Our stares held. I knew I was grinning, and she was too.
This had always been the problem. Getting Mac’s attention had usually been my aim, even at six years old. And the surest way to go about that was to get under her skin. Even now, at twenty-eight, it was too tempting. My blood was pumping in my veins like I was on the soccer field having just scored the game-winning goal. And this feeling was the closest to satisfaction I could possibly get outside the bedroom.
Unfortunately, I was fucking up Operation Nice Guy right out of the gate.
“What are you doing here, Brady?” My sister’s words interrupted our heated stare-a-thon, and my brows lowered in annoyance.
Reluctantly, I dragged my attention over to Candy. “I’m working this event with you and closing tonight. I just got back from my dinner break.”
She frowned. “I thought Mark was on the schedule. He was out here helping me for over an hour.”
I could sense Mac drifting away, wine bottle in hand, so I told Candace, “Nah. He was off at five. I’m your backup tonight. And good thing since you have a violent delinquent in your midst.”
Thatbrought Mac’s stony glare back around. She snapped, “I swear, Brady.” But then her attention dropped down to my lips, and the sense of relief I felt nearly had my chest caving in.
I didn’t want to be the only one carrying around this secret. The weight of it, the perfect memory playing on repeat at three a.m. when I couldn’t sleep. I wouldn’t be able to stand it if I was the only one thinking about the way we’d fit together, how we’d come apart. I needed some sign that she remembered too. That it had affected her at all.
But in the next instant, the moment—and this brief connection—was over. Larry called out, “Mac, can I get some of those orange Tic Tacs? I know you have them in your purse. You’ve been sucking on them all week.”
For whatever reason, Mac’s eyes widened in alarm. She placed the wine bottle on the table and started digging through her bag, but not before I caught a deep flush working its way onto her cheeks.
Before she could pass the tiny plastic box off to her cousin, I took a step closer and said, “Man, I love those. Can I have one too?”
Mac wheezed out a cough and then cleared her throat, tossing the candy to Larry over her shoulder. “No. No, you may not. Tic Tacs are for people whodon’taccuse me of vandalism.”
I fought a wince but nodded instead. “That’s fair.”
Mac gave me one last glare and turned to join her companions.
I knew Abby would be disappointed in me for calling her a delinquent, but, truthfully, if Ihadwalked right up to Mac and complimented her hair, she would have thought I was either up to something or suffering from a head injury. It was better to ease into the plan, to spread out the niceties. If she assumed things were getting back to normal—our version of normal, with teasing and bickering and whatnot—she might stop avoiding me and pretending the kiss never happened. We needed to talk about it, but I had a feeling that if I forced her hand or rushed her, Mac would shut down and that lip-lock would be a distant memory I pulled out at night to keep me warm.
The women were chatting and putting a sizeable dent in the cheese board. I looked around for my sister, but Candy was nowhere to be found.
Clapping my hands together, I announced, “Ladies, it looks like I’m in charge. I say we take some shots before Candace gets back and ruins our fun.”
That got me some laughter from the crowd.
“Brady Judd, you’re a troublemaker,” Maggie Clark called with a twinkle in her eye. She was Mac’s aunt and in charge of the bakery at Grandpappy’s. I’d known her since I was a kid, and we’d always gotten along. She made the best yellow cake with old-fashioned chocolate icing.
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered with a grin.
I had half a mind to go track down my sister, but everyone seemed content to eat, drink, and visit for the time being, so I told those gathered, “Y’all settle in and enjoy the wine and snacks. We’ll get the painting portion of the event started in a bit.”
For the next few minutes, I mingled and chatted with the women present. I’d known most of them my whole life, so it wasn’t a hardship. My momma always said I could talk to a wall and be content. As a child, she’d often found me chatting with parents at the playground instead of the kids my age.
Mac and I circled one another. If I moved to speak with someone nearby, she’d find a reason to shift sideways, by either grabbing a cracker at the food table or refilling her wineglass. But she kept an eye on me, always aware and recalibrating her movements as a result. I wasn’t discouraged in the least. I liked that she was off-balance and that I knew the probable reason behind it.
I eventually caught sight of Candy striding out of the Apple House. She looked happy and pink-cheeked. She must have given herself a pep talk in front of the mirror in her office. Poor kid.
Finally, she got things rolling with the event. Everyone sat and started painting their pumpkins. For the next half hour, I circulated and refilled drinks, striking up conversations as I went. The autumn air was cool, but the heaters kept everyone comfortable in their jackets and flannels.
With a bottle of Lonely Mountain rosé in one hand, I passed behind Mac. She stiffened as I checked out her pumpkin painting. Her careful strokes had created the silhouette of a cat in front of a giant moon. It looked real good. Mac had the neatest handwriting of anyone in our grade, and she’d always excelled in art class.
“That looks nice,” I told her when I’d circled the picnic table.
Mac’s gaze drifted briefly to mine before darting back to her pumpkin. “Thank you.” Then she resumed painting, but I could tell she was being tentative, waiting for me to leave so she could finally take a deep breath.
Larry was seated across from Mac. I offered her a refill, and she held out her glass, grinning as she glanced between the two of us. The rest of the table’s occupants had wandered off to go and look at the artwork nearby.
