31. Brody
Brody
I pace the length of the small commercial space beside our social, nerves crawling under my skin. Is it too small? Too much? Not enough? Am I making a mistake? Will she believe anything I have to say?
I stop at the window—now free of old newspapers—and stare out at the street.
I didn’t have much time to get the space ready for Jami, but with Jaxon and my family—Mason, Abby, all hands on deck—we made it happen.
We got this place into shape in record time.
Even Mr. Cheeseman pulled strings to rush the paperwork through.
All Jami has to do is file it.
If this is what she wants.
If I’m what she wants.
I turn and find Ma watching me, hands on her hips, a knowing smile tugging at her mouth. She insisted on being here when Jami arrived.
“You’ve got nothin’ to worry about, b’y.”
“Thanks, Ma.” I pull her into a hug, grounding myself in her familiar warmth.
My family took to Jami like she was already one of us—long before they knew how deep I was in.
Okay, that’s not entirely true. Verna clocked it the very first night at the café.
Said she could feel the tension across the room.
How the hell did we think we were fooling Jaxon?
Ma lets me go and wanders over to the racks, straightening the clothes Jami designed. Her clothes. Her vision. Still nameless, still waiting for her to decide what success looks like now.
I whisper a prayer she’s ready to choose herself.
My phone pings.
My heart leaps straight into my throat. “They’re parking,” I say, breathless. A nervous laugh escapes me—thinking of all the times I told her to breathe. Now I can barely drag air into my lungs.
I pace again, and when I see them walking down the street, my knees nearly buckle. I’m not sure I’d stay upright without Ma’s hand landing solidly between my shoulders.
“I’ll let her in,” she says gently. “We’ll be ready next door.”
She opens the door wide. “Jami, it’s so nice to see you.”
“What am I?” Jaxon jokes. “A fancy salad?”
“You know I love fancy salads,” Ma says, patting his cheek.
“What are we doing here?” Jami asks.
Ma steps outside, taking Jaxon with her. And then Jami looks up—and sees me.
The world narrows. Everything goes quiet.
I take in the dark circles under her eyes. Her uncombed hair. The way she looks like she hasn’t slept since she left.
I know the feeling.
“Jami,” I say, taking a cautious step toward her, unsure if she’ll flinch or bolt.
She doesn’t.
That gives me hope.
Her gaze drifts past me and lands on the rack—her line, carefully spaced, every piece facing the same direction, waiting like it’s been holding its breath for her.
The sewing machine sits on a sturdy table by the back window, the kind of spot chosen for light, not show.
Her fabric is tucked into open cubbies, colours and textures peeking out—linen, knits, soft cottons—organized the way someone does when they plan to come back and keep working.
The space smells faintly of clean wood and fresh fabric.
Her breath catches.
“What is this?” she asks.
“Do you remember what you told me that night at the hotel?” I ask, my voice low, shaking with everything I’ve been holding back.
“That my name was Tami,” she says, dropping her voice to match mine.
“Yes,” I say. “But this—” I take a careful step closer, close enough to feel her breath. Close enough to ache. “This isn’t about lies, or names, or pretending. It’s about you. And how you feel.”
She opens her mouth to speak. I move closer still.
When she doesn’t pull away, I cup her face, my thumb tracing the curve of her jaw. “You told me you were…replaceable.”
She blinks once. Twice. Then a nervous, almost embarrassed laugh slips free. “Maybe I had more to drink than I remember.”
“You didn’t.” My voice is steady now. Certain. “You were running. Trying to figure out who you were. Where you belonged.”
Her gaze drops. I lift her chin gently, forcing her to meet my eyes. “And I think you figured that out here.”
“Who am I, Brody?”
“I’ll tell you who you’re not.”
She tilts her head, confused.
“You’re not Elise 2.0.”
Pain flashes across her face. “She sent me—”
“I know.” I don’t let her finish. “I know what she did. She hurt me, and I gave her another chance. But after finding out what she did to you, I stormed across town and confronted her. We had it out. I think the whole town heard our fight. Afterward she scurried back to Toronto.”
“She did?”
I shake my head once. “She’s gone, and there are no second or third chances for her when it comes to hurting you.” My forehead rests against hers. My voice drops to a vow. “No one gets to hurt you. Not her. Not the world.” A beat. “Not even me.”
“At first, I thought you two were…that I was…”
“You think people only love you when you’re who they want you to be.
” She stills, because she knows. Her parents.
Her ex. Every place she ever had to earn affection.
“With me,” I continue. “You thought you were filling a space. Replacing someone else. Becoming someone you thought I wanted.” I exhale, my chest tight.
“But that’s not it. I don’t want her. I don’t want a version of you.
” I step closer, close enough that there’s nowhere left to hide.
“I want you. The real you. The messy, complicated, brilliant, stubborn woman I can’t stop thinking about. ”
“Stubborn,” she shoots back, and the teasing edge in her voice eases the tension inside me, letting me know we’re going to be okay.
As my heart soars with the love I feel for this woman, I lean in, rest my forehead against hers, our breaths tangling. “You don’t have to be anyone else. You just have to be you.” A pause. “That’s everything. You’re everything.”
She swallows hard. “You… you really mean that?” she whispers.
“Every word,” I say, my voice catching as my heart pounds. “You’re exactly who I want. Exactly who I’ve wanted all along.”
I wrap my arms around her and pull her close, holding her like I’m afraid the world might take her again.
“You thought I was sending you away.” My chest aches.
“I’m so fucking sorry.” Her blue eyes fill, glassy and bright as she looks up at me.
“I never meant to hurt you. I was just so afraid,” I admit. “Afraid of you leaving.”
“I did leave,” she whispers as tears spill free. “I ran. I turned out to be everything you thought I would be.”
“You are everything I thought you would be.” My hand comes off her back, and I cup her cheek. “Kind. Intelligent. Talented. The sweetest woman I’ve ever met.” I swallow. “You thought I’d hurt you. That’s why you ran. And I don’t blame you for that.”
“I never should’ve thought that of you, Brody,” she says. “You never gave me a reason to.”
“I had to let you go,” I say. “Not because I wanted to, but because I couldn’t ask you to stay.”
I pull back just enough to look at her. “I couldn’t be selfish and keep you from what you thought you wanted.” I take a breath. “But a part of me knew you didn’t want your clothes in a big department store. You were chasing that because it’s how you were taught to define success.”
I brush my thumb under her eye. “Any choice you made had to be yours. I didn’t want you to resent anything.”
She looks around the space again. “This place…”
“I thought maybe,” I say. “You could redefine what success looks like.”
“I don’t understand. I was selling my things at the social.”
“I wanted you to have something that was just yours.” My voice steadies. “A little boutique next to the social. Not part of it. Not something you share with your brother—or with me.”
I hold her gaze. “Something to call your own. Your boutique. Your brand. Your hours. Your rules.”
“Brody…”
“I love you, Little Birdie. I think I fell for you that first night back in Halifax.”
She makes a soft moan, like she’s remembering that first night, that night that’s never really left either of us. Her fingers trail along my flannel shirt…yes, I wore it on purpose. Pathetic? Maybe. But I was pulling out all the stops.
“Lumber-snack,” she murmurs, and the corner of her mouth quirks up, just enough to let me know she’s teasing—but also not really.
I take her hand and lead her to the counter, where the lease and paperwork are laid out, waiting. “This is yours,” I say. “You just need to sign, and eventually figure out your business name. I can file it tomorrow morning. I’ll be at the town hall anyway for some social business.”
She looks up at me, and I can almost see it happen—the flicker of memory, the shadow of the past rushing in. Tristan. How he stole her business right out from under her. How he twisted the paperwork, the lease, the contracts, until everything bore his name instead of hers.
I’m just about to pull the papers back, to tell her she should do it herself, when she reaches into her purse. She pulls out a pen, signs without hesitation, and slides the papers back to me.
“Thank you, Brody.”
For a moment, I forget how to breathe. This is how much she trusts me and I don’t take a second of it lightly.
As if she can feel what’s happening inside me, she leans in and whispers,
“Breathe.”
I nod, pull in air and when my lungs are filled, I take her hands. “There’s something else I need to show you.”
“I bet there is.” Her grin is mischievous, full of want and as much as I want her, there’s something I need to do first.
I grab my jacket, tug it on. “We need to go next door.”
She goes completely still, color draining from her face. “Jaxon.” She takes a step back. “Brody, what will happen if—”
“He knows,” I tell her quickly and she stands there blinking like she can’t comprehend that. “He’s always known.”
“What…how?”
“I talked to him, confessed everything. Told him I loved you.” I pull her back, lightly touch her face. “He’s okay with it, with us.”
“Really?”
“He gave us space to figure out what we needed.” Tears fill her eyes. “I know. He really is one of the good guys who cares about those he loves.”
“You actually talked to him.”
For some reason that means a lot to her. “I did. I wasn’t going to let you go without a fight, Jami.” I wipe a tear from her face. “Can I show you something?”
She nods and I push the door open. Her eyes narrow with pure curiosity as I walk her next door and into the social. Jaxon is waiting just inside. I give him a quick nod and he disappears.
“What is going on?” Jami asks.
I don’t answer. I tug her farther in, guide her to one of the benches beside the courts, and gently set her down. Then I pull out my phone and start recording.
A minute later, Nicola steps out from Jami’s yoga studio, modelling a pair of Jami’s yoga pants and a matching tank. She strikes a pose, grinning. Behind her come Mason, Abby, and Laci. Then Rachel and Jaxon. Susan and Scott. Ma. Verna and Theresa and Sadie, arms linked, laughing as they walk.
I turn to Jami.
Tears are already spilling down her face.
“Hey,” I say, brushing them away with my thumb. “What’s wrong?”
Her voice breaks. “You did this? For me?”
“Yes,” I say gently. “But not just me. We all did this for you. I know it’s not Paris, or France, or Toronto or New York, but—”
“But it’s everything,” she whispers.
Laughter erupts from the court as people prance around, clearly having the time of their lives, until Mr. Cheeseman emerges wearing spandex yoga shorts that are both too tight and far too short.
“Oh, God,” she murmurs, leaning into me. “Does he know those are women’s?”
“I think they might have been running low,” I explain. “And yeah, I could’ve gone my whole life without seeing that.”
She laughs, and as the warmth wraps around me the love I feel for her tightens in my chest.
“But I really appreciate his support,” she adds.
“Jami.” She turns to face me. “I wanted you to see what you built here,” I say. “What you mean to these people? The lengths everyone went to just to make you feel like this is your home.”
“Home,” she murmurs, her gaze sweeping the room.
“I want you here with me, Jami.” My voice is steady, even though my heart is anything but. “It has to be your decision, but I really, really want you to tell me you want that too.”
She stands. “I don’t want to tell you that, Brody.”
The air rushes out of my lungs. My heart drops hard as I force myself to stand, every muscle stiff. I swallow. “Okay,” I say carefully. “I understand—”
She presses a finger to my lips, stopping me cold. “I’d rather show you.”
Then she’s in my arms, kissing me with warmth and certainty, like she’s been holding this back just as long as I have. I laugh as I pull her close and spin her around, the sound echoing off the walls until laughter from our family and friends bubbles up around us, wrapping us in it.
When I finally set her down, we’re both breathless and grinning. She looks up at me.
“I have a confession.”
I take a cautious step back. “What?”
She pokes my chest. “I was coming back here to fight for you.”
My throat tightens. “Really?” I laugh, unable to help myself. “So you’re saying I didn’t have to do any of this?”
“Nope.” There’s a teasing glint in her eyes. “But I sure appreciate it.” Then she softens, blinking up at me. “Honestly, Brody… I wasn’t even sure you’d talk to me after I made assumptions and ran away.”
I smile. “I’d like to be honest now too, Little Birdie.” She tilts her head, waiting. “Talking is the last thing I want to do with you right now.”
“Oh.” She blinks innocently. “What on earth do you have in mind?”
I gesture toward the door. “Maybe we could go back to your place. To, you know…”
She arches a brow. “You have something else to show me, Brody?”
“Hell yeah, I do.”
“Is it that there’s zero chemistry between us?” she asks, biting back a grin as she tries to crinkle her nose in disgust. “That I’d rather kiss a cod?”
I arch a brow and play along. “Less sloppy. Probably warmer.”
“Big Dill.”
I frown. “Big Dill?”
“That’s what I’m going to call my business.”
I grin. “It’s perfect.”
“Big Dill,” she says. “After pickleball and…you.” She laughs, soft, real, and then tilts her head. “Brody, I think I forgot to tell you something.”
I take her hand in mine. “What’s that, babe?”
“I love you, too.”