One Good Thing Read online

  “Kind of like you,” she says, only her reply isn’t quiet.

  I look away so I don’t have to respond. My glance falls to the bulletin board above the cash register. A large flyer with block lettering announces the 65th annual Lonesome Day.

  “Aw, I remember Lonesome Day,” I say fondly with a lopsided grin, thinking back to my childhood summers. Mostly I remember flavored ice, caramel popcorn balls, and fireworks.

  “You guys should go. It’s a few weeks away. And this year is going to be amazing because—” Charlie’s words screech to a halt and her eyes grow wide. She turns away from me and looks to Merch, grabbing for his forearm.

  At first I think maybe her water broke, and I can tell by Merch’s concerned gaze that’s what he thinks also. Relief flows through me when a large smile takes over her face.

  “Merch, remember what my mom said this morning? About Lucy’s bakery?”

  “Yeah,” Merch says, the word drawn out to convey his confusion.

  “Addison has to do it. She just has to.” Charlie claps her hands with excitement.

  “Addison has to do what?” I ask, trepidation filling me.

  “You know Lucy’s bakery?”

  I nod.

  “Lucy is retiring. Everybody and their mother wants the space, but she’s refusing to rent it to anybody that’s not going to use it as a bakery. And apparently she already has, like, five people who’ve agreed to use it for that.”

  “So?”

  “So, she’s holding a bake-off to determine who gets the place.”

  “Okay?”

  “Oh my gosh, do I have to spell it out for you using mini-muffins?” Charlie shakes her head in exasperation. “You should enter the bake-off! The winner will be announced at Lonesome Day.”

  That would only work if I’m staying in Lonesome. And right now, I don’t know that I am. I didn’t come here with a purpose. I came to lick my wounds. Beyond that, I don’t have a plan.

  “I’m flattered you have such confidence in my baking ability, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  Charlie makes an annoyed sound with her lips. “Just think about it. What else are you doing with your time?”

  “Helping my grandma.”

  “Oh. Right. Okay, well, besides that?”

  Does lying on my bed feeling sorry for myself count? If so, that takes up a lot of my time.

  “Speaking of my grandma,” I say pointedly. “I’m supposed to be running errands for her. We stopped for breakfast because someone was forced to eat carrot muffins this morning.” I glance at Brady, and he smiles that same smug grin from earlier.

  Charlie takes the hint and slides from the booth.

  Merch and Charlie both hug me goodbye, then shake hands with Brady. They make their way back to their booth, and Brady and I walk outside. We don’t make it more than three feet before the door opens behind us and someone yells, “Hey!”

  We whip around. Our server is standing there, her hand on her hip, a piece of paper dangling from her outstretched fist.

  “Oh, shit,” Brady groans, but there’s a little laughter in the sound, and he reaches into his back pocket. “We weren’t skipping out on you. I promise.” He pulls three twenties from his wallet, and even without looking at the check, I know that’s probably more than twice the amount of the total. He presses the cash into her waiting palm, and she smiles at him.

  “Usually it’s the teenagers I have to watch closely,” she says, joking now that she knows we didn’t mean to pull a dine-and-dash.

  Brady laughs and she retreats through the open door.

  He slips his wallet into the pocket of his jeans and looks at me. His eyes are wide, his expression one of humorous disbelief.

  I can’t help it. I laugh like I haven’t laughed in a long time.

  Like his hand on mine earlier, the laughter feels good.

  And also so, so bad.

  9

  Brady

  I’m bare-naked, and Addison is fully dressed. Figuratively speaking, anyway.

  We’ve managed to get through her list of errands without her telling me a thing about why she left Chicago for Lonesome.

  I can tell it’s been weighing on her. Our trips to the grocery and hardware stores weren’t as comfortable as our time at the restaurant. She stiffened when I opened her door at the last stop and placed my hand on the small of her back. It wasn’t a conscious choice. My fingers drifted toward her like there wasn’t any other place they were supposed to be. I hadn’t even realized it was happening until I felt her go rigid. We weren’t supposed to be apologizing anymore today, so I let my eyes convey my apology. She looked away after our gazes brief meeting, but I know she got my message.

  After we left the restaurant, I’d hoped we’d broken through a few of our barriers. The dine-and-dash incident had Addison howling with laughter, a deep, rich sound that until then I hadn’t imagined could come from her. Her whole face had lit up, and she looked like the opposite of the person who yelled at me in the Chicago airport.

  Now she’s back to being the Addison I’ve come to expect: guarded and aloof. But there’s something else now. A sadness. Her eyes look heavy, as if her soul is burdened.

  I know it’s whatever she hasn’t told me. And when she tells me, she’ll feel naked too.

  We pull into the detached garage at Sweet Escape. It’s tidy and organized, cabinets lining one side with pegboards running the length of the wall above the cabinets. Screwdrivers and other small tools hang in order of size from the pegboards. Lawn maintenance tools hang from hooks on the opposite wall. Obviously Louisa takes pride in her home and her business. And her car, which is old but in good shape. Although I don’t know how she even drives the thing. Without power steering, it must be damn near impossible for her to turn. The muscles in Addison’s forearm flexed every time she turned, and I can’t imagine the effort it takes Louisa.

  I get out of the Jeep and reach into the back, grabbing a handful of grocery bags. “Next time, will you let me drive?” I’d offered when we left the restaurant, but Addison had already descended into her current mood, and I’d known better than to push it.

  “Sure,” she says, coming up beside me and grabbing a fistful of bags.

  She pauses, her arms extended into the back, and stares up at me. There’s a heaviness to her gaze, carrying the weight of something still unknown to me. “I know I’m supposed to show you mine,” she says slowly, a grin pulling up the corners of her mouth. Even though it’s probably the choice of words making her smile, it’s the friendliest she has looked since we were on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. “How about this evening? There’s somewhere I’d like to go.”

  “I’m up for it,” I tell her, trying not to show my surprise at her invitation. The bags I’m holding make a crinkling sound.

  “Good.” She attempts another smile, but it’s not natural. Her eyes still look burdened. “Meet me back here at seven.”

  I nod, then follow her into the house. Louisa isn’t around, so I deposit the grocery bags on the counter and take the two bags that belong to me. Each cabin has a microwave and fridge, which suits me fine. I’m not a cook, but I can microwave with the best of them.

  I hover near the island, unsure of what to say. Addison is in the pantry, up on her tiptoes to set something on a high shelf. She tries twice, failing both times.

  I come up behind her, wordlessly taking the box and setting it on the shelf.

  She glances at me as she sinks back down to flat feet. We lock eyes, and in that instant I watch her make a decision.

  She leans in, her lips coming to rest on my cheek for the most fleeting of seconds. If it weren’t for the heat searing my skin, I might not believe it happened at all.

  Without a word she steps away, retreating to the counter and pulling more items from the grocery bags.

  I do the same, silently leaving the house and walking across the sloping yard back to my cabin.

  It was just a kiss on the cheek.
Sweet, simple. No big deal.

  But my pounding heart tells a different story.

  * * *

  In an effort not to appear overeager for whatever it is Addison has planned tonight, I force my strides to slow. I’m taking a circuitous route around the inside perimeter of the property, instead of walking in a straight line across the lawn and to the garage off the side of the house. Two families are out enjoying the early evening light, playing a game of bean bags and chatting. Drawing attention or unwanted questions from them isn’t something I’m interested in.

  The truth is, I’m pretty eager to learn what Addison has in mind for our evening. I spent the hours between that kiss on the cheek in the pantry and leaving my cabin to meet her in a state of anxious impatience. I sort of watched a soccer match on my iPad. I kind of took a half-hearted nap. My dad called and I can’t remember much about our conversation, because I was only partially present.

  Addison confounds me. She’s a study in contrasts. She’s passionate, that I know for certain. The first time I met her, she read me the riot act. She was incensed about the interest I showed in her while wearing that ring. If I was married, acting like that would make me a scumbag, but Addison’s response was so strong that it makes me wonder.

  Whatever it is, it probably has to do with why she left Chicago. Was she married? Did he cheat? It seems likely, given her reaction to the ring on my finger. Maybe he was a liar, too. She wasn’t inclined to believe me when I said I wasn’t married. Not the first time, and not the second time either.

  So that’s it then. She was married to someone who cheated on her and lied about it.

  I twist my lips and look up to the main house through the trees, wondering which window belongs to Addison’s bedroom.

  A thought slams into me. What if Addison was involved with a married guy? Maybe he lied to her about being married.

  Either of these scenarios spells heartbreak for Addison.

  I shake my head, trying to get rid of my own conjecture. Maybe some episodes of Lennon’s mom’s favorite soap opera are still floating around in my subconscious. Years of passing through the living room at Lennon’s house while the drama played out on TV must’ve lodged itself in my brain.

  Addison’s reason for coming to Lonesome might be boring. For her sake, I hope it is.

  I round the corner of the garage and stop dead in my tracks. Addison stands on tiptoe, wearing tiny white cut-off jean shorts. She’s bent just slightly at the waist, shoving a cooler into place in the back of the Jeep.

  Suddenly it feels hotter than it did a few seconds ago. Maybe I’m overdressed. I look down at my shorts and t-shirt, knowing it’s not my choice of clothing.

  Addison is gorgeous. And heartbroken.

  So are you. I didn’t come here to meet a woman. I came here to forget a woman. It’s a good reminder, even though I don’t particularly want it right now.

  “Hey,” I croak, the fight in my brain slipping out into my tone.

  Addison whips around. A piece of her long blonde hair sticks to her lips and she pushes it away.

  “Hi,” she says, almost shyly.

  Is Addison… nervous?

  “Do you need help with anything?” I ask, to help her cover up whatever it is she’s feeling.

  She shakes her head. “Should be good to go. I packed some food and drinks, and a blanket.”

  I nod knowingly. “A picnic?”

  Addison presses her lips together and shakes her head. “No guessing.”

  I grin. “I’ll just have to be patient, I guess.”

  Addison smiles. “Something tells me you’re good at it.”

  My smile falls a fraction, and I hope she doesn’t notice. Patience should be my middle name, and that might not be a good thing. Years of loving Lennon honed the skill, but having my heart stomped on took away the good I see in the attribute.

  “Are we all set then?” I ask, moving toward the car. Which puts me closer to Addison. And to her scent. Something citrusy and floral. Whatever it is, it’s enough to make the muscles in my stomach tighten.

  “All set,” Addison chirps, holding her hand out for a high-five.

  My palm smacks against hers, and there’s that warmth again. Does this woman have little heaters in her palms?

  The thought makes me smile, and Addison asks what’s so funny.

  “Honestly?” I eye her, and she nods her head warily. “I’ve touched your hand a total of three times since I’ve known you, and each time they’ve been really warm. I was wondering if you have tiny space heaters hidden in them.”

  Addison barks a laugh. “You’re crazy.” She reaches for my shoulders and playfully shoves me to my side of the car, then pulls her hands back quickly. “Oh my gosh, did I burn you?” She winces and makes a bared-teeth face.

  I shake my head and laugh. I might regret being so honest with her.

  We climb in the car and Addison backs out, stopping to point a remote control at the garage. The door descends and Addison lets off the brake, backing us all the way out of the driveway. She puts the car in drive and glances over at me as we roll forward, an excited smile tugging each corner of her lips up to her cheeks.

  “I’d probably be as excited as you too, if I knew where we were going.” I give her a meaningful look as I say it.

  “Nice try,” she sings over the rush of air flowing through the Jeep.

  I smile again, looking out my window at the trees as we rush past them. So far tonight I’ve done a lot of smiling in a very short time. And before that? I feel like it has been awhile.

  There was so much history with Lennon. Everything was heavy. Every motion, every word mattered. I was constantly watching, sussing out hidden meanings or searching for words unsaid. Anything that would put me ahead of Finn in the race for Lennon’s heart.

  Being with Addison right now, it just feels… light. Airy. Easy. No history to look back on. Unless I count when she yelled at me in the airport. I chuckle to myself, the sound immediately swallowed up by the rush of air.

  Addison drives on, following the curves in the road. The air begins to change, smelling wet and salty. We must be headed toward the coast.

  Ten minutes later, I find that I’m right. We pull into a small parking lot, and through the trees I see white-capped waves. Addison parks and we both get out. I take the cooler from the back, and Addison grabs the blanket, but she also grabs a bag I hadn’t noticed before.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  She ignores me. “Follow me,” she says, leading the way onto a path.

  Walking behind her isn’t the worst thing in the world, especially not with those shorts she’s wearing, but I don’t want to be that guy. Seriously though, I can’t resist completely. I’m only human.

  “Are you checking out my ass?” Addison calls out, peeking back at me.

  I make a face. “No.”

  Addison laughs. “Why not? These are very short shorts. They’re from high school and pretty much all my clothes are dirty.”

  I cough, thinking of high school Addison in those shorts, driving the poor boys crazy. “They’re okay.”

  She throws back her head and laughs. It’s in this moment that I decide I really like watching her laugh. It’s the freedom, the abandonment of the hurt that plagues her, that makes her laugh so special.

  We walk through the trees, and up ahead the ocean looms. Addison pauses when the forest gives way to beach, and the dirt slowly becomes sand.

  “Wow,” I breathe the word as I gaze out. The sound of the water crashing at the shore settles over my soul, soothing it.

  Addison looks pleased at my reaction. “That’s how I feel every time I come out here.”

  She keeps going onto the beach, walking along for a short time, her eyes roaming the space, until she settles on a spot.

  I follow her there and set down the cooler. “Now will you tell me what’s in that bag?”

  She reaches for the canvas tote and turns it upside down, its contents spilling out.<
br />
  A hand shovel. Matches… fire starter.

  “We’re building a fire?”

  She grins and nods. “A bonfire,” she clarifies, then begins scanning the tree line.

  “I’m putting you in charge of gathering the bigger logs. I’ll get the smaller ones.”

  I follow her gaze to the base of the trees. It makes me realize I’ve spent very little time looking at this part of them. My focus is always directly in front of myself, and that extends to every aspect of my life. Would life look different if I had looked down once in a while, or up?

  “Are you going to help me?” Addison calls. She’s standing beside a giant tree, already holding some smaller branches. As I watch, she bends at the waist and gathers a few more from the ground.

  I’d been so deep in my thoughts I hadn’t even noticed her walk away. I hustle to where she stands, scanning the ground for bigger logs. They aren’t difficult to locate. The forest has given us plenty in the way of kindling. Building fires isn’t in my resumé, so I feel out of depth right now. Where I grew up, fires in anything but a fireplace or outdoor pit are a very bad thing, and even those are sometimes banned.

  Once we have enough gathered, we walk back over to the place Addison has chosen, dumping our wood on the ground. She gives me the hand shovel.

  “Put those muscles to work.” She smiles at me. “We need a diameter of a few feet, and it needs to be a few inches deep. Just to decrease the possibility of the fire spreading.”

  “Got it,” I tell her, dropping to one knee and pushing the shovel into the sand. It takes only a couple minutes, and in that time Addison has spread out the blanket she brought and began unpacking the cooler.

  “Good?” I ask, gesturing to the circular pit I’ve dug.

  Addison gives it a quick once-over and nods. “Perfect,” she announces, turning to gather the small twigs she’d collected. She lays them out on the sand first, then grabs two logs. I grab a couple, waiting for my next instruction. I like that she’s teaching me something like this. It’s kind of hot that she knows how to build a fire.