I thought it’d be good to get Brady out of the house for a little while, to distract him from the heavy conversations he had this morning, but based on his frown and the tightness of his shoulders, mentioning the farmers’ fair wasn’t the way to do it. And now that we’re touring the property, he looks even more tense.
He’s wearing a faded Red Sox baseball cap curved tight and pulled low over his handsome face while he scribbles in his notepad.
“Explain that again,” he mumbles.
“We prune in the spring and again in the fall. We grow English lavender, which is the type that most people think of, along with Provence and Grosso.”
“Three different kinds of the same flower.”
“They’re not all ‘the same flower’ exactly. One is good for cooking.” I point to the adjacent field. “The other is great for potpourri and other crafts.” I motion toward the rows behind us. “And the third—the plants just over that hill—is what we use for essential oil and hydrasol, or linen spray.”
“Potpourri?” he deadpans as he scribbles more notes.
I ignore the derision in his voice. He doesn’t get it. What do you expect? He’s a guy. Most guys don’t get it. That’s why Mel loved Cal so much. He understood. In fact, he encouraged her. He loved that she made lotions and bath salts and linen sprays.
It’s hard not to marvel at how different Brady is from his brother, and I wonder what it would’ve been like to hang out with both of them back when they weren’t at odds.
Hearing Brady ask about Cal, wondering if his brother ever talked about him, nearly broke my heart. Every part of me wishes I could go back in time and force the brothers to work things out.
Izzy tugs on my leg, and I reach down to pick her up. “You’re such a big girl.” I bounce her on my hip, and she giggles.
We trudge along for a while as I point out the different fields of lavender and the issues they’re having, like pH balance and drainage. Finally, Brady sighs and turns to me.
“What?”
“Give me the baby.”
I stare back. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“I’m not going to let you lug her all over the farm. She weighs half as much as you do.”
I snort laugh. “Hmm. I doubt that.” Squinting in the bright sun, I tilt my head up at him. “I should’ve brought the baby carrier, but I got excited to show you the farm.”
“Baby carrier?”
“Yeah, it’s this fabric contraption I use to strap her to my chest.”
Those intense green eyes dip down my body, and I briefly wonder if he’s as attracted to me as I am to him, but just as quickly they dart away. He clears his throat. “Next time, let’s get the baby carrier, and I’ll use it.” He rubs his palm against his stubbled chin. “For now, though, let me do the heavy lifting.”
Brady reaches over, and Bella eagerly goes to her uncle. His eyes light up when he holds his niece.
“Hey, little muffin,” he teases. “Let’s give your Aunt Kat a break.”
My heart does a strange little trippy thing when he calls me Kat. It’s so familiar. Like we’re the oldest of friends. And I want us to be friends. I suspect any girl in her right mind would want to be friends with Brady.
Which makes me wonder what his life is like in Boston. If he has a girlfriend. Or girlfriends. Or hookups.
Ignoring the irrational bolt of jealousy that streaks through me, I kick at a large rock and watch it skitter across the ground. When I glance up, Brady brushes a wisp of hair out of the baby’s eyes and kisses her forehead, and I swear my ovaries throb. On one hand, Brady is gruff and rough around the edges, and on the other, there’s a tenderness about him that screams husband material.
Not for me. Obviously. But for some lucky girl in Boston.
I’m trying not to swoon at the sight of this spectacularly hot guy holding a baby when he hands me his pad of paper and asks me to take notes. I’m finding he really likes to take notes. Every phone call he’s taken this morning is scribbled down in his notepad. The man likes a record of everything. Cal was never that organized. Which makes me wonder what Brady does for a living. I know he’s helping with his father’s company, but I get the impression there’s a lot more to him.
I shouldn’t be nosy, but I really want to know what’s underneath that tough exterior.
Not to mention under those faded jeans.
16
Brady
We’ve been walking around the property for forty-five minutes. It’s hot as hell for November. I’m wearing a t-shirt and sweating my balls off. And Jesus Christ, Izzy is getting heavy—my arm went numb twenty minutes ago.