Page 79 of Branded Hearts

“Hi, Mrs. Brown.” His voice is calm and collected.

“Bradley? Is that you?” She sounds surprised.

“Yes, ma’am. Hope you’re doing well.” He smirks at me, clearly enjoying this.

“What are you doing with my Meli?” she asks, and I slump in defeat.

“She wanted chicken parmi, so I took her to get some,” he says smoothly.

“Oh, how sweet. Is Liv there, too?” she asks, and I snatch the phone back.

“Uh, yeah, she’s just in the bathroom,” I lie quickly.

“You’re such a good big brother,” Mum says, and I can almost hear her smile.

“Mhm, yep,” I mumble, trying to keep my cool. “How did you know it was Bradley?”

“He’s the only one who calls me Mrs. Brown. I’ve told him to callme Sophie a million times,” she laughs.

“I’m just trying to be polite,” Bradley says, leaning closer, his shoulder brushing mine. His breath is warm on my face, sending chills down my spine.

“Alright, Mum, gotta go. Talk soon. Bye!” I hang up quickly, my heart racing from the unexpected turn of events.

“Why did you do that?” I ask, half-exasperated, half-amused.

“What? I just said hi,” he says, raising his hands in mock innocence.

I roll my eyes. “You know exactly what I mean.”

He grins. “Just being polite.”

“Polite? More like nosy,” I tease, nudging him with my elbow.

He chuckles. “Okay, maybe a bit nosy.”

“You tryna score brownie points with my mum?”

He laughs. “Nah, she already adores me.”

I want to argue, but he’s right. Mum’s always liked Bradley, ever since we introduced the Mitchells to our family. She’s always said he’d turn out to be a fine man. My skin tingles with heat, and I shift in my seat, the corners of my mouth twitching upward.

“So, Meli, huh?” he asks, smirking.

“It’s just a nickname,” I mumble, feeling shy. “My niece couldn’t say Amelia when she was learning to talk, and it stuck.”

“I like it. It’s cute,” he says, his tone low and teasing.

He starts the car, and we pull out of the parking lot. The drive is quiet, the tension between us palpable. I steal glances at him, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the dashboard lights. I can’thelp but feel a pang of longing. It’s so easy to be around him, to lose myself in his presence. I didn’t ramble too much tonight, so that’s a win.

Maybe he doesn’t think I’m a complete mess after all. The song “Stick Season” by Noah Kahan plays on the radio, and I can’t help but smile.

“Oo, I love this song,” I say, moving to put the volume up a little louder. At the same time, he moves to do the same thing, and our hands brush. It sends a jolt through me, but not the usual spark of electricity.

“Fuck, your hands are freezing,” he says, turning on the heating in the car. He grabs my hand and places it in his lap, trapping mine with his.

“You should have told me you were cold,” he says so casually, holding my hand in his warm grasp. I sit there stunned for a moment, feeling the warmth of his hand seep into mine.

“I, uh, I didn’t realise,” I stammer, trying to regain my composure.

---