Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 209(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 209(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
“I did want to! I do. But…” Brody paused with my pillow in his hands. “It’s not every day that their mom is in town,” he said softly. “The girls miss her. They deserve to have as much family time as possible, without distraction.”
Brody’s voice sounded tight, an emotion I couldn’t quite name… at least until I noticed that his fingers were gripping the pillow so hard his knuckles had turned white, and the reason for his strange behavior dawned on me.
Fuck, I was an idiot.
Brody had lost his own mother—his whole family, in fact—in a terrible car accident. Liza’s arrival had probably triggered some latent grief. So of course he wanted the girls to spend as much time with their own mom as they could. He loved them and wanted the best for them. That was the sort of selfless person he was.
I sighed again and tried to get over my unreasonable disappointment. In truth, as annoyed as I was by Liza’s appearance, the girls would be over the moon to see their mom. Despite tons of FaceTime calls and texts, in addition to her irregular visits, they didn’t get nearly enough time with her.
“Thank you, Brody,” I said again, hoping he knew how deeply I meant it. “For being so understanding after… everything. And if you want to talk about—” Your parents, your feelings, your past. “—things, we can do that. Okay?”
His lips tightened, and he gave me a strange smile. “Sure. I’ll see you later.” He walked toward the door.
I blinked, and my stomach tightened. Okay, so maybe he didn’t want to talk about anything. For all my degrees and experience putting people back together physically, it was patently obvious to anyone who knew me that my skills did not extend to emotions.
Still, it felt odd that he hadn’t kissed me goodbye, or given me one of his sweet Brody smiles, or in any way acknowledged what we’d shared the night before.
He’s sad, Grant, I reminded myself. This isn’t about you.
Still, I couldn’t help but call his name as he reached for the doorknob, hoping my voice didn’t sound quite as desperate and needy as I felt.
He turned. “Yes?”
I crossed the distance between us in three steps and pulled him against me, probably a little too roughly, taking his lips with mine in a way I hoped said, “This isn’t over,” but more likely came across as, “Mine, mine, mine.”
I kissed him hungrily and without apology, and when he pulled back, he looked dazed and wobbly. The caveman part of me—the part that Brody had awakened—growled in satisfaction.
“See you later,” I said roughly before closing my mouth to keep the taste of him inside.
When I loped down the back stairs to the kitchen, the girls were crowded around the table, asking Liza a million and one questions, just as Brody had predicted. They were happy and bubbly, talking over one another, and Mia had even climbed on her lap to let Liza brush the nighttime tangles out of her hair, which was usually something only Brody was allowed to do.
“Good morning,” I said, ruffling Cleo’s hair.
Liza gave me a long look I couldn’t interpret, but all she said was “I made coffee. Help yourself.”
So we’d be postponing our reckoning until the girls were distracted? Fine.
I went directly to the pot and poured myself a cup. But just as I pulled the mug up to my lips to take the first sip, I noticed a giant pile of luggage and boxes crowding the hallway by the front door.
I set my mug back down on the countertop.
When Liza came to visit, she stayed at a hotel. The one time she hadn’t, shortly after our divorce, things had been strained and awkward, and she’d never suggested it again.
Also, that was a monumental pile of stuff. Not a suitcase and a camera bag, like one might expect for a couple of weeks’ stay, but at least seven suitcases and two large boxes, one of which was labeled “equipment” in large black letters, and the other “house stuff.”
My heart rate accelerated. This was not “visit” luggage; it was “moving back” luggage.
I met Liza’s eyes across the kitchen. “How long are you staying?” I asked carefully. Her answer might change… everything.
She looked away. “I’m not sure. I’m looking for a new project. I’d like to find something here in California.”
“Really?” Jacey said excitedly. “Mom! That would be so cool!”
Brody had just entered the kitchen, his backpack slung over one shoulder. He froze for a beat before continuing to the coffee maker to fill his travel mug.
“Brody, this is the girls’ mother, Liza. Liza, this is Brody Kelly.” I swallowed before adding, “My husband.” Those words seemed almost too precious to share, especially after Liza’s attitude upstairs, but I was proud of my connection to Brody. I was proud that, for a while at least, I got to be his husband. Claiming him was a privilege.