One Good Thing Read online

  The woman crosses her arms and glances to Louisa. “I have a client who’d like to buy the land this business is operating on. He’s willing to pay more than this place is worth.”

  I nod. “I’m sure you heard Ms. Craft tell you it’s not for sale?”

  She raises an eyebrow. “I’m not hard of hearing, Mr. Sterling.”

  My own eyebrows pull together in a disbelieving way. “Why is it you’re asking twice?”

  “I’m giving Ms. Craft the opportunity to rethink her initial response. Money talks. People often require a second, third, or even fourth chance to reevaluate their initial decision.”

  “Chance? Is that code for coercion?”

  The woman makes a clucking sound with her tongue. “Be careful throwing around such powerful words.”

  I ignore her issued caution. “Who is your client?” I ask. I’m really starting to dislike this lady, whether she’s just doing her job or not. She has come here to make an offer, yes, but she’s really here to force the issue if she’s rejected by Louisa. What if Louisa weren’t as keen as she is? What if she was confused by legalese and said yes to an offer she didn’t agree with just to make her head stop spinning? I’m infuriated by the idea of an older person being taken advantage of just because their mental acuity may not be sharp.

  “Brandywine Developers,” she answers. I don’t know who they are, but they must be a big name client, or she wouldn’t have that hint of pride in her voice.

  I look to Louisa. She doesn’t look so stricken anymore. Some of the color has come back to her cheeks. Which reminds me that I still haven’t figured out the reason for the gasp from Louisa that sent me to the front door in the first place.

  “What was it you said that appeared to upset Ms. Craft?”

  The woman adjusts her shoulders, a pleased look creeping across her features. “Local government is prepared to step in on behalf of Brandywine should Ms. Craft deny purchase and—”

  I snort. I can’t help it. The sound stops the lady short of finishing her sentence. “Don’t begin talk of eminent domain.” I wave my hand around. “You, and anybody with functioning eyesight, can plainly see the recent work done to update this property. Blight is not an issue, nor is it a problem for any surrounding properties. Eminent domain has no place here. And neither do you.”

  Gently, I guide Louisa back from the open door.

  “Goodbye, Ms. Campbell. I sincerely hope we don’t see you again in this capacity.”

  I close the door. Louisa turns to me, her hands cupped around her mouth and her eyes wide with astonishment.

  “You were incredible!” She throws her arms around me, taking me by surprise. She steps back after a moment but keeps her grip on my upper arms. “Are you really a lawyer?”

  “I am. But I’m not licensed to practice in this state, so I can’t actually represent you.”

  Louisa wags a finger at me. “You are good,” she says, then peers around me. “Wasn’t he good?” she says to someone who is not me.

  I turn around and see Addison standing on the bottom step of the stairs. She wears a long yellow skirt and a silky-looking white top.

  “How long have you been standing there?” I ask. It’s her question from last night, and I wonder if she’ll recognize that.

  She smirks, and I’m pretty certain she does. “Long enough to know you can talk circles around someone.”

  This could be a compliment, but coming from her, I just don’t know.

  I’m too hungry to take on verbally sparring with Addison right now. Turning back to Louisa, I ask her if Uber or some other car service will come out here. From what I can tell, we’re a little over twenty minutes from the town. “I’d like to see Lonesome,” I explain, not wanting to disclose that actually I’m starving. She’d probably insist on making me food, and I don’t want to add to her workload.

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” she answers, side-stepping me and going to stand in front of Addison. “Before you came in for breakfast, I asked Addy to go to the grocery store for me. She wouldn’t mind being your tour guide, would you, Addy?”

  Addison gives her grandma a long look, then drags her gaze over to me. “Sure,” she finally answers.

  She doesn’t sound unhappy, or even put out. Wary. That’s how she sounds.

  “Great,” I say, already heading toward the door that leads out of the house and to the cabins beyond. “I’m going to grab my wallet and I’ll meet you out front.”

  I don’t hear if she responds, because I’m already through the back door.

  8

  Addison

  “Can we please get breakfast before we do anything else?” Brady asks the second the doors of the Jeep are closed.

  I give him a look and he starts to explain. “I was late to breakfast.”

  I give him another look, remembering the coffee I made him a few days ago when he was hungover.

  “I’m not making it a habit. And I wasn’t hungover,” he adds, smiling. “I was working out this morning and then a friend called. By the time I got to breakfast there wasn’t much left.”

  I decide not to tell him I spent a few seconds watching him pick carrots from his carrot muffin before he flew to my grandma’s defense. Instead, I ask, “What were you doing for a workout? Hopefully not going for a run in the woods. Don’t want you to get lost.” I smile to let him know I’m teasing.

  “Very funny.” He adjusts his seatbelt and sits back. “I was doing a circuit of various exercises.”

  I nod, trying not to picture those abs rippling with each repetition. “Where do you want to eat?” I ask, to change the subject.

  He shrugs, glancing over at me. “Aren’t you supposed to be the tour guide?”

  Oh, right.

  “I know of a good place,” I tell him, taking another turn and using all my arm strength to wrench the wheel.

  “No power steering?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know how my grandma drives this thing. Although, I don’t think she drives often.”

  Brady nods thoughtfully. “Doesn’t seem like a good car for someone her age.”

  I snort. “Try telling her that.”

  He lets out a derisive laugh. “Uh, no thanks.”

  We’re quiet for the next few minutes until I pull into the restaurant parking lot and majorly curb it. The Jeep jumps and sputters, and I laugh.

  Brady, however, grimaces and grips the handle on the doorframe.

  “Sorry about that,” I say, my cheeks warming.

  “It’s okay,” Brady assures me, but his voice is off. “I’m still a little jumpy. I was in a bad car accident not too long ago.”

  “Crap. I’m sorry.”

  “Seriously, don’t apologize. It’ll just take time for me to chill out.”

  “Were you hurt?” I ask, twisting around and grabbing my purse from the back seat.

  “Broken leg,” Brady responds, getting out of the car. I’m digging in my bag for my Chapstick when I hear my car door open.

  “Oh!” My hand flies to my chest in surprise.

  Brady steps back to allow space for me to get out. “I’m sorry. Did I frighten you?”

  “You took me by surprise.”

  “I was trying to be polite.”

  I nod, adjusting to the idea of someone getting my door.

  “Are you going to open the door of the restaurant too?” I’m teasing him again.

  Brady presses his lips together and nods. “Probably. It’s how I’m hard-wired.”

  And then he does exactly what he said he would do. He opens the door and I step in, scanning the room for an open booth. I spot one and we get settled in. A server brings us menus and backs away with our drink order.

  “I bet you put your hand on the small of a girl’s back when you’re opening the door for her, don’t you? You guide her in?” My heart twists. Warren always did that.

  “I’m not giving away all my moves,” Brady says, laughing and winking.

 
; My stomach drops, and for a second I stare, trying to determine if he was flirting.

  Brady looks down at his menu and says, “Whatever happened, it was bad, wasn’t it?”

  Tears immediately spring to my eyes. “Yes,” I whisper.

  Brady looks at me, his gaze full of remorse. “I’m sorry, Addison.”

  I sniff. “We’ve managed to say I’m sorry a lot this morning and we’ve only been together for about twenty minutes. How about we make a deal?” I extend a hand across the table. “No more I’m sorrys.”

  He looks relieved when he places his hand in mine. “That sounds great.”

  The server approaches to drop off our coffee, and we place our orders. Brady orders enough for two people.

  “Those carrot muffins didn’t do it for you?” I ask. Immediately I realize my blunder.

  A smug look creeps onto Brady’s face. “You were there for way longer than I was behind you last night.”

  “I would’ve said something, but you shot out of your seat and raced across the room.” I take a sip of my coffee. “Thank you, by the way. For coming to my grandma’s rescue.”

  Brady drinks from his own cup, nodding as he swallows. “If they’re determined, what I said this morning will only hold them off for so long. They might try to strong-arm your grandma. Hopefully they have the brains to know they have nothing but bloated threats. If not, she’ll need a lawyer.” He sees my raised eyebrows and adds, “And it can’t be me. I’m not licensed to practice outside of Illinois.”

  “What do you practice in Illinois?”

  “Family law.”

  He seemed right at home in his role this morning. I wonder if he’s always that passionate when he’s doing his job. He was articulate and clear, and his voice reverberated with his belief that what he was fighting for was the just choice. I’d believe him in a second.

  “What do you do in Illinois?” He sits back in his seat and extends an arm, draping it across the top of the booth’s cushion. It causes the sleeve of his shirt to creep up his upper arm, revealing even more of a large and impressive bicep. He said he was doing circuits in his room this morning, and now I’m wondering what they consisted of.

  I tear my gaze from his arm and say, “I was a baker. I owned a bakery.”

  His head tips to the side. “Past tense?”

  The fingers on my right hand drum against the worn wooden table. “You don’t miss much, do you?”

  He shrugs with only one shoulder. “Being perceptive was a job requirement.”

  “Past tense?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

  He grins, taking a sip of coffee. “Past tense, for now. I took a leave of absence.”

  “Can I ask why?” My words come out slowly, my tone gentle. I know this is a sensitive subject.

  “I had my heart broken. I needed some time to get over it.” He looks around for a moment, his gaze falling back to me before he speaks again. “And it seems I needed a change of scenery to make that happen.”

  I nod but don’t speak. Memories of my own heartbreak creep in, but I push them away when Brady keeps going.

  “As you already know, I grew up in Arizona. I had…” He pauses, shaking his head. “Have. Not had.” He smiles at me, and though I already know what he’s going to say, I’m shocked to find we’ve created an inside joke so quickly. “Not past tense. I have two best friends who still live there. Lennon and Finn. We’ve been best friends since we were really young. And then we grew up, and things, well” —he raps his knuckles on the table twice— “they got more complicated. By about tenfold. Long story short, Lennon chose Finn.” He smiles, but it’s the saddest, most melancholy smile I’ve ever seen. “I didn’t get the girl.”

  My hand leaves my coffee and covers my heart. I don’t know much about Brady, not really, and for a majority of the few days I’ve known him I haven’t liked him. But last night he showed me how important honesty is to him, and this morning he rushed to my grandma’s defense, obviously disgusted by the idea of her being bullied. It’s hitting me, right now in this very second, that I might actually like Brady. And the idea of him not winning the object of his affection makes me feel dismayed. And maybe something else, something warm in the pit of my stomach, something I don’t have a word for.

  “So they are still your friends?” I ask, at the same time the server drops off our breakfast. There are so many plates I almost ask her to join us, but then I remember Brady picking at the carrot muffin earlier and let the joke pass.

  “Yes,” he answers, inhaling two bites of food before he speaks again. “Not being friends with them is impossible. They’re… my everything. I can’t imagine life without them.”

  I nod, scooping up a forkful of my food. The love and loyalty he shows his friends, even when hurt by them, is inspiring. We’re quiet while we eat, until I think of something else to ask him.

  “Was it really dramatic? It sounds like it would be.” I wince as I hear myself. Talk about insensitive. I open my mouth to apologize, but remember I’m not supposed to, so I get creative and think of a way around it. “Please accept my remorse at my question.”

  Brady gives me a knowing look and shakes his head. “Roundabout apologies will be considered a violation of the agreement.”

  I cross my arms and pretend to huff. “Ugh, what a lawyer.”

  Brady chuckles. “Yes.”

  He sees my confusion and says, “That’s the answer to your question about it being dramatic. But there probably wasn’t any other way. Not after so long.”

  “You really loved her?” There it is again, that warm feeling in my belly. Still, I can’t name it.

  He nods, glancing down at the table. “I loved her for most of my life.”

  My heart. It hurts for him. And then I realize that I like how I hurt for him. Finally, I’m feeling pain for someone other than myself.

  Brady looks up at me. “But apparently Lennon knew something I didn’t. She chose Finn, and I have no choice but to trust she made the right decision. If she’d thought I was the right man for her, she would’ve chosen me. And she didn’t.”

  Without thinking, I reach across the table and run my fingertips over the top of Brady’s hand. “You’re the right man for somebody.”

  Brady’s gaze stays locked on mine, then he glances down to where our skin touches.

  I rip my hand away, embarrassed. “I’m—”

  “Don’t say it,” Brady warns, a playful look in his eyes.

  His playfulness relieves some of the embarrassment I’m feeling, but I’m still largely mortified. Looking at my plate, I stab a bite, but before I can lift my fork, Brady reaches for my free hand and touches it.

  “It doesn’t bother me that you touched me. I was just surprised by how warm your touch was.”

  Suddenly my mouth feels dry. How long has it been since I’ve been touched? A hug from my grandma here and there the past few days, but before that? It’s been a while. A long while.

  It feels good. Too good. And, in a confusing way, it also hurts.

  Slowly, I slide my hand out from under his, but now the absence of his touch is almost as excruciating.

  To avoid hurting his feelings, I reach for the napkin in my lap and use it to dab at the corner of my mouth.

  The server comes back to our table, coffee carafe in hand. She offers it to me first, but I shake my head, “No thank you.”

  “Yes, please,” Brady says, pushing his cup closer to her.

  I watch the dark liquid fill the cup, a few drops splashing onto the table. She sets our check down and tells us not to rush.

  “So,” Brady says, lifting his freshly filled coffee to his lips. He looks at me over the rim of the white cup, his eyebrows raised. “I showed you mine. You show me yours now.”

  Right. I knew this was coming.

  “Addison!”

  I turn to the familiar voice saying my name. Across the small room, Charlie and Merch stand beside a booth. I wave, and Charlie makes her way over, weaving through the
tables that separate us. This is no small task, considering she has to navigate the tight quarters with a protruding belly. Merch follows his wife.

  When Charlie reaches our table, she plops down beside me and lets out a heavy breath. “I swear to the man upstairs, I am bigger this morning than I was last night.”

  I look down at her stomach and see that it can barely fit in the booth. I open my mouth to introduce Charlie to Brady, but she beats me to it.

  “Hi,” she says, sticking her arm out over the table. “I’m Charlie. I’m an old friend of Addison’s. This is my husband, Merch. Technically his name is Conrad, but I don’t think anybody has ever called him that.” Her gaze flickers over to him as she talks.

  “Nice to meet you,” Brady responds, shaking Charlie’s offered hand. He slips from the booth and stands to shake hands with Merch.

  “My last name is Merchant,” Merch explains to Brady. “I played football in high school and the team started calling me Merch. The name stuck.”

  Brady chuckles. “I played baseball, but Sterling isn’t the kind of last name that sounds good shortened.”

  Merch and Brady start discussing high school sports. It takes some effort, but Charlie turns her body to me. “Where did he come from?” she asks quietly.

  “Chicago. He’s staying at Sweet Escape.” I glance at Brady. He’s nodding at something Merch is saying. “Actually, he was on my flight out here.”

  “Serendipitous.”

  I sip my water. “It wasn’t a cute first meeting or anything like that. I thought he was married, and I yelled at him when I caught him checking me out.”

  Charlie’s eyebrows furrow. “Why did you think he was married?”

  “Because he was wearing a ring.”

  Her eyes grow huge. “Please tell me there’s a story here that involves him not actually being married.”

  I smile. “There is. It was his grandpa’s ring that his mom gave to him.”

  “Why was he wearing it?”

  I eye Brady again, biting my lower lip as I study him. “I think I may have just learned some of the reason.” Looking back at Charlie, I say quietly, “He has a broken heart.”