Page 80 of That Time I Kissed The Groomsman Grump
“Wait.” I take a beat, reading into his gaze. “You’ve already written one, haven’t you?”
He nods again.
“I saw your notebook,” I admit. “At the clinic, when I was looking for the keys to the truck. I could tell it wasn’t just a journal or a budget tracker or some kind of ledger. It was a story.”
“I’ve got dozens of notebooks. They’re all full of stories.”
“Romance?”
“No.” He pulls one hand free to drag over his face. “But I sure learned a lot from the ones I read.” His chuckle sounds relieved, like finally telling someone about this takes a weight off his shoulders. “Don’t laugh, okay?”
“I would never.”
“I believe you.” He meets my gaze again, filling his lungs. Then he lets it all out. “I’ve been writing a series of mysteries about a veterinarian who solves murders in his small town.” The jag of his laughter makes my heart expand. It’s pure joy, not the broody Brady from the last couple of years.
“How long have you been doing this?”
“Awhile now.” He arches one brow, moonlight gleaming in his eye. “I write while I’m at work on breaks. And at night, I transfer the handwritten stuff onto my laptop. It’s cathartic, really. And I can edit as I go. I’ve also taken a lot of craft courses online. Read stacks of books about writing novels. I’m kind of obsessed with the process, but I’ve never tried to act on it. And I’ve never told anyone. Not a single person.”
I grip the one hand still holding mine and lock eyes with him. “Thank you for trusting me with this.”
He clears his throat. “I trust you with everything.”
My nose begins to sting. “Me too.” I choke out a laugh. “I mean, I trust you. Not myself. Although I do trust myself about some things. Sometimes. Not always. I’m pretty bad about filling my gas tank.”
“I’m not mad about that,” he says. “It’s how we ended up kissing for the first time, so… bring on the empty gas tanks.” Now we’re both laughing, and my chin quivers with nervous energy. I’m still processing this new information.
“So, you don’t think you could be a vet and an author at the same time?” I ask. “People work other jobs and write on the side, don’t they?”
“Sure they do.” He bobs his head. “But vet school will take years, and that would be a lot to balance with work and writing. Not to mention a family someday.” He pauses for a moment. “I don’t think I could do everything justice. Not the way I’d expect to.”
“Ah. Right.” My stomach pretzels in on itself. Of course Brady wants a family, here in Abieville, with some good woman like Molly.Ugh.The fact that he’s already considering how to prioritize a wife and kids makes me want him even more. But he just told me my willingness to move across the country and take on a new job—a new future—inspireshim.
What would he think if I just up and abandoned all my commitments in California to stay here?
“If I could do anything in the world,” he says, “I’d use the money I’ve already saved to take a shot at launching a full-time writing career.” He pulls his other hand free. “But that’s just a pipe dream. Millions of would-be authors want to do that. I’m not any different. Or any more special.”
“You are to me.” My voice cracks. “And I totally support you. I’ll even help you tell people if having me on your side will make things easier.” I nod, trying to encourage him, as tears prick the corners of my eyes.
“Yeah. I’m not going to drop a bomb like that right before Kasey’s wedding. The focus needs to be on them.”
I lower my volume to an almost-whisper. “It doesn’t have to be a bomb.”
“Doesn’t it?” His question sounds like sharp needles line his throat. “My mom’s been dying to call me Dr. Graham for as long as I can remember. She’s not going to let those bragging rights go without a fight. And Doc Swanson? Mrs. Swanson? They deserve to leave their business to the one they trusted in the first place.” He clenches his teeth. “Then there’s my dad. He’d never understand. The man spent his entire adult life working a job he doesn’t love because he loves his family. It’s just what people do, Nat.”
“Here in Abieville?”
“Everywhere.” He shakes his head. “We all have choices to make. And sacrifices. I’d feel pretty selfish, throwing away a solid future everyone is willing to support—financially and emotionally—for a fantasy that might fail.”
“Hmm.” I press my lips together. “So you go through years of vet school, then you become a vet, and you eventually take over the clinic from Doc Swanson because that plan guarantees the success everyone expects from you?”
“Pretty much.”
“Oh, Brady.” I lay a hand on his knee. It’s warm and solid beneath my fingers. “Maybe it’s time to change your definition of success.”
He grunts, looking down at my hand. When he lifts his gaze, his eyes bore right into mine. “What do you suggest?”
“How about instead of taking the safe path that doesn’t light you up, you go all in on the dream that does. You could even put a time limit on it if that makes you feel better. Like one year as a full-time author.” I shrug. “Maybe two. And if the writing life isn’t all you thought it could be, you can always go back to Plan A: Dr. Brady Graham, veterinarian.”
