16. Brody
Brody
When Jami puts her mind to something, she really puts her mind to something. There’s no half-assing it, no dabbling. She commits with her whole heart, and I couldn’t love that more about her. In fact her focus and determinations remind me of, well…me.
I stand just outside the doorway of the new childcare room she’s spent the last two weeks creating—squeezed in between yoga classes and late nights sketching designs for the new clothing line for the social—and watch her work.
She doesn’t notice me at first.
She’s crouched in front of a low wooden cubby, sliding the last few picture books into place, aligning their spines with careful precision.
I take it all in—the bright, playful space she’s built from the tiniest budget and her imagination.
Colorful foam mats cover the floor in cheerful blocks.
Bins of toys are labeled in her neat handwriting.
There’s the faint, comforting scent of crayons and fresh linens, the kind that tells you this place is safe.
Welcoming. Homey. A room meant for laughter and scraped knees and parents who want to play without worrying.
But the best thing in the room—the thing that holds my attention and refuses to let go—isn’t the space at all.
It’s Jami.
She’s humming softly to herself, some tuneless little melody that tells me she’s happy. Really happy. Lost in the moment. Hair pulled back in a messy tie, face freshly washed and completely makeup-free. Yoga pants, a long-sleeved cotton shirt pushed up at the wrists. Comfortable. Effortless.
Beautiful.
Honestly, she couldn’t look more stunning if she tried, and that’s what made it so hard to keep my hands to myself these last couple of weeks. I step inside, the floor barely creaking beneath my shoes, and her head snaps up. Her face lights, like I’ve flipped a switch.
“Sorry,” I say, even though I’m not. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Brody!” she says, loud and excited, like my presence is the best surprise she’s had all day. “The fabric came.” She practically bounces in place as she tells me, hands flying. “I can’t wait to get started.”
“The fabric for…” I trail off, glancing around the room, trying to connect the dots. “What exactly?”
“Our new line,” she says quickly, poking me in the chest. “What did you think I meant?”
“I don’t know,” I say, holding up my hands and making a small square shape. “Something for the kids. Tiny sewing machines. Lessons. Honestly, I wouldn’t put anything past you.” I snort out a mocking laugh. “You’re the one who was talking about marrying Liam with ferrets and goldfish in attendance.”
“Did someone say my name?”
Oh. Shit.
I spin around and silently pray to fucking God he didn’t hear that part. Deep down, Liam’s a decent guy. The kind you don’t want to accidentally emotionally maim in a childcare room.
“Oh no,” Jami says smoothly, not missing a beat. “We were talking about a different Liam.” She flashes him a bright smile. “What brings you by?”
He twirls a pickleball paddle in his hand. “Game. Want to play later?”
“Can’t,” she says. “Yoga class, and then Brody and I have a game in—” She checks the time on her phone. “Two hours.”
“We could play doubles,” he offers. “I’m sure I could find a partner. I saw Jaxon talking to Rachel. Maybe one of them will be free.”
Jami scrunches her nose, the way she does when she’s being honest but trying not to disappoint anyone. “I’m still learning. And I’m still pretty horrible.”
“No worries,” he says easily. “I’ll make sure we don’t go too hard on you.”
I don’t know why, but something about the way he says that makes my jaw tighten.
She blinks up at me, wide-eyed and innocent, and I shrug. What the hell am I supposed to do? Any more hedging or dodging is going to raise suspicion.
“Yeah, uh… okay,” she says with a nod. “Sounds good.”
Liam lingers in the doorway, like he’s weighing whether to step inside or just hover there awkwardly. “Listen,” he says, voice casual but hopeful. “Want to grab dinner later?”
Shit. I feel a little twinge of sympathy for the guy.
“Can’t,” Jami says quickly. “Eating at my desk. Childcare tonight.” She jerks her thumb toward the window. “I’ll probably just grab a salad from the café.”
He laughs, the kind of warm laugh that makes it hard to hate him. The truth is I don’t hate him. I just don’t want him with Jami.
Dude, you don’t want any man with Jami.
“It’s hard to nail down a time with you,” he says. “How’s your Saturday night looking?”
“Darts,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
Sure, I feel a pang of guilt that he thinks he has a chance with Jami.
But more than that, I feel possessive, and I’m having a hell of a time hiding it.
Truth is, Jami can be with any guy she wants.
We are not hooking up anymore. We both agreed to it, and I’m a man of my word.
I have to be. Honestly this can’t go anywhere.
Neither of us are looking for anything more, so why risk my friendship and business relationship with Jaxon?
“She agreed to be my partner for the doubles tournament this weekend,” I add quickly, keeping my tone casual, like I’m explaining nothing out of the ordinary.
Liam’s brows knit, his gaze darting between the two of us. “Are you two—”
“No,” we both say at the exact same time, her voice light, mine slightly defensive.
I step a fraction away from Jami, making it clear without words that we’re not a thing.
“She’s my best friend and business partner’s sister,” I say, forcing casual, “I’m just trying to introduce her to life in Churchill Falls.
I want her to have all the experiences before she heads back to Nova Scotia.
Which is what, in a couple of months, Jami? ”
She nods and Liam blinks, accepting the explanation. “Okay…well, maybe I’ll meet you guys there.”
“Sounds good,” Jami says, her tone bright, but I catch the tension beneath it. She doesn’t want to hurt his feelings.
“Oh, Jami,” Liam says, before turning to leave. “I heard you’re going to be designing a new line of clothes for the social. I can’t wait to see what you come up with, and if you need any help, let me know.”
“You design clothes?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
He chuckles, a little sheepish. “No.” He holds his fingers out and mimics a medical stitch. At least I think that’s what he’s doing. “But I do a mean stitch, and I can always model if you need help with sizing.”
Jami laughs. “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind.”
He waves his paddle over his shoulder. “All right, see you guys on the court.”
The door clicks shut behind him. I turn to Jami, and the silence between us is heavy with unspoken tension. “That was… awkward,” I mutter.
“I know your family means well,” she says, voice tight with frustration. “But now Liam thinks I’m interested. I’m going to have to talk to him, let him know I just got out of a bad relationship and I’m not looking for anything right now.”
“Heartbreaker,” I tease, nudging her chin lightly.
She rolls her eyes, a faint smile sneaking through despite her exasperation. “I feel bad.”
“I’ll talk to Ma,” I say. “Tell her not to do this again.”
She leans against me, letting out a sigh that’s half relief, half affection. “Thank you,” she murmurs.
“As long as she…”
She inches back. “As long as she what?”
“As long as she doesn’t think it’s because I want you for myself.”
“I’m sure she’s smarter than that. You just got out of a bad relationship too.”
She’s close—too close—and I’m half a second from dipping my head and sliding my lips over hers. Needing a distraction, I clear my throat, and I give her shoulder a light squeeze. “Okay… now, are you going to show me the fabric before your class starts?”
Her eyes light up like fireworks. “Yup!”
We step out of the room, and from the corner of my eye, I catch movement. My head snaps like a whip, but by the time I’ve fully turned, the image is gone—the door to the women’s changing room swings shut before my brain can catch up.
“You okay?” Jami asks, tilting her head, eyes curious.
I pause, blinking a few times, trying to convince myself I didn’t actually see what I thought I saw.
“Yeah. I just thought I saw…” I shake my head, forcing the thought away.
“Nope. Must be seeing things.” Elise is in Toronto, dating some actor, living her best life designing costumes. That…that was not her.
Jami doesn’t question me. She just tilts a brow and keeps moving. Then as if deep in her own thoughts, she mumbles, almost to herself, “I’m going to sew patches onto the clothes for now. But later, if things take off, I can switch to digital embroidery.”
“You want to try that again, but in English?” I tease, grinning, though a little part of me genuinely wants to understand the technical wizardry she just outlined.
She laughs, playfully whacking me on the arm as we enter her studio and walk into her back room. I glance at all the fabric laid out, rolls of solid colors, others with whimsical patterns that look fun.
She holds up a roll. “What do you think of this? It’s nylon and spandex.”
“As long as it doesn’t fit me like bicycle shorts.” I mock shiver. “It’s not a good look for me.”
She laughs. “Or for any guy. This is for the women, though. The cotton spandex blend is for the guys.”
I touch the fabric. “Moisture wicking?”
“Right here.” She holds up another roll. “Polyester blend. I’m going to start with just a few fabrics but eventually I’d like to do hats, and heavier lounge shorts for court to street transitions.”
“This is fantastic, Jami.”
Grinning at my approval, she heads to the cubby, flips open a design book with just the faintest hint of nerves, says, “Now for the big logo reveal.” She holds it out for me. My gaze drops, and my first reaction is immediate—I laugh.
It’s a little cartoon pickle, face focused and determined, sporting a tiny headband. Its body curved just so, like it’s about to commit fully to a dive into…Churchill Falls. The motion in the sketch somehow makes it feel alive. Silly. Ambitious. Perfectly ridiculous.
I glance up at Jami, suddenly worried I made a mistake laughing at her creativity, or hurt her feelings. But when I see her grin—proud and a little relieved—all doubt leaves me.
“This is really cute,” I say. “I love it. It’s perfect for our social.”
Her shoulders slump as she lets out a long, relieved breath. “Whew. I was worried you’d think it was too cutesy. But I want it whimsical, playful. Not everything in life has to be so serious.”
I nod. “Agreed. Sports are about having fun, too.”
She tilts her head at me, eyes sparkling. “So… you really like it?”
“I really do,” I say firmly.
“Good,” she says, flipping back through the pages. “Because I already sent the design off. Badges are being made.” She claps her hands together. “Can you just imagine? My own label. A cute boutique. Limited editions and small batches.”
I shake my head, smiling at her enthusiasm. Somehow, that tiny diving pickle—so utterly ridiculous on paper—is exactly the kind of thing that makes Jami, and this little world she’s building, feel alive. I am so happy to be along for the ride.
“Okay,” Jami says, shoving me lightly. “You need to go.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you really think,” I add, grinning.
“I want to play with some ideas before my class starts,” she says, backing me toward the door, hands pressed against my chest, warming me from the inside out “And I do not need you here distracting me.”
“That’s what I am to you?” I ask, teasing. “A distraction?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “A big one.”
I grin. “Big dill?”
She groans, and as she pushes me away, the way she’s always leaning into me betrays her actions and her words. “Bye, Brody.”
“Lumber-snack?”
“Go,” she says, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling.
I should walk away. I know the rules. Don’t start something—again—that could blow up in both our faces.
Instead, I lean in.
Before her brain—or mine—catches up, my lips are on hers. She melts, hands sliding up my back, pulling me closer, hips pressing in. Every careful thought I had vanishes. There’s only heat, only this, only the pull I’ve been trying to ignore.
A low moan rumbles from my chest. She shivers into me.
Jesus, this is dangerous. Risky. We could get caught any second, yet I can’t seem to stop myself.
“Brody.”
The voice comes from the entrance to the yoga studio. With my back to door, a foot inside Jami’s private space, I freeze and Jami’s eyes go wide as she inches back out of sight.
“I thought that was you.”