto a stability ball with a soft bounce.
“Jaxon,” I start, emotion rising again. “You guys have really built something special here.”
“Brody had a vision,” he tells me.
“And you believed in him.”
“As much as he believed in me.” My heart trips up and he snorts.
“You should’ve seen it at the beginning.
Two borrowed nets, cracked paddles, and a bunch of guys who thought pickleball was a joke.
” His smile fades into something more thoughtful.
“But people kept showing up. They needed a place. Somewhere to go after work. Somewhere that wasn’t just the pub. ”
I sink onto the ball across from him, the gentle sway forcing me to stay present. “That’s what this feels like,” I say. “A place people can…breathe.”
He studies me for a second, something unspoken passing between us.
I look down at my hands, suddenly overwhelmed all over again.
“I was scared,” I admit. “Coming here. I didn’t know if I’d fit.
Honestly, until this…I didn’t know how much I just needed a sense of belonging.
Being here is temporary, I realize, but small towns don’t always… make room.”
Brody steps back into my new space, and his voice is steady. “Churchill Falls does.” I glance up at him, startled by the warmth in his tone. “We take care of our own.”
The way he says it, it’s as if I already belong, like I’m woven into the fabric of this town, this small, stubbornly tight-knit place that had seemed so foreign just a week ago.
But I can’t shake the truth: I’m leaving in a couple of months, as soon as I can get my feet under me.
This isn’t really my home, or where I belong.
That’s why I’m here. To figure that all out.
“There’s one more thing,” Jaxon says, pushing to his feet.
My heart kicks. “That sounds ominous.”
He grins. “Relax.” He crosses the room and opens the door to a smaller side space I assumed was a closet. Soft light spills out, warmer than the rest of the studio.
Inside, the walls are painted a muted sage. A shelf holds neatly folded blankets. A small speaker sits in the corner, silent for now but ready to fill the space with sound. By the wide, generous window are two chairs and a low table, inviting quiet and stillness.
“For anyone who needs to sit,” he says. “Or talk. Or just stare out the window for a while.”
I step inside slowly, my throat tight again. “You thought of everything.”
“This was Brody’s idea.”
Brody shrugs, looking modest but warm. “We all need to catch our breath sometimes,” he says.
I turn to him then, really look at him—the man who built something from nothing, who carved space not just for a studio but for people, for me. This man who made room for his friend’s sister, without question.
“Thank you,” I say, my chest tight.
For a beat, neither of us moves. The air feels charged, like something is hovering just out of reach.
Then footsteps echo down the hall, voices rising, life continuing. I grin to myself and flop into one of the cozy chairs. “Okay, Churchill Falls,” I mutter. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Somehow, for the first time in a long while, I don’t feel like I’m waiting for the second shoe to drop. I feel ready. Ready to play. Ready to dive into this space.
“Should I be worried?” Brody jokes and I just wag my brows at him.