“Grammie… Grammie, look, here’s my friend Brady,” Hannah said, pulling me to a woman who looked nothing like Tristan. She had much deeper brown hair, was short, rounded in a way that spoke of middle age, and exuded an air of cheerful charm. But when she looked at me, there was a wariness to her expression I couldn’t quite blame her for.
Her widowed daughter was being courted by a man the entire world had labeled as a flirt and a philanderer. It didn’t seem like I was someone who would settle down and protect her daughter’s or her granddaughter’s hearts. And seeing her doubts was like seeing my mom’s all over again. People who didn’t believe I could be counted on.
This wasn’t a fling. I didn’t need to ruin Tristan’s life in order to have sex. I could get that anytime I wanted. But it was my fault that all people could see in me was the man who slept around. It was what I’d shown the world for a long time. I wore the flirty, casual image like I wore my plaid shirt and my cowboy boots. Not quite an act, but the version of me I chose to give as Brady O’Neil.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Conrad,” I told her with a wide smile, hoping she could see past it to the real me.
“It’s Crystal, please. It’s good to meet you, too,” she said. “Boy, that smile is quite something in person.”
“Han, come play. We need someone to be the queen,” Kiran said, and Hannah left me without even a glance, joining her friends in the backyard.
Before the air between Crystal and I could get awkward, another voice cut in, deep, saying my name like it meant death. “Brady.”
Nash was tall, dark, and the epitome of broody. Since retiring from the military and going to work permanently for his family’s flower farm, he hadn’t lost an ounce of his muscle or build. He still looked one-hundred-percent badass.
“Nash,” I said, our eyes meeting, neither of us backing down. I couldn’t help the way I felt about Tristan, and I knew he wanted to protect her like he’d been doing for years. I wanted to tell him that if all I was going to do was bring her pain, I’d back down myself. But I had to figure out if that was true before I walked away. None of those words would come, so we just stared instead.
Dani joined her husband, arm going through his, and asked, “What do you think? Do we need to have everyone help us bury him in the back of the yard?”
Nash chuckled.
Tristan walked out of the house carrying a stack of baskets, and my entire body froze as the world came to a complete stop around her. She was in a maroon, flowered dress I’d never seen on her before, the heart-shaped neckline accentuating the slope of her breasts I’d barely had the pleasure to know and wasn’t ready to give up. The skirt hit her hips and flared out, hiding the swell of her curves I wanted to pull tight up against mine. The dress’s color brought out the mahogany highlights in her hair, the streaks standing out against the lighter blonde. The mix of color so much like Tristan herself. So many dichotomies of personalities and emotions.
She was breathtaking.
Like the apple trees bursting into bloom in the orchards surrounding our town, I’d seen her start to come to life again. At my touch. At my smiles. At the love I’d freely given. My chest ached at the thought. Love. Goddamn, I did love her. ThemoreI felt with her was because of the love.
She thought she was doomed to a sad, lonely life, and all I saw when I looked at her was the vibrant woman she was destined to be. A mix of motherhood and art and heart. She had so much love to give, and selfishly, I wanted it to be mine.
When she saw me, she stopped so quickly it caused the baskets in her hands to topple and fall to the ground. I was at her side in an instant, helping to pick them up.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said quietly.
“I wanted to be here for you both,” I told her.
We stood up and stared at each other, and it felt like the entire yard paused momentarily to take us in, a ridiculous display of curiosity and judgment circling us.
An annoyed voice calling out, “Pastore, wait!” dragged our eyes from each other to the back door where William Chan stood, squinting with frustration at his nephew. Pastore blew past us to the enormous, turreted play structure in the yard where Hannah and her friends were running amok.
I couldn’t blame him for wanting to escape.
William’s eyes landed on Tristan and me, and he straightened his suit, moving toward us. I felt her stiffen next to me, and it took everything I had not to wrap her in my arms to shield her from him.
William eyed me for a minute before saying dryly, “You had to go see Aunt Victoria.”
“I figured there had to be at least one person in your family who could still talk sense into you. The question is, did it work?” I grunted out.
He tucked his hands into his pockets. “Elsa is writing the paperwork up as we speak. Cash only.”
I shrugged, trying to hide what I really felt. I wanted to dance around the yard, stand on the play structure, and shake my arm to the sky like Rocky, but I didn’t. This was only round one, and my joy over it bled away just as quickly as it had come when he smiled smugly and said, “I’m still foreclosing onLa Musica de Ensueños, though.”
Tristan inhaled sharply, and I growled, “This isn’t the time or place.”
“Tristan, I’m so glad Wesley dragged me with him here today, because I wanted to talk to you in person,” a voice said at my shoulder.
I turned to find the dean of Wilson-Jacobs College at my side. I wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there or how much she’d heard, and I could tell Tristan wasn’t either because she flushed with embarrassment.
Regardless of what she’d heard, the dean was smart enough to smell the tension wafting between the three of us.
