Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Maeve slipped away from Bella and Logan’s wedding as soon as politely possible and walked fast down the sidewalk, berating herself for even going.
In retrospect, it had been a dreadful idea.
She’d had the perfect excuse not to go and yet she had wanted to be there, to congratulate her friend, Bella, see her in her beautiful dress looking happy and content and living the dream she deserved.
So she had risked the possibility of bumping into Brodie Carter, but from what she knew of Brodie, she’d presumed he’d be far too distracted with the other more glamorous guests to take any notice of her.
But then he’d sidled over, looking all effortlessly gorgeous and Hollywood-esque in his pale blue suit with his artfully mussed hair.
She shook her head up at the cloudless sky at her own stupidity.
What was she thinking? She could only blame tiredness from her twenty-four-hour shift for clouding her judgment.
But of all the people there, why had Brodie had to come over to the bar the ten minutes that she was there? “Why?” she said out loud.
She dropped her head, looked down at her boots pounding the sidewalk. Perhaps he’d already worked his way round the available females in the crowd before she arrived, and the sight of fresh pickings was what drew his attention.
Her house was a block from the orchard. She could see the rusted wire fence that marked her little garden in contrast to the white picket fences of her neighbors.
She really should get it replaced. If only she had time.
All she wanted right now was sleep. Since leaving the hospital she had fantasized about her soft white sheets and the precious calm of her bedroom.
She reached her front gate and was just going to unlatch it when she heard the sound of running footsteps on the sidewalk behind her.
She glanced and what she saw made her stomach tighten.
Brodie was coming toward her, at not quite a jog, more of a languid lope, his suit jacket undone, his expression knowing, which only made the panic rise to Maeve’s throat.
He came to a stop in front of her, unruffled by the exertion, running a hand through his still perfect hair, and said, “Stanford Stadium. I was doing a solo concert. You were there with Ethan’s friend Piper Adams. Ethan got you backstage passes.
You were wearing a little pink skirt and silver boots. Yeah?”
Everyone in Autumn Falls knew the story of the Carter brothers forming a band and auditioning for a TV talent show to cheer their mom up when she was undergoing chemotherapy.
No one had ever expected them to win, let alone go on to become the world famous, multi-platinum boy band, Silver Sky.
Nor that Brodie Carter, when the band split, would go on to have a chart-topping solo career.
But looking at him now, with his glinting eyes and razor-sharp cheekbones, radiating an effortless confidence, it was obvious that he was destined for stardom.
Maeve found herself struggling with how to reply, and in her panic went with the knee-jerk reaction of denial. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Brodie’s mouth stretched into a crooked, cocksure grin. “Sure you do. I remember that skirt.”
She shook her head. “I really, honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He laughed, dimples in both cheeks, eyes creasing slightly at the sides.
She thought of all the women who went weak at the knees at that laugh, at that laser-like attention.
She had of course fallen for it herself, dressed in the pink leather skirt and the silver cowboy boots she’d borrowed off Piper after much cajoling.
“That really doesn’t sound like something I’d wear. ”
But she had worn it. And dressed in something completely different to her normal style, her make-up done by Piper who was amazing at that kind of thing, and just totally relieved to have a break from her grueling college workload, she had felt like a different person.
A person who had the confidence to respond when she saw Brodie’s eyes light up at the sight of her—everyone at school had loved Brodie and he’d never even cast a glance her way.
So to see that smile focused on her alone, when only half an hour before she’d heard his name chanted by a stadium full of fans, girls next to her crying when he sang the first note while his face was beamed around the stadium on giant screens, it had been intoxicating.
While all the brothers had their fanbase, as the lead singer, Brodie’s star had always shone that little bit brighter, with that magical tone to his voice, even more so when he was up there on his own.
It made Maeve flirt back a little when he flirted.
To allow herself a little fun having been cooped up with her books since her second year at Stanford began.
It was beguiling to be caught in the glow of someone as famous and beautiful and charming as Brodie Carter was then—that’s what she told herself when she tried to rationalize it later.
Now here Brodie was, leaning up against her neighbor’s fence post, arms crossed, his knowing—almost mocking—smile still in place. “You can deny it all you like, I know it was you. I’m terrible with names but I’m good with faces.” He paused, his mouth tipped up. “And skirts. And silver boots.”
Maeve was about to shake her head dismissively, considered perhaps even just walking away up the garden path and leaving him standing there, when to her absolute horror, from behind her, a little voice said, “Hi, Mom. I saw you through the curtain, Carole said it was okay for me to come out.”
Maeve’s body froze rigid, the blood pounding in her head as she took in the scene in snapshots, every word like an echo, images suspended in time.
The music from the wedding in the distance.
The rattle of the metal fence as her daughter, Zoey, swung from it, her untied shoelace.
The navy Jackson General Hospital fundraiser sweater she had on that Maeve wore to do the gardening and Zoey had taken a shine to—even though it came down almost to her knees when she wore it.
Her fluorescent-yellow leggings, her favorite red polka-dot bobble hat, and the wisps of hair that had come loose from her braid.
Then her precious little arm as she stretched it out toward Brodie, the cuff rolled over like a sausage, and said, “I’m Zoey. Nice suit.”
Watching Zoey’s fingers, pale and tiny when clasped by Brodie’s big, tanned hand, Maeve could barely allow herself to look at his face as he said, “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Brodie. Not a bad outfit yourself.”
Zoey looked down at herself as if to check what she had on and said, “Thanks.” Then she turned back to Maeve. “What were you talking about?”
Maeve said, “Nothing,” her voice strained and thin.
Zoey frowned. “Why have you got your stressed face on?”
Maeve tried to ignore her. “Go inside, I’ll be there in a minute.”
Zoey didn’t move. Instead, she looked to Brodie, giving him a proper once up-and-down as if he might provide some answers.
Clearly more than happy to oblige, Brodie said, “I was just reminding your mom about a time we met a while ago.” He paused to think back.
Maeve watched him mentally calculating, her heart thumping like a drum.
“It must have been one of the first concerts I did without the band,” he said. “So, when was that, about eight years ago?”
Zoey said, “I’m eight.” Grinning with pride at the fact. Dimples in both cheeks.
Maeve found herself struggling to breathe.