Page 32 of Beat of Love
But up close, she looked likeshehad run those five miles. Concern edged out the heat in his chest. “Sure,” he said.
Brandy-Lyn slid into the seat across from him and dropped her keys on the table, exhaling hard, her spine sagging like someone had just removed invisible scaffolding. She pressed her fingers to her temples. “They’re still riding the high from the win,” she said, jerking her chin toward the girls. “Me? I’m just riding on fumes.”
“Rough day?” he asked.
She huffed a breath that was half-laugh, half-growl.
“Try an emergency vet visit, a busted water line, and three kids whose schedules require divine intervention.”
She paused, looking up at him. “And you?”
He hesitated, fingers tightening around the mug. “First NA meeting.”
Her eyes softened as they rested on him. “That’s a big step.”
He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t press. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward — it simply was.
She cast a glance at his buttermilk pie. Without a word, he slid the plate toward her. “Help yourself.”
“You sure?”
“Marlene forced it upon me,” he said dryly.
She grinned and picked up the fork. “Guess I’m doing you a favor.”
He watched as she took a bite, lips closing around the fork. “Dangerous kind of favor,” he muttered, the burn of desire hot and urgent.
Their eyes locked, heat sparking in hers to match the fire in his. She blinked and looked down. He tracked the movement of her throat as she swallowed, a delicate shift beneath her skin.
He forced his gaze away and focused on his surroundings.
The scratchy speakers crackled out a mournful country tune, all heartbreak and steel guitar, barely cutting through the clatter of silverware and the low hum of conversation.
“You don’t want to know how the meeting went?” Talking about the NA meeting was easier than watching the way she devoured his pie.
She froze, fork hovering in the air. “I figured you’ll tell me if you want to,” she whispered, slowly placing the fork on the plate.
Gratitude spread within him. Back home, they’d want to know — along with their stares of pity and unease.
“I think part of me believes I deserved what happened to me.” He lowered his gaze to the table. “All those years pretending to be something I wasn’t. Always in control. And then—” He stopped himself. “Forget it.”
Brandy-Lyn didn’t press.
He felt her watching him, though. Not judging. Just … present.
After a moment she said, “We all survive different ways, Raff. Doesn’t mean we earn the worst of what comes.”
He wasn’t sure if he believed that. “I just … I don’t know what to do with this version of me now.”
Her eyes met his across the table, and he couldn’t look away. “You don’t have to know tonight.”
For a moment, everything else faded — the diner noise, the pressure in his chest, the tangle of guilt and want that knotted tighter every time he looked at her.
“Mom!”
Brandy-Lyn sighed, glancing over her shoulder. “Coming,” she called back, and stood, pressing her palms flat to the table. “Thanks for letting me sit. And for sharing your pie.”
He nodded. “Anytime.”
