One Good Thing Read online

  Charlie removes two plates from a cabinet, her belly bumping against the counter. She keeps going as if she didn’t notice, which makes me think it probably happens all the time.

  With a smile, she turns to me, and asks, “Remember that time I called Cooper’s mom and tipped her off about the weed he kept stashed in the toe of a boot in his closet?”

  I bark a laugh, palming my forehead and looking up at the ceiling. “That was the best revenge.”

  “Cooper deserved it. What kind of guy lies about sleeping with someone?”

  I think back to the pimply faced, sixteen-year-old I went on two movie dates with, then learned he’d told his friends I had sex with him in the back of the theater. “Cooper, apparently.”

  Charlie grabs a knife and cuts two slices from the quiche. “He went to college out of state and I haven’t seen him since. And he never did find out it was me who told his mom.” Her chuckle is playful and evil. She pats her belly and looks down. “You’ll never do anything like that, will you?”

  I help Charlie carry the plates and forks to the table. We sit and eat, our conversation a constant stream of chatter. She tells me about Merch, and I fill her in on what it was like to run a bakery. I don’t tell her about Warren’s family swiping the bakery out from under me. I don’t want to bring down the cheery mood of our reunion.

  We finish the food, and she shows me the nursery. It still needs wall hangings and the crib lies unassembled in a box, but it’s getting there.

  Before I leave, Charlie invites me to happy hour next week with some of her girlfriends, and I accept.

  “They’re all moms. A couple of them are rowdy, but they’ll have two glasses of wine and then go home early because there’s a good probability a kid will be up during the night.”

  “Sounds like a safe bunch.”

  Charlie tells me she’ll text me when she knows the time and place, and we hug goodbye.

  The road to Sweet Escape is just as bumpy as it was earlier, but I don’t notice it as much. Charlie has brought a little sunshine into my life.

  * * *

  “Mom, hey.” I hold up my phone, my elbows propped on the kitchen island, and my mom’s face comes into view. Her blonde hair is in a ponytail, and her bangs are in need of a trim.

  “Hey, baby.” Her eyes rove around my head, taking in my surroundings. “Where are you?”

  “Grandma’s.”

  “Oh.” The corners of her mouth dip. “Why?”

  “I wanted to visit.”

  She nods slowly. “Everything okay?”

  “Not really, but I don’t want to get into it.”

  Her lips twist as she surveys me. “How’s your heart these days?”

  “Mom, I just said I don’t want to talk about it.” My tone is gentle. I talk to my mom so infrequently, upsetting her isn’t something I want to do.

  She lifts her hands. “Okay, okay.”

  There’s a sound behind me, soft like careful footfalls. I sit up and whip around, peering into the darkened living room. I know it’s not my grandma. She wouldn’t be sneaking around her own house.

  “Hello?” I call out. It’s probably a guest. “It’s okay. Do you need something?”

  I hear the footfalls again, this time not as soft, and they’re coming closer.

  He walks into the light, and I see that I’ve assumed correctly. It’s a guest. Just not a guest I want to see, especially after the embarrassing incident at the lake.

  “Mom, I have to go. A guest needs something.”

  “It’s awfully late,” she complains. She’s always disliked that my grandma runs a bed and breakfast.

  “Bye, Mom. Love you.” I press the end button and look back to Brady. “How long have you been standing there?” I hear my tone, and it sounds accusatory. I’m still wary of him, despite the fact I believe him about the wedding band. My senses are heightened around him, and it makes me uneasy.

  Brady takes two more long strides toward me, coming to stand a few feet away. He’s dressed in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. “I’ve been here long enough to know you came to Oregon for the same reason I did.”

  I frown. “You were eavesdropping.”

  He shakes his head. “Technically, no. I tried to back away quietly.”

  I stare at him for a moment, determining how I feel. I want to be angry he overheard, but I know that’s stupid.

  Mentally I put on my proprietor cap and ask, “Why did you come to the main house? Do you need something?”

  His fingers press against his temple. “I have a headache. I was wondering if you have any pain reliever?”

  “Sure.” I hop off the stool and go to a cabinet. He has two choices from the stock my grandma keeps, and I hold up the bottles to show him. He points to one and I hand it over.

  “So,” he says, unscrewing the cap and tipping the plastic bottle into his hand. “You have a broken heart too?”

  I lean back against the counter and eye him. “I knew I was right. Girl trouble.”

  He tucks the pills into his pocket and places the bottle on the counter beside me.

  “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

  I’m already emotionally exhausted, and I don’t want to go into it tonight. It’s not an easy story to tell. Pushing off the counter, I tell him, “Another time.”

  His chin dips quickly, a curt nod. “You still don’t trust me, do you? Even though I told you about the ring.” Brady’s eyebrows knit, and I can see how upset he is by the idea that someone doesn’t trust he’s telling the truth.

  I grab a glass and fill it with water, letting the seconds pass before I respond. This question of belief, of whether I think he’s telling the truth, makes me uncomfortable. It’s like having some kind of weird inside joke, but it’s not a joke. It’s just something that binds us, when nothing should. We’re two broken souls, spending a short time traveling parallel roads. He’ll go on his way in a couple weeks, and I’ll…well, I don’t know what I’ll do.

  “I believe you,” I assure him. It seems imperative to him that I believe him, and besides, I actually do.

  “Honesty is important to me,” he says, his arms crossing in front of himself.

  His arm muscles flex because of his stance, and it doesn’t escape me that he’s attractive, so ridiculously attractive, even more so than usual thanks to the ardent expression on his face. I swallow down all those thoughts, and with the goal of ending our conversation, say, “I’m sure one day you’ll find a girl who will appreciate that quality.”

  His gaze falls to his arms, and I feel like an idiot. I didn’t mean to make him think of her. The girl who sent him looking for solace in wooded Oregon. I was just being a bit flippant, not careful of my words.

  “Right. Well, anyway.” He starts to walk out of the kitchen. “Thanks for the medicine.”

  I feel bad. “See you at breakfast?”

  He answers with a wave as he goes, which isn’t an answer at all.

  I listen for the back door to close, then count to fifteen and follow his path, locking the door behind him.

  7

  Brady

  I need to blow off some steam, and exercise has always been the best way for me to do that. As far as I can tell, there aren’t any gyms within walking distance, so I’m completing a circuit in my cabin. Push-ups, planks, jumping jacks, mountain climbers, and burpees.

  I’m in the middle of my third set when my phone rings, cutting off the music I’d been listening to. I grab it and look at the screen.

  Lennon Facetime.

  I stare at the phone for a second, deciding if I should let it go. Guilt and a sense of duty win out. I reach for my shirt and pull it over my head. There was a time when I wouldn’t have covered up before answering, hoping my shirtless self would send Lennon’s libido soaring and she’d realize her attraction to me was far greater than it was to Finn.

  That ship has sailed.

  “Hi,” I say, Lennon’s face appearing on the screen. My heart twists
at the sight of her. Her lips, her eyes, her collarbone. She’s gorgeous, and painfully familiar.

  “Hey, you.” She grins. “Where are you hiding yourself?”

  “What do you mean?” I hadn’t told her or Finn I was headed anywhere, so I don’t know why she thinks otherwise. The truth isn’t something I feel like telling her. If I do, she’s going to feel guilty. The guilt she feels already clouds everything we do, a dark tinge on every conversation.

  “Don’t you lie to me, Brady Sterling.” Lennon points a finger at me, her voice stern. “I can tell you’re thinking about lying.”

  I chuckle softly, lifting my hands in the air. “You got me.”

  “So?” Lennon urges. “Where are you?”

  “Why don’t you think I’m in Chicago?” I’m positive my mother hasn’t spoken to Lennon, and even if she had, she wouldn’t have told her my plans.

  “I can see where you’re sitting Brady, and it looks nothing like your ultra-modern apartment. And I ran into your mom when I had to go to Agua Mesa to sign some papers. She showed me a picture you sent her. I didn’t make a big deal about it, but it’s obviously not Chicago.”

  Right… I had too much to drink on the first night here and sent my mom a picture of the front of my cabin. “I’m doing some exploring in the northwest. I’m staying at a bed and breakfast in Oregon.”

  “Babe?” Finn calls out from somewhere in the background.

  Ouch. My poor heart.

  Lennon turns her head and looks off to the side. “Yeah?” she calls out.

  “Do you know where the—oh, hey Brady. What’s going on?” Finn drops onto the couch beside Lennon. He grins the same mischievous smile he always wears.

  “Hey, man.”

  “Brady’s in Oregon,” Lennon tells Finn, but she’s looking at me. She leans away from him a fraction. She’s being careful of my feelings, trying to make certain I’m not subjected to the image of them touching. I appreciate her consideration, but unfortunately I have an imagination, and on dark nights it has run wild. Seeing their shoulders pressed together now would be the least of what my mind has conjured.

  “Cool. Lennon was afraid you’d run off to an ashram or something. What are you doing there?”

  “Exploring parts unknown and taking some R&R.”

  “Sounds fun.” Finn nods and looks at Lennon, his eyebrows raised. She shakes her head ever so slightly, and he holds her gaze. I watch them have a conversation with their eyes, and it hits me that I can’t read her like I used to. I don’t know her thoughts the way Finn does. Not anymore.

  The searing pain of her choice rips across my chest, the flames licking their way across my flesh. If I could, I’d rip my heart from my body, just so I can stop from ever feeling this way again.

  “You guys good?” I ask. I don’t know what else to say, and I need to recover from watching them. I need them to see that I’m fine with them being together, even when I’m not.

  “Yep,” Lennon pipes up, her voice chipper. She smiles at me. “How is it there?”

  “Good, so far. Have you ever been here?” The question is directed at either of them.

  Finn gives me a look, like I should know better than to ask that question of him. He grew up dirt-poor, and I grew up alongside him, although I wasn’t exactly poor. Still, I know he didn’t travel anywhere when we were growing up. In my defense, he could’ve traveled when we went our separate ways for college.

  “Anyway,” I say, taking a deep breath. “This place is a stop along the way to somewhere else. I just don’t know where yet. I’m wandering.”

  “Not all who wander are lost,” they say in unison, as if they’re reading the front of a T-shirt at an outdoor supply store. Most people would laugh and share a look after saying the same thing at the same time, delighting in their ability to be on the same page. But not Lennon and Finn. They don’t need to do that, because finding themselves on the same page isn’t remarkable anymore. It’s typical. It reinforces the painful truth. Maybe Lennon really did make the right choice.

  I see it on Lennon’s face instantly. The guilt.

  She covers it up, smiling out of one side of her mouth. I may not have won in the fight for her heart, but she’s still my best friend, and I think I have an idea what she’s thinking.

  “You’re a good guy, Brady.”

  I tip my head up, acknowledging her compliment.

  We chat for a few more minutes, and I invent an excuse to hang up.

  “Bye, you two.”

  “Bye,” they respond, and Lennon waves. The concerned look is back on her face.

  I hit the end button before I have to spend another microsecond looking at her worried expression. I don’t want to be reminded of why she’s wearing that look.

  My stomach growls, but I ignore it and finish my set. When I’m done, I shower and dress, then head out of my cabin and up to the main house.

  * * *

  I’ll have to plan to make it to breakfast a little earlier tomorrow. What’s left is not so great. Two carrot muffins and scrambled eggs that were probably delicious when they were fresh.

  “Good morning, Mr. Sterling.” Louisa greets me with a smile when I walk in. I’ve yet to see her anything but friendly. Never rushed. Never put out by a request. “Let me get you some fresh coffee.”

  “Please call me Brady,” I tell her, following her into the kitchen. The last time I was in here it was dark in the whole house, except for the overhead lights in the kitchen. I had the perfect view of Addison, seated at the island with her back to me. The shadows darkened her blonde hair, and I heard her mother ask about the current state of Addison’s heart.

  Her mom’s question, and Addison’s dismissive response, told me I’m not alone in my search for solace.

  Louisa moves about, replacing the old grounds from the coffeemaker with a fresh filter and new coffee.

  “Sorry for the slim pickings out there,” she says, inclining her head toward the mostly empty platters on the buffet table in the dining room. “We have a new family who came in yesterday. Three teenage boys.” Her head shakes while she talks. “Those parents must need an extra income to feed them.”

  “Rice,” I tell her, watching the coffee drip into the glass carafe. “A lot of rice-based casseroles. They fill stomachs for not much money.”

  Louisa snaps her fingers. “Good idea. Is that something your mom did?”

  “Oh. Uh, no. My best friend’s uncle made a lot of rice.” I can’t remember being at Finn’s place as a teenager and ever eating anything besides rice. It was usually mixed with something else. Sometimes chicken, and always a bag of frozen corn, peas, and carrots. My house though? Different story.

  We weren’t lavish spenders, at least not in my opinion, although I guess that’s relative. We were very comfortable, and I wanted for nothing. Especially compared to Finn. And Lennon, to a degree. She was more fortunate than Finn, though. It gave him the chip he wore on his shoulder into adulthood. Oddly, what knocked the chip off his shoulder was that cabin he built up in northern Arizona. I think it had something to do with controlling a set of circumstances. We haven’t talked about it, but I think it’s the first time Finn has felt like he’s at home.

  “Well, then, I guess your friend’s uncle knew how to get by on a little.” Louisa hands me a cup of coffee and offers me cream and sugar. I politely decline and blow across the top of my steaming coffee.

  “Is Addison around?” I’m aiming for a casual tone, but I’m positive the curiosity in my voice betrays me.

  Louisa smirks. “I saw her earlier but—”

  The doorbell rings and Louisa’s sentence is cut off.

  “Just a moment, Mr. Sterling.” She brings a cupped hand to her lips. “Brady,” she amends apologetically, as she hurries from the kitchen and through the living room to the front door.

  I’m not trying to eavesdrop, just like I didn’t mean to overhear Addison on her phone call last night, but I can’t help but hear the conversation between Louis
a and whoever is at the door.

  A woman’s voice drips with honey as she speaks. “…Your property is a prime location and…”

  “Thank you,” Louisa responds, her tone warily appreciative.

  I take a seat at the table and pick my way through a carrot muffin. I can’t hear what the woman says next, but I hear Louisa say, “This property is not for sale.”

  The woman must not have a working set of ears, because she pushes her agenda despite Louisa’s response. She says something else, and Louisa gasps.

  I’m up from my chair in an instant, striding across the living room and joining Louisa at the door.

  “What’s going on, Louisa?” I ask, taking in her stricken face.

  She opens her mouth, but she can’t seem to get anything out. Her hand lifts to her chin and her pointer finger presses against the center of her lower lip, as if she just can’t fathom whatever this person has said.

  I look to the woman standing on the welcome mat. She’s middle-aged, and she wears a navy skirt and ivory blouse. Her glasses are not a flattering shape for her face.

  She peers at me, and I get the feeling she views my sudden presence as a nuisance. “I’m certain it’s no business of yours.” The sugary sweetness in her voice has evaporated.

  I extend a hand across the threshold. “Hello, Ms.?” I fix my expression into one of polite interest.

  “Campbell,” she answers, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. She places her palm in mine and we shake.

  I feel Louisa’s hand gently squeeze my shoulder, giving me permission to help. Smiling my smooth courtroom smile at the woman, I inform her of the position I’ve just appointed myself. “Ms. Campbell, it’s business of mine because I’m Ms. Craft’s attorney. My name is Brady Sterling.” I don’t look to Louisa to see how she interprets my pretend role. My eyes remain trained on the woman.

  “How lucky you were here when I dropped by.” Her narrowed gaze hasn’t lessened by even a fraction.

  “Wasn’t it?” I agree, my smile still in place. “Please fill me in on why it is you’ve come to visit Ms. Craft today.”