19
Annie
Brandon kissed me. This is my first thought upon waking in my bed at the emergency room. We kissed. And it was . . . well . . . Brandon once told me that if he kissed me, it would be a big deal. And in typical Brandon fashion, he was being excessively modest. Big deal? How about life changing.
My second thought is gratitude that he found me.
Yesterday, when I finally outran my anger at Jack and came to my senses, I was already miles up the muddy trail, soaked in the rain and shivering.
My sopping skirt clung to my legs, making it challenging to walk, and my sandals kept slipping on the muddy trail.
The first time I fell and wrenched my left ankle, I got up and tried to continue down the trail—only to twist it again a few minutes later.
The second time, I didn’t bother getting back up.
I was in too much pain and utterly exhausted.
I dragged myself over to a tree, where I would at least have minimal shelter, and cried miserable self-pitying tears, more upset at myself than anyone else.
It was so easy for Jack to sweep me off my feet.
I had convinced myself that it was the real thing because it matched all my ideals of a sweeping romance—and all I got was a love-bombing cheater.
And to top it all off, I hiked too far in sandals and a skirt—the sort of mistake a tourist makes.
My foolishness has hurt so many people: my mom, my sister—and especially Pepper and Brandon.
But I can’t say how wonderful it was to see Brandon coming to my rescue on that trail.
Of all the people who could have found me, it was him.
And then he kissed me like he’d been waiting a thousand years for that kiss.
Like he wanted me as much as I wanted him.
He may have apologized for the kiss and said it was a mistake, but I don’t believe him. I can’t—not after the way he kissed me.
“Oh, you’re up!” My mom enters the room. “And how are you feeling?”
“Great,” I say, still a bit lost in my thoughts of Brandon.
“What about your ankle?” she asks with a puzzled look. “We just heard back from the doctor. It’s definitely broken.”
”Oh yeah, it really hurts. I think the pain medication is wearing off.”
“But you said you felt great?” Normally, this would be when I bring up that Brandon kissed me—my mom and I always talk about the guys I date.
Usually, a first kiss is something I’m happy to share with her.
But I don’t tell her about Brandon kissing me on the trail.
It all feels incredibly private, and—I don’t know, sacred almost. Also, I don’t think Brandon would tell anyone about the kiss, and I find myself very protective of his wishes.
Come to think of it, I’ve always felt protective of Brandon.
I just never realized how much until now.
“I feel much better than I did last night.”
“You had us worried there.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run off like that. I was just so angry at Jack.”
“We all are. I can’t wrap my mind around it—he had such honest eyes! I feel terrible that I ever encouraged you to like him.”
“Well . . . no one was more fooled by him than I was. And your advice wasn’t bad. You said you wanted me to be with someone committed to me. I want that too.”
“And Brandon?” my mom asks with a look so sly I half wonder if Brandon told her about the kiss.
“What about him?”
“You should have seen him fly into action when he heard you were out in the rain. He was a man on a mission. And then he carried you down the mountain and drove you straight here.”
“I remember.” Brandon held my hand the entire drive. I was exhausted and in so much pain, but I clung to Brandon’s hand as if it were my only link to reality.
“I had to practically force him to go home and get some sleep. He wouldn’t leave the hospital until the doctor assured him you were stable.”
She gives me a searching look. I’m not sure what she sees.
I’m not sure how I’m feeling. Happy when I think about Brandon.
Embarrassed about my fit of temper that sent me hiking into the mountains unprepared.
Humiliated about Jack and a little sad. I know the truth now.
Or rather, I can admit the truth that was there all along—I love Brandon.
I don’t just like him or want to date him.
I love him. And it feels like something has changed between us.
But it’s all so new and fragile. To talk it over would be like telling someone your birthday wish before you blow out your candles.
***
As soon as the doctor leaves the room, I take out my phone to text Brandon. I read his last text, the one I never replied to.
If you need anything, I’m here.
I shouldn’t have left him hanging. I should have replied right away.
But in the end, when I needed him most, he showed up for me.
I can’t help but remember all the ways Brandon has shown up for me—starting with the first day he and Pepper came to my flower crown class, and he insisted on carrying my buckets of flowers home.
How could I have ever thought that Jack loved me more?
I text Brandon, letting him know that it was a clean break and that I’ll be wearing a cast for at least six weeks.
Now I’m anxiously waiting for his reply.
I remind myself that I need to chill. Brandon could be busy for a thousand reasons.
Today, though, I’m desperate to connect with him, and waiting isn’t easy.
I check my phone every few minutes until we return to Bumble Cottage two hours later with my leg in a cast.
Pepper opens the screen door before I’m halfway up the steps.
“Annie! Is that a real cast? I’m so jealous. I wish I could break my leg. Can I sign it?”
“Yes, of course.” I hobble in, smiling as she holds the door open. Elinor gets up from the couch, where it appears she and Pepper were playing a game. I scan the room; no sign of Brandon.
“My dad’s sleeping.” Pepper offers. I guess I wasn’t too subtle as I searched the room.
“I sent him to bed, despite much protesting,” explains Elinor as she helps me ease onto the couch. “He said he promised Mom he’d make dinner, but Edward offered to take care of it. Frankly, Brandon looked exhausted.”
“He should be. I have no idea how he carried me down the mountain. It had to be nearly five miles.”
“Yes, and at most he only got a few hours’ sleep last night.”
“I’m glad he’s getting some rest.” I laugh inwardly at myself for being anxious for his text. I can always count on Brandon. I should never have doubted that. “Pepper, you probably already know this, but your dad is a really good guy.”
“I know! He’s a thousand times better than Jack.”
“A million times better,” I say, laughing a little too enthusiastically.
“Are you still sad about Jack?” she asks, sitting down gingerly beside me. “Dad said he broke your heart.”
I think for a minute before answering. Am I still sad about Jack?
Thinking about him just makes me feel icky—I wish I’d never met him.
So much for full moons and signs from the universe.
“No, I don’t think he broke my heart. I think .
. . for being such a romantic, I’m kind of an idiot when it comes to love. ”
“So’s my dad,” Pepper says matter-of-factly. “That’s why I had to help him out.”
“Seems to me he’s an expert at loving you.”
“That’s because I’m easy to love.”
“That’s the truth.” I give her a quick side hug. “Want to be the first to sign my cast?”
“Yes!” Pepper runs to the rolltop writing desk where Elinor keeps her art supplies. She returns with a handful of markers.
“You look ready to paint a whole mural.”
“This cast needs some flowers.”
A girl after my own heart. “That’s exactly what it needs.”
Pepper signs her name, surrounding it with flowers.
It’s really cute. I wonder what Brandon will sign.
I resist the urge to check my phone to see if he has replied to my text.
I have my ringer on; there’s no way I could miss it.
I’m rewarded just a few minutes later when my phone rings, and it’s Brandon.
“Hey!” His voice is scratchy and deep like he just woke up. “I saw you texted—sorry about your ankle.”
“It’s all good. It would have been much worse if I had dragged myself down the mountain. I’m not sure I would have made it.”
Brandon makes a noncommittal grunt. We’ve never talked on the phone before, and this is the moment I realize he might not be the best at phone conversations. But I don’t care—he called me back. His decision to call instead of text feels significant.
“Is that my dad on the phone?” Pepper asks. I nod.
“Tell him dinner is in thirty minutes,” says Elinor. As soon as I relay that message, there’s movement upstairs. It sounds like Brandon is getting out of bed. “I’ll shower first, then I’ll be right down.”
“Great! See you then.”
Never in the history of the world has thirty minutes stretched so slowly. Tonight, Brandon and I are going to talk—really talk. About the kiss . . . about what idiots we’ve been . . . about everything. I’m not sure how we are going to do that in a house full of people, but that’s my plan.
Edward emerges from the kitchen to let us know dinner is ready, but first he takes a minute to sign my cast as “The Boy”—a fun reference to the nickname Elinor and I gave him when we first met him as kids, many summers ago.
My mom has been teaching Edward to cook since he moved to Norland Park.
This helps in so many ways. It gives my mom a chance to take a day off, and it also means we have one more adult around who can help with dinner during the busy summer season.
Tonight he’s making salmon salad, which is one of my favorites.
If Elinor broke up with him, I would throw a fit.
Though I don’t foresee that happening—quite the opposite.
I expect to hear that they’re engaged any day now.
Engaged. I can’t believe Jack was engaged.
I go from feeling hopeful and excited about Brandon to feeling sick and humiliated that I ever dated Jack—that I was the other woman.
The others follow Edward into the kitchen for dinner.
But I’m waiting for Brandon. Since we talked on the phone, I’ve been half-listening to his movements through the floorboards.
I’m pretty sure he finished his shower and returned to his room.
Normally, I’d just run upstairs and check, but I’m still adjusting to my walking cast. I give him a call.
No answer. I hang up, and seconds later, my phone rings. It’s Brandon.
“Annie?” His voice sounds scratchy.
“Are you still coming down for dinner?”
“Is it time? Sorry, I fell asleep again. I think I’m sick.”
“Oh no! Do you need anything?”
“More sleep.”
“Would it help if I had Pepper sleep in my room tonight?”
“You don’t need to do that,” says a very weary Brandon.
“Just like you didn’t need to carry me down a mountain.”
“I needed to do that.”
“And I need to do this.”
“I suppose I wouldn’t mind if someone else did the whole marathon bedtime routine.”
“Good, you go back to sleep.”
He chuckles softly. “You have no idea what you just signed up for.”
***
After dinner, Pepper and I go upstairs to check on Brandon. He must be exhausted, because he doesn’t stir when Pepper flips the light on. Or when my cast goes clunk, clunk, clunk against the wooden floorboards as I walk to his side of the bed.
I take in sleeping Brandon. His hair looks damp. I wonder if he has a fever. I put a hand on his forehead. It’s burning—definitely a fever.
“Brandon,” I whisper. “We brought you dinner.” His eyes open and lock on mine.
“Annie!” He breaks out into a drowsy smile.
“Yes, and Pepper,” I say. Pepper is busy grabbing what she needs to sleep in my room. “I think you have a fever. You should take some Tylenol.”
“I don’t feel so good.” It’s a small statement, but from Brandon who is relentlessly stoic, this admission makes me nervous. Though it makes sense—even a body as strong as Brandon’s must have its limits. He carried me down a mountain in the rain, and he barely slept all night.
I can’t help it; I stroke his fevered brow like a nurse caring for a wounded soldier. If we were alone, I’d kiss his forehead, but I am well aware that Pepper’s watching me closely.
He reaches up and clasps my hand resting on his forehead. He might be sick, but his grip is still firm.
“Don’t go.” The urgency in his voice stops me.
“We can stay for a little bit. Maybe while you eat dinner.”
“That would be nice.” He lets go of my hand and closes his eyes. In a moment I can hear his steady breathing. He’s fallen back asleep.
“What should we do?” Pepper asks.
“Let him sleep. But first he should take some medicine for that fever and drink some water.”
“Good luck waking him back up,” Pepper says. “He sleeps like a bear.”
I gently shake his shoulder, all the while keenly aware that I’m touching Brandon.
He might be sick, but he’s still a fine-looking man.
I can’t believe I ever disparaged his appearance.
His rugged looks are so different from Jack’s delicate features; it’s as if Jack were made of porcelain and Brandon carved from stone.
“Brandon . . . you need to take your medicine.”
He mumbles something.
“What was that?” I ask.
More steady breathing.
“He can be a really sound sleeper,” says Pepper.
“I see that.” I turn on the bedside table lamp. “Can you turn off the overhead light?” I ask Pepper.
“Sure thing.” We both watch Brandon sleeping.
“Do you think you’re going to marry my dad?” she asks softly.
“Your dad has made it clear he has no interest in remarrying.”
“But you’d marry him?”
“Brandon is the best man I know. I can’t imagine that he’d ever want to marry me.”
As I say this, I know in my heart that I would absolutely marry Brandon.
Meeting him wasn’t the lightning bolt I expected.
No, this is the slow steady love of spending many ordinary hours together.
It’s more like the gradual change in the woods each spring.
At first, you don’t even notice the new buds on the branches—and then suddenly everything is covered in flowers.
I asked Lady Whimple for clarity, but now it’s clear that what I needed most was patience. How silly to expect to know everything all at once; as a gardener I know full well that some of the best things in life take time.
“But if he asked?” She looks up me at so eagerly that I’m compelled to answer honestly.
“I don’t dare imagine anything so wonderful.” She nods, then smiles her big Pepper smile.
“Lucky for you, I can imagine it. And I have another notebook.”