18. Jami
Jami
“I thought you said you sucked at pickleball,” Liam says, sidling up beside me at Moose and Mugs while I nurse a beer.
I don’t normally drink beer. Wine is more my speed. Cocktails if I’m feeling festive. But when in Rome…or Churchill Falls, apparently you drink whatever’s cold and comes in a pint glass.
“I don’t know where that came from,” I admit. “I played tennis. Maybe some dormant muscle memory woke up and chose violence.”
“Impressive violence,” he says, lifting his glass.
I shrug. “Or maybe Brody’s just a good teacher.”
The moment his name leaves my mouth, my eyes betray me, drifting toward the long hallway that leads to the restrooms. Brody appears right on cue, tall and broad-shouldered, laughing about something Jaxon just said.
I tear my gaze away before it becomes obvious. Or more obvious.
“Or,” I add quickly, grasping for another explanation. “Maybe it’s in our blood. Jaxon is a professional athlete. Osmosis. Genetics. Proximity to sweaty sports equipment.”
Liam grins and takes a long swig of his beer.
I swivel on my stool, scanning the pub—sticky tables, low lighting, the comforting smell of fried food and spilled alcohol—until I spot Elise across the room, deep in conversation with someone near the jukebox.
“You and Elise were a good team,” I blurt.
Lord. What am I doing?
Liam leans closer, lowering his voice like he’s about to share classified town gossip. “Can you believe she’s back?”
“I…” I hesitate. “I don’t really know the context.”
He laughs. “Right. You’re not from here.”
No, I’m not. Which somehow makes me feel both relieved and oddly left out. A small, reckless part of me wants to lean in further, tell him to start at the beginning. To give me every detail about Elise, about Brody.
The smarter part of me snaps its fingers in warning. That’s not your story. That’s not your business.
I should listen to her.
Still, my body betrays me again, angling closer. “You seemed…surprised when you found out they broke up.”
Dammit, Jami.
“They were the dream team. Homecoming king and queen,” he says easily. “Brody was the jock, Elise was the cheerleader. Everyone in town thought they’d get married right out of high school.”
For a brief, unexpected moment, I feel a pang of sympathy for the homecoming king and queen who never quite made it to the happily-ever-after float.
“I’m sure his mother and aunts must be disappointed,” he tells me. “Elise was the daughter-in-law Lori always wanted. Or at least that’s what Dad said when I mentioned they were no longer together. Obviously he already knew.”
I clear my throat and pivot hard, changing lanes before I drive straight into a wall. “So, veterinary school. I heard it’s brutal to get into. Where did you go?”
“Prince Edward Island.”
I sit up straighter. “No way. I love PEI. Anne of Green Gables.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Of course you do.”
I glance past Liam’s shoulder just as Brody and Jaxon come our way, and Liam follows my line of sight. He lifts his drink in a casual sip, eyes narrowing like he’s sizing something up.
“Are you sure you and Brody—”
“Friends,” I cut in quickly, my stupid heart doing a little stutter. Then, just to cover myself, I add, “I heard his breakup with Elise… wasn’t great. Just worried about my brother’s best friend.”
Liam nods, understanding. He wipes condensation from his glass, a glint of enthusiasm in his eyes when he begins, “I get that. Do you like snowmobiling?” he asks, a complete change of subject.
I crinkle my nose. “I’ve never been, actually.”
“It’s fun.” His leg bumps mine as she shifts on his stool. “We have this cottage, and I was thinking about next week—”
“Hey, Liam,” Brody’s voice cuts through as they reach us, Jaxon trailing right behind him. “Great game today.”
Liam laughs, shaking his head. “You only say that because you two annihilated us.”
“Who knew our girl here had that in her?” Brody adds, his eyes flicking to me for a second, but long enough to send heat through me.
Our girl here.
Eek.
Why does the idea of being his girl make my chest do a little happy dance?
“I knew,” Jaxon chimes in, dropping a protective, big-brother hand on my shoulder. “She’s competitive. Like me.”
“Maybe you should go pro,” Liam suggests, gesturing at Brody and Jaxon like they’re some sort of elite coach duo. And really, they are. “You’ve got the best teachers right here.”
I snort a laugh, shaking my head. “It’d have to be a cold day in—”
“Churchill Falls,” Jaxon cuts in, grinning. “Already happened, sis.”
“No, I am not going professional,” I clarify firmly. Alone time on the court with Brody? No thanks. My heart can’t survive that kind of torture.
Jaxon cocks his head, teasing. “Never say never.”
I fold my arms and lift my chin and inch. “I’m saying never.”
“Come on,” Brody interrupts smoothly, plucking my beer from the bar. He points to the dart game in the corner. “We’re up.”
Sliding off my stool, I catch Rachel approaching Jaxon. Those two would be good together. I’m about to voice that to Brody, but he speaks first.
“You and Liam seemed to be hitting it off.”
“You know, he’s actually a really nice guy,” I admit.
“Skeet,” he murmurs.
“What’s a skeet?”
“Nice guy.” He tugs on his shirt. “I was agreeing.” I eye him, guessing that’s not at all what it means. He grins. “Just don’t call anyone that.”
“He asked me about snowmobiling. I think he was about to invite me to his cottage.”
“Have you changed your mind about dating him?” He eyes me, and I can’t quite get a read on him. Is he playing with me again, or is he serious?
“I mean… he’s no lumber snack, but he really is nice, and he seems… eager.”
“Like a beaver,” Brody says, deadpan. I pause, then he casually adds, “Eager Beaver. He probably marries them in his little backyard chapel too.”
I can’t help it. I burst out laughing and pinch his side. “Be nice.”
“Oh, I am,” he shoots back, smirking. “You’re the one fantasizing about his backyard chapel, not me.”
“Fantasizing, Brody. Really?”
We reach the corner, and I’m still grinning when Brody sets my beer on a table and begins to introduce me to the other league players. Naturally, they all know who I am, and I recognize a few from yoga class.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, glancing at the dart board. “I’m new at this, so please be patient.”
Susan’s husband, Scott, throws a massive arm around me, his booming laugh filling the corner of the pub. “This is a fun league, Jami. The score doesn’t matter. It’s all about having a good time.”
“Well then,” I reply with a grin. “That I know how to do.”
Brody hands me a dart. “Let’s see what you got,” he says.
“So the goal is to hit that tiny black dot in the center, right?” I joke. Laughter bubbles around me, and I feel my shoulders relax. Maybe this will actually be fun.
I take my first shot. The dart doesn’t even hit the board.
Instead of ridicule, everyone cheers, clapping and hollering as if I just threw a perfect bullseye. I throw my head forward and take a dramatic bow, grinning like a total goof.
I find Brody leaning against the wall, and catch his grin. A shiver runs straight through me. He pushes off the wall, walking toward me, and the rest of the league drifts back to their drinks and chatter, leaving us in our own little bubble.
“Like this,” he says, stepping up behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, his mouth brushing my ear. My stomach flips. His hands go to my hips and he angles my body.
“Dominant foot forward,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth, sending tiny goosebumps racing down my arms. He takes my hand and adjusts the dart.
“Hold it between the thumb and index finger,” he instructs. My fingers tighten around the dart, and my pulse skips.
“Keep it close to eye level, elbow slightly raised. And other hand…beer. Always beer.”
Someone hands me a cold pint, and I can’t help laughing, a light, almost breathless sound.
“Now, finesse,” Brody continues, his chest pressing lightly against my back. “Lock your eyes on a single spot. Bullseye if you’re brave, or a high-numbered wedge if you want to impress. Chat with everyone mid-throw if you want, but keep that gaze sharp.”
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry as I do everything he asks. “Like this?”
“Just like that,” he whispers, his lips so close to my ear I can feel the warmth. “Now bring the dart back near eye level. Elbow up. Pretend you’re throwing a pizza to a friend across the room.”
My pulse hammers in my ears. I’m not even looking at the board anymore. I’m too aware of him behind me, the way his fingers brushed mine, the heat radiating off him.
“Pizza,” I murmur. “Pizza sounds good,” I joke, trying to sound casual. “I only had a sad desk salad today.”
“Noted. Now push the dart forward in a straight line,” he instructs. “Follow through. Not too much, not like you’re swatting a fly.”
“I…can do that,” I whisper.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
Good girl.
Oh, God.
I can feel the brush of his leg against mine, the tension in his chest so close to mine. My hand tightens on the dart almost instinctively, my breath catching as his presence crowds me, envelops me. Who knew throwing a dart could feel this good?
“The most important thing,” Brody adds, voice low and teasing. “Is to keep the beer in play. Sip between throws. Joke with your opponent. Compliment their hair, shoes, or grip. Darts are 50% skill, 50% charisma, 100% fun.”
“I like this league,” I say, grinning.
His warm chuckle seeps straight through my blood, making my knees want to wobble. He steps impossibly closer, each step absorbing the tiny tremors that betray me.
“Remember,” he murmurs, so close I can feel the heat of his chest. “If you hit the board, take a bow, sip your beer. If you miss, laugh it off, maybe blame the lighting… or the jukebox song.”
“Got it,” I whisper, trying not to focus.
“Ready to try again?”
“Yes.” I push out.
“Oh, one more thing, Little Birdie.”
My stomach drops at the nickname, the one he likes to whisper in my ear when we’re…
“You have to breathe,” he murmurs.
I glance over my shoulder at him. “If you want me to breathe, stop standing so close.”
He grins, steps back, giving me just enough space to function without my knees melting.
I focus, thinking of the first piece of advice he gave me: elbow up, steady grip, smooth follow-through. Dart in hand, I let it fly…boom…bullseye.
Go me.
Cheers erupt around me. I throw a dramatic bow, sip my beer, and hold my glass up in a mock salute to Brody. He nods, clearly pleased. And I like it—like, really like it—when Brody is pleased with me.
“Hey, Jami. Did you kiss the cod yet?” Scott yells out.
Nope. Oh, hell no.
“Ah…”
“Doc there behind the counter, does a whole ceremony,” Scott explains.
“If you’re going to be one of us,” Susan pipes in.
I cast a pleading glance at Brody. He pushes off the wall, moving closer just enough to reassure me. “We’ll cut her some slack tonight. She’s learning the game.”
I give him a grateful look.
“Maybe next week,” he says, and I wag a finger at him like he’s in big trouble.
Laughter bubbles around us, and that’s when Jaxon and Rachel come over.
“Look at you,” Jaxon says, eyes wide. “Brody’s dart skills are rubbing off on you.”
Rubbing off on me.
I gulp, heat rushing to my face. My brother is too busy greeting everyone else to notice, but Rachel…oh, Rachel notices. She simply smiles.
“You’re a fast learner,” she says.
“It’s actually kind of fun. Were you able to get a sitter for tonight?”
She exhales. “I don’t know what I’d do without my parents. They’re keeping Laci overnight.”
“Then you need another beer,” I tell her, spotting her nearly empty glass. Glancing at my own, I add, “So do I. I’ll be right back.”
I head to the bar and order two more beers.
As I glance around, I notice Liam and Elise talking—but Elise keeps sneaking glances at Brody, and Liam keeps glancing at me.
My stomach tightens as I remember the closeness between Brody and Elise in high school, how everyone assumed they’d get married.
I shake my head and turn back to Doc. Not sure how he earned that name, unless he really is the town doctor.
After all, the mayor drives a plow truck so… why not?
The stool beside me squeaks. Heart jumping, I spin, expecting Liam, but no. It’s Brody.
“Liam’s coming your way,” he warns.
I’m about to turn, but his hand lands on my thigh, holding me in place. His body presses against mine, his mouth is near my ear. His voice drops lower when he says, “For the record. If you’re going snowmobiling at anyone’s cottage…it’s mine.”