Eight #2
“David says he can support his family and her job is to support him.”
“Oh, he does, does he?” They shared a glance but neither felt the need to comment further. Valerie tapped her lip and the smell of roses wafted over him as she moved. “If David’s the oldest son and Penny the oldest daughter, why is Roger in charge of the company?”
“Because Malcolm said David had the business sense God gave a cat, and Penny’s priority should be her family.” Malcolm had not been one to mince his words, nor had he been particularly progressive. “Peter refused to work for the company at all.”
“Yikes, but also drama.” She gave the ma a long drawling emphasis. “What was Malcolm like? Roger said he was an ass.”
“He would probably have considered himself traditional, but bigot works.” None of Nico’s loyalty to Roger had transferred to Malcolm. “When Roger hired me, Malcolm disliked me because of my name.”
“Nico Hever? Was he a big Catherine of Aragon fan?”
“What?”
“Anne Boleyn’s childhood home was Hever Castle.”
Nico got a kick from how her brain worked, jumping from topic to topic and leaving him breathless and off-balance.
Being with Valerie was like being on a tightrope while opening a door to a secret room filled with surprise treasure.
“He thought I was Italian and thus had to be connected to the Mob.”
“You’re joking.”
“Roger had to explain that my mother simply had fond memories of her Florentine honeymoon, before reminding him that being Italian didn’t equate Mob.” He pulled onto Black Creek Drive and resisted gunning it with the relief of finally being able to accelerate.
Valerie hummed along with a song he only vaguely recognized. “Are they close?” she asked. “They seem so in the photos I’ve seen, but now there’s all this stuff going on.”
“It goes up and down between Roger and David, but Roger and Penny are. Penny says they have a special connection as oldest and youngest, which irritates David.”
“Roger said none of them seemed particularly surprised with how Malcolm dealt with the pregnancy.”
“That could mean they expected him to behave that badly or they already knew about it.”
She nodded. “I can see that. Did Malcolm encourage competition among his offspring?”
“Yes, but he also instilled a belief that it was the Badgertons against the world, and I think it got more intense after Harriet died. You know he commissioned their coat of arms?”
“It wasn’t inherited from Lord Badgerton of Badgingtonham-sur-Thames or something?”
“It’s not. Anyone can apply for one through the chief herald of Canada.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Would I kid about heraldry?”
She contemplated this as a motorcycle shot by between the lanes. “I suppose not.”
“If you’re approved, they work with you to choose your emblems. The Badgertons have a loaf of bread, a sheaf of wheat, the sun, and a jug of water.”
“Are there badgers? I can’t remember. There must be.”
“Two badgers rampant.”
Valerie threw her head back and laughed. Then she turned to look at him, and for the first time in his life, he was grateful to be stalled in traffic so he could watch her instead of the family of bikes mounted on the Kia in front.
“What would you have on your coat of arms?” she asked.
“I have no idea. You?”
“A pile of books,” she said promptly. “I love reading. A dragon, but a Chinese one, not one slain by St. George. Some kind of flower.”
“A rose?” Her scent filled the car.
“That does seem properly heraldic, but daisies are my favorite. With a hand reaching out… I’d add that too.”
“A hand?”
“I like helping people. That’s why I’m here. I mean, apart from the money. I want to help Roger.”
Her sincere expression dissolved any lingering negative feelings, but he was curious. “Why? You barely know him.”
“Helping is my thing,” she said. “Now you. Give me your coat of arms.”
There had to be more to it than that. He frowned, recalling Valerie’s anxiety when Roger had come to discuss Malcolm’s event disaster. “Did you say yes because you felt you owed Roger?” He tread carefully for his next question. “As if you didn’t have a choice?”
“Who can say why any of us make a decision?” she asked. “I wanted to help. It’s a lot of money. It’s a trip to cottage country. It’s support for Ad Astra if I relaunch. You’re here. These are all factors. Now, your coat of arms?”
He wanted to press her, but a cagey Valerie gave him pause. She usually seemed so transparent. He decided to try later, when he had time to consider what her casual mention of his presence meant, and why she’d said if about Ad Astra and not when. “A cell phone, to-do list, and laptop.”
She groaned. “Nico. You must have a hobby outside work.”
“Not really.” That never bothered him, until he thought of Valerie’s bags of crafts and her interest in everything around her. She was so engaged with life that she crackled with it. It made him feel like a boring old man.
They hit the highway and soon the gray expanse of warehouses and logistics centers gave way to green fields dotted by the occasional lone tree or farmhouse.
Valerie amused herself by trying to name the crops, but could only reliably identify corn.
Traffic was slow and her guesses trailed off as the summer sun slanted through the windows.
When she went completely silent, Nico glanced over to see she’d fallen asleep with her hands clasped in her lap, head tilted to the side. He wished he had a blanket to tuck around her shoulders and had to be content with turning down the air-conditioning vents so they didn’t blow directly on her.
This summer had the potential to be a shit show of gargantuan proportions, and although it wasn’t his circus, it sure felt like his monkeys. Inevitably, and for better or worse, someone was going to close out August with some pretty big feelings.
Roger would find his daughter and have a second chance to rekindle love with Yvette, or not.
Someone would have a secret revealed that would cause serious repercussions through the Badgerton family, affecting Malcolm’s reputation and possibly the business, or not.
Valerie would have the time of her life or, more likely, would not.
As for Nico? He was going to have his heart broken.
He could see it coming already, like a patch of ice on a winter road when it was too late to lift his foot off the brake.
The only reason he hadn’t dismissed Roger’s story of instant connection with Yvette was because he’d felt the eroding cliff of something similar the second he’d set eyes on Valerie.
A more poetic man might say something like his soul craved her spark.
Nico simply thought he’d never met anyone quite like her.
For once, he didn’t try to reason the inexplicable reaction away but simply let himself feel.
When she met his gaze that first time, he knew he wanted Valerie to be part of his life.
If he was far, far luckier than he deserved, he might have a chance to make that happen.
That being said, last night he’d stared in the mirror (wondering if she preferred men with longer or shorter, or lighter or darker hair and stretching his neck to make his jawline more prominent) and swore he wouldn’t do a thing to make her uncomfortable.
She was going to be in potentially hostile, if luxurious, territory, and she would need a friend without worrying about getting hit on.
That was gross, and his sisters, for all of their faults, had taught him better than that.
Valerie opened her eyes as they came into Orillia. “Are we there?”
“Not yet, but I need to grab some groceries at the market.” He pulled into a conveniently located parking spot on the main street and pointed to the store.
She bounced up and swung open the car door. “It’s adorable.”
He knew she’d like it and followed her inside.
The Mariposa Market was a traditional stop on the way to the cottage and packed with people stocking up on hosting gifts, baked goods, and an imposing array of jarred foods.
Long lines formed at the counters for those ordering coffee and sandwiches and more baked goods.
Valerie looked around, fascinated, as he took a basket to collect what Roger needed.
“Pickled asparagus?” she asked, pulling down a jar. “This looks amazing.”
He looked doubtfully at the yellowish spears, but held out the basket, filled with two packs of butter tarts (one caramel, one chocolate drizzle), a sourdough loaf, and Skor cookies.
Roger’s philosophy was that if you didn’t indulge on a holiday, you might as well be dead, and Nico expected Valerie to subscribe to the same ethos. Instead, she hesitated.
“What if no one else likes it?” She put it back and picked up some strawberry jam. “We’ll get this.”
He frowned, looking down at her bent head. “You want to try the asparagus.”
“Sure, but it’s selfish to get something only I want. Others might not enjoy it.”
“If other people want jam, they can get jam. You get what you want.”
“Will you try them with me?”
He looked at the asparagus again and steeled himself. “Sure.”
He waited until she put the jar in and went to pay as Valerie went to the other counter to grab them each a latte for the road.
In the car, he handed over a pink sprinkle doughnut that was, no exaggeration, the size of Valerie’s head.
He knew she’d love it and was pleased to see her face light up.
She put the hole to her eye and winked at him.
That was it. He was one hundred percent on his way to falling hard for Valerie.
He must be, if he was willing to try that asparagus.