“I try to be,” I say.
“Holland loves to read,” she tells me. “Used to come in to see me at the library all the time. He liked theGoosebumpsbooks.“ She smiles and glances fondly to where Holland is off in the side yard with a cameraman standing a foot in front of him.
“If you can get away from all the hoopla of this”—Rose appears at my side and points to the production crew—“I lead a romance book club every month at Mood Reader. Mia and Willow come, and so do my sisters. Anton’s been known to join us too.” Her gaze settles on her boyfriend, and he glances up from his conversation with Mack and winks at her.
Rose sighs happily and turns back to me. “You should join us. Bring Holland. Could be a good bonding experience.”
“Oh, yes.” Willow shimmies her shoulders. “We have the most titillating discussions.”
I arch my eyebrows.
“It’s harmless. I promise,” Rose says, chuckling. “We have fun.”
“You think Holland is into romance novels?” I ask the pair of them, mostly joking, because I can’t picture him as a reader.
Willow leans in. “You didn’t hear this from me, but he read the entireAnne of Green Gablesseries in high school. The boy has good taste,“ she adds standing up straighter.
Rose nods solemnly. “Gilbert Blythe is the standard.”
I can tell my eyes are wider than they usually are. I’m trying to picture Holland reading the coming-of-age stories, and I…can’t. I look over at him at the same time he’s looking at me. He makes a face and sticks his tongue out to the side, and I roll my eyes and laugh.
“Maybe Holland was taking notes,” Willow says. “You’ll let me know, won’t you, dear?” She bats her eyelashes. “You make such a nice couple.”
My cheeks flame. “Oh, I don’t—“
“You really do, and now I’m totally feeling inspired,” Rose cuts in. “I’m going to propose we readAnne of Green Gablesnext month. You can join us for the discussion. Both of you!”
“I’m not sure how much free time I’ll have, actually,” I hedge.
Also, the thought of Holland taking notes on Gilbert Blythe is wiggling its way in my brain, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. There’s subtext here, but I don’t have time to figure it out right now.
“Thanks for the invite, though,” I add because I like Willow and Rose, and I don’t want them to feel like I’m brushing them off. Under different circumstances, I’d love to come to a romance book club. I excuse myself to use the bathroom.
Darla directs me inside and through the kitchen. I take my time in the hallway, stopping to peek at the family photos that line the walls. The Bradleys look like a close-knit group. There are photos of Holland and Mack as kids and pictures of the four of them at the River Foxes Stadium in Green Bay. There’s a more recent shot of Mack and Poppy in their wedding day finest and one of Darla, Drew, and Holland after the Grand Masters win last year. I squint at it and see that I’m in the background, looking on. I’m not smiling or frowning. I’m wearing my sunglasses and have my usual even-keeled mask on.
Holland invited me to be in this photo. I remember the moment now. I told him absolutely not. When he pressed me on it and started trying to rile me up, I shot back that I was his coach, not his arm candy. He had rolled his eyes and told me I was a huge part of the win and that he wanted to document the moment, but I shut him down again and sent him off to find his family.
Looking back at it, I probably came across as harsh and unfeeling. It was a photo. I could have posed with Holland, and itwouldn’t have mattered much. Why am I even thinking about this at all right now? It’s in the past. There’s a good reason for my actions. I have no desire to get close to another man who holds the keys to my paycheck—my family’s livelihood—only for him to turn on me.
I’m not saying Holland would do that, but it’s happened before, and I will always guard against it happening again.
So why is the sight of myself off to the side of this photo, not in the mix of it all, stirring up a hint of regret in the back of my throat? I didn’t actually miss out. I made the choice to not engage. Those are two different things.
I turn to make my way to the bathroom, but the sound of voices in a nearby room has me pulling up short.
9
Eavesdropping
Mallory
“We’ve always thought highly of Mallory, yes.”
It’s Drew. He must be doing a one-on-one interview.
“Can you tell me more about that?” Callen, one of the producers, prompts.
I lean my back against the wall. I should keep moving, but it’s like my feet have sunk through the Bradleys’ hardwood floors, and I’m stuck in place.
