Page 29 of New Hope, Old Grudges

Good thing he didn’t laugh. I might’ve exploded.

I wanted to refuse the plate of hot food out of principle.

But again, I was hungry, I was tired, and I was overwhelmed.

“This is because I want to do it, not because you told me to do it.” I picked up the fork.

Brody’s face was carefully blank. “Of course.”

And of course, it was the best thing I’d ever tasted.

And that was how I ended up eating Thanksgiving dinner with Brody Adams.

ChapterTen

WILLOW

“Okay, I’m ready to go.”I put down my fork and stared at my clean plate, wishing for more. Not only was there chicken and dumplings but there was alsopie.

And I was ravenous.

It didn’t escape me that there was no one else at this table. Brody hadn’t mentioned missing any kind of Thanksgiving dinner. I wanted to ask who he had planned to spend the holiday with. He’d been on duty, so maybe he hadn’t made any. He was still the sheriff on holidays. But he wasn’t working now, and there didn’t seem to be any plans for him beyond the pre-purchased pie.

His father still lived here, was still alive as far as I knew, but he wasn’t spending the holiday with him. I guess it didn’t surprise me, given what I knew of the man.

I felt a stab of pity for Brody, sitting here in his picturesque cottage with his dog and no family.

I quickly shoved that thought away.

I didn’t know anything about his life now, but I sure as shit wasn’t going to pity him. Nor was I going to ask questions about his life. Beyond opening it to eat, I kept my mouth shut. As did Brody.

It wasn’t awkward. It should’ve been. We had sat together with years of ugly history between us, with years of resentment and anger—on my end, of course. He hadn’t even remembered that he ruined my teenage years. Then there was the failed seduction routine, let’s not forget that.

It was a recipe for the world’s most awkward Thanksgiving dinner if I’d ever heard. But yet…

He had Dean Martin playing through Bluetooth speakers. A dog was panting happily at our feet. The snow fell silently at the window, the fire crackled in the background. Our silverware clattered against plates. Somehow, all of that served to replace conversation, and the dinner was actually almost … nice.

Except there was Brody’s eyes on me the entire time. I felt them like a weight, heavy, intense, unyielding. I refused to meet his gaze, concentrating on my food, on the snow outside, the framed art on the walls. I would’ve looked at the weave of the carpet if I’d had to.

“You can’t go,” Brody replied to my statement.

I frowned at him, finally looking in his direction.

He’d rolled up the sleeves of his Henley, revealing sinewy forearms. I swallowed my appreciation for them. I hadn’t been into muscled men in the past. I liked them smaller, nerdier, anything that didn’t remind me of the boys who taunted me, trying their best to practice toxic masculinity.

Yet here was the exact boy who’d taunted me, yet his masculinity was no longer practiced. It seeped off him like cologne. And it didn’t smell toxic. Not one bit.

“I can go,” I sighed. “It’s a free country, and you can’t keep me here.”

Something moved on his face, an expression I couldn’t place. “I’m not keeping you here. The weather is keeping you here.” He nodded outside.

I’d been looking out the window periodically like someone might mindlessly stare at the TV … not really seeing it.

Now I saw that the snow was falling fast and heard the whistle of the wind picking up.

It looked worse than it had when I went out in it and almost died.

“But you’re a mountain man,” I exclaimed. “You have a truck.”

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