Chapter 42
Breezy
“Ah, come in, come in!” I welcome Norah and Autumn, waving to Tad as he pulls out of the driveway in his truck to the tune of tire-crunched gravel, headed to meet Randy on an errand to Molene.
Norah’s hair is windblown and Autumn’s tiny cherub cheeks rosy with the nip of fresh morning air.
I waggle my fingers until the handoff of my sweet niece is done, swinging her in a circle that makes her giggle.
“Beeeeee!” she squeals as I press big kisses to her cute cheeks.
“You seem to be feeling good,” Norah remarks, unwinding her scarf from around her neck and discarding both it and her coat on the back of the nearest kitchen chair.
“I am.” I smile, tickling Autumn’s belly before unzipping her coat and putting it on top of Norah’s. “I think the sickness is passing, and energy-wise, I feel like I just got a burst. I’m going to tackle as much as I can today while it lasts. What have you two been up to this morning?”
“We were at the park downtown,” Norah supplies, turning to the cabinet behind herself to grab a mug and fill it with the freshly brewed coffee in the pot before dropping a bomb of information. “With Uncle Logan.”
“Oh, Norah.”
“Well!” She huffs out a sigh and dramatically holds out both of her hands. “It’s been two weeks since the disaster dinner, and he’s still in town. You and Bennett are both ignoring him—which I’m not criticizing—but I mean, come on. How can I not feel a little bad for the guy?”
“I’m not ignoring him,” I correct. “I’m just protecting myself.”
She snorts. “By ignoring him.”
My sigh is much heavier than the air it’s composed of.
“I want to get over it. I do. But every time I see him, I see our father, and I get angry.” I look down at Autumn’s innocent face, the sparkle of her eyes remarkably reminiscent of the one Logan always had as a kid.
So much purity, a well of good intention and kind thoughts every human starts with before life and hardship pump it out of them.
“But I guess you’re right. Maybe we can try another dinner.
At a restaurant, perhaps.” I rub my nose gently against Autumn’s.
“Also, a temperature-controlled environment where you don’t have to make my cute niece eat dinner in a snowsuit would be preferred. ”
Norah laughs, but that’s quickly followed up by a hum that’s full of satisfaction, and impressively, it’s all the gloating she does before changing the subject. “You know what’s weird?”
“What?”
“I’m getting so comfortable standing in Farmer Tad’s kitchen that I’m pouring my own coffee.”
I chuff. “Yeah. Tell me about it, sister. I’m getting comfortable enough in Farmer Tad’s house that I’m considering it my own. Gonna go through some stuff and clean it out when you all leave and everything.”
“Well, technically, it is your home. I mean, you live here now.” She winks. “And holy moly, I never would have predicted you two as a pairing,” she admits. “But Breeze, the man looks really freaking good on you.”
“I know.” I laugh, setting Autumn down on the floor as she squirms. “Trust me, I know. It’s wild. The art snob and the sheep farmer, procreating and settling into a happily ever after.”
“Maybe there’s, like, a sheepish niche in the art world you don’t know about yet. Or at the very least, rustic, rural pieces.”
I snort. “Yeah, I don’t know… I might just be done.”
“Really? I mean, I support you in whatever direction you want to go, you know that. But stepping away for good? That’s a big deal.”
“I know it is. I won’t decide yet, while I’m hormonal and emotional and jaded and everything.
I’ll wait until I have a clear head.” I shrug.
“But I think it speaks volumes that I’ve yet to respond to that shark of a headhunter you sent my way.
Over the past few months, he’s sent me more offers than I can count and I just…
don’t want anything to do with any of it.
And that was before I found out I was baking Tad’s baby bun in my oven. ”
“It certainly says something.” She nods. “And being here with Tad? It’s good?”
I smile. I can’t help it. “It’s amazing, Nor. He’s patient and helpful and funny and…” I sigh. “I’m having a really hard time remembering what I liked so much about living alone.”
“And the sex? That’s good too?”
I cackle. “Norah!”
“Sexxxx,” Autumn repeats, and Norah’s eyes widen.
“Whoops.” She drops her voice to a whisper. “But it’s good?”
“Norah, please,” I chastise before smirking. “But I am pregnant after all, so I suppose you can be the judge.”
She hums, snuggling into her coffee mug. “Oh yeah. Hot Farmer Tad.”
I snort. “You’re asking for trouble with your husband today. First Logan and now the lust?”
“I’m not saying for meeee. I’m just happy for you. I have my own hot things, but I’m betting you don’t want to hear about those because they have everything to do with your brother and how good he is at…” She waggles her brows, and I pretend to cover my ears.
“Lalalala.”
Her laugh rings throughout the kitchen and spreads to Autumn, who’s made a playground out of the Tupperware cabinet in the corner. She bangs a lid against the wooden floor, and an overwhelming peace falls over me at the sight of her.
Maybe, just maybe, slow life in Red Bridge is exactly what I needed.
“All right,” Norah declares, rinsing her coffee mug in the sink and giving it a quick cleaning before setting it in the strainer. “We’ll get out of your hair for now. But call me later, you know, when you’re ready to mend the fence with Logan.”
“You’re relentless.”
Norah smiles, coming toward me quickly and pulling me into a hug so fierce, I almost tear up. “I love you. You’re my family, and selfishly, I want all the eggs of my family in the same basket before Easter.”
“I’ll try. But not today. After Tad gets back from Molene, I think we’re going to go on a date.”
She pulls back and claps in between us. “Okay, then. Let’s go, Autumn. Aunt Breezy has some nesting to do before she can get done in the much better, much dirtier way, and as is obvious by the mess you’ve made of this cabinet, organization is not this age’s strong suit.”
I roll my eyes and kiss Autumn on the cheek, and Norah scoops her and their belongings up, waving at me before they shove through the door. Without their distraction, it’s officially time to clean.
…
I’ve seen avalanches with more structure than the closet in Tad’s guestroom on the first floor.
Straddling the stack of clothes I just knocked off the bar, I wobble like a newborn deer and grab the top box from the leaning tower of chaos before it topples.
“My gosh, this is like Monica’s secret closet on Friends,” I mutter, shimmying back and trying not to fall or break something.
“Who knew Tad was such a packrat when he’s so neat everywhere else. ”
My phone chimes from the nightstand, and I detour through the mess, climb over a stray boot, and grab it.
A text message from Tad is the only notification on the screen, drawing my cheeks up and out as I click to read it.
Tad: Coming back into Red Bridge now. Dropping off Randy, and then I’ll head toward home. Want me to pick up lunch on the way back? I can get nachos if they’re still calling to you, or something else if that craving joined the witness protection program.
I laugh under my breath. The nacho craving has, in fact, fled the country and assumed a new identity somewhere in Fryville.
Me: Nachos are out, Farm Daddy. Cheeseburger and fries are in. The greasier, the better.
Tad: Understood lol. I’ll call the diner and put in a to-go order. See you soon, Farm Mommy.
Me: Oh my God. Don’t even try to go there. That nickname doesn’t hit the same for me.
Tad: But you’re a mommy on my farm…feels kind of apt.
Me: How about you just focus on my food?
Tad: Farm Daddy’s on it.
Reinvigorated by the promise of food, I turn back to the heap of clothes like a woman on a mission. It’s me versus this closet, and right now, the closet’s winning.
I start scooping hangers by the handful, stacking shirts like I’m competing in some sad domestic Olympics.
After a few trips from the closet to the bed, I’ve unearthed a mix of flannels and coats and old sports teams’ T-shirts.
I silently wonder about a younger, obviously trimmer Tad who used to wear all these and why he didn’t get rid of them when he outgrew them.
Funnily enough, they look like they might fit me pretty well, and with a belly I know will be growing by the day, I’m going to be in desperate need of some temporary wardrobe additions.
Red Bridge isn’t exactly a shopping paradise like New York.
I tug one of the flannel shirts on, pulling it up and over my shoulders and cinching the front. It’s about two sizes too big, but for right now, loose is perfect.
I set it to the side and try on another and another and another until I have a stack of fifteen shirts to add to my options for the next couple of months. And I fold and organize the other pile to ask Tad about donating when he gets back home from Molene.
Perfect, I think, until I reach the back corner and drag out a box heavy enough to make me regret my life choices. Tad’s muscle is definitely needed for this one, I think as I swap it out for a lighter one.
But when I fold back the flap, I pull out a nondescript photo album and open it to the first page to find a picture of Tad.
He’s handsome as ever, smiling and standing in front of a firehouse in a navy pair of pants and a T-shirt, and he’s holding his hand up to the camera as though the photographer is a member of the paparazzi.
I study the photo a little closer.
His body is still fit and his arms still tanned like now, but his smile is different somehow—bigger and brighter. It’s weird to see, considering Tad comes across as one of the happiest-go-lucky guys on the planet, but in this photo, his eyes are different.
I lean in slightly, intent on examining the lettering of the embroidery on the chest pocket of his tee, but I startle hard when a question comes from out of nowhere.
“What are you doing?”