Page 24 of Tripped By Love
“It isn’t Assad. I promise, he’s all yours,” I told Helen, and Belle laughed.
“Don’t encourage her,” Belle said, shoving a shoulder gently into her mom’s.
“Okay, Snickerdoodle,” I said, bending down to pick up Chevelle. “We gotta jam from this pop stand and get you home for dinner and a bath.”
His face and fingers were covered with chocolate fudge.
Belle laughed again. Something you heard a lot when you were in Sweet Lips.
“Sorry. Here,” she said, handing me a napkin.
I wiped the majority of it from his face as I headed for the door, calling back, “Thanks, everyone! I’ll see you later.”
My phone was buzzing again, and I waited until I had Chevelle tucked into his car seat before looking at it.
BRADY: Lee set up a meeting with Lance Ralley, our lawyers, and his people for next Tuesday. That’ll work for you, right?
My heart stutter-stopped, worry and nervousness flooding my veins. Even taking the meeting seemed like a huge step toward a big, black unknown. A doorway into a world I couldn’t see, had never imagined, and wasn’t sure I wanted. Lee had said that Lance and Earth Paradise seemed on the up and up. The company was growing and was known for giving back to conservation and global warming charities.
ME: It’s fine. Thank you for setting it up.
It was just another thing I owed my brother for. I was grateful—overwhelmingly so—but felt like such a user. As if I was a leech, doing nothing but draining him. It wasn’t true, and if I’d been able to do the same for him, I would have. But Brady would never need anything from me. He had more money than most people could imagine, a family who loved him, and a team of people that looked after his every need.
BRADY: Stop beating yourself up. I didn’t do anything. I made a couple of calls.
ME: I wouldn’t have this opportunity to begin with if you hadn’t funded The Golden Heart for me.
BRADY: I feel the need to tickle you until you scream, “Give!” Don’t be ridiculous. I’m glad to be able to do something for my family. Mom and Dad don’t let me do diddly-squat. What else am I supposed to do with the gazillions I’ve got squirreled away?
ME: Give it to charity.
BRADY: I do that too. A lot. Dani and Nash have been able to quadruple the number of families that From the Ashes has trained and relocated because of me.
ME: Way to be humble.
BRADY: You started it.
ME: I gotta get home before Mom flips her lid, thinking I crashed and am lying in a ditch somewhere.
BRADY: Shit. Go.
I put the phone in the center console and drove home, talking with Chevelle the whole way about nonsense. About Hippo and dogs and what we were having for dinner.
Mom was waiting on the back porch when I pulled in, and I barely resisted banging my head on the steering wheel. If I did, she’d definitely think something was wrong. As I opened the door, she crossed the yard to lift Chevelle from his seat.
“Mhamó!” Chevelle said, using the Irish form of grandmother that she’d taught him as he snuggled against her chest. My boy gave the best snuggles.
She kissed the top of his head and smiled over at me. “He’s covered in chocolate.”
“Belle,” I said by way of explanation. “What’s up?”
“You rarely leave the house on Tuesdays. Just making sure everything is good.”
She followed me in the back door, setting Chevelle on the floor and watching as he removed his shoes with a toddler-like clumsiness.
“Mom?” I started, only to have her cut me off.
“I know. I’m overbearing, overprotective, and worry too much. I am trying. It’s just a twenty-five-year-old habit that’s hard to break,” she said softly.
