Page 72 of Sincerely, Mr. Braden

He smiles, and his hand slides to my fingertips as I pull it away to reach for the bag. He stretches out on the couch, and I carry the supplies into the kitchen. I empty the bag onto the counter and put the kettle on. While it heats up, I wander over to check out the bookshelves.

I can’t imagine how much knowledge is in Seth’s brain. He has books covering an array of business and finance topics, psychology, philosophy, a few weathered field journals, and a plethora of well-read novels with bent spines and faded covers. Mixed in with the books are fairly recent framed photos of his family. His grandparents sitting on a porch swing, holding hands, his parents with Flynn and Sutton sitting around a bonfire on a patio with the ocean in the background, Clay and Pepper, arm in arm, bundled in winter coats and hats in front of a theater, and Noah standing on a boat, shirtless, in the middle of the sea.

There’s a picture of an older couple sitting on a couch. They’re sitting a good six inches apart, smiles gentle, hands folded in their laps, so different from all the other pictures. “Are these your relatives?” I ask, showing Seth the picture when he looks over.

“My mom’s parents.”

“Do you see them often?”

“No. They live in Illinois, and they’re really conservative. They never agreed with the way my parents raised us. I don’t know them well. It sucks for my mom.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Different strokes, right?” Seth says, and lies back, closing his eyes again.

I make my way around the couch, and my gaze catches on a framed picture on the end table. I pick it up, studying the photograph of one of my sketches from the sketchbook he returned. It’s a picture of the glass orchard, full of leaves and baubles, with Seth giving Noah a piggyback on the hillside below.

My heart stutters. “You took a picture of my drawing?”

He glances over, eyes at half-mast. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I should’ve asked. I just…I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again, and I wanted to keep a piece of us.”

A lump forms in my throat. “You kept a piece of me even after I left like Cinderella fleeing the ball?”

He nods. “Are you upset?”

My chest tightens, and I shake my head, setting the frame back down on the end table. “I love that you did that.”

His mouth curves, slow and tired.

The kettle whistles. “Be right back.” I make his tea, and when I return, he sits up, making room for me as I put a coaster on the table. “It’s hot. Be careful,” I say, handing it to him.

He takes a sip. “It’s perfect, thank you. You shouldn’t have come all the way down here. You’ve got enough on your plate.”

“My plate is never too full for you,” I say, simple and true.

He studies me for a moment, his thumb tracing the mug’s handle. “Still,” he says. “Next time you head into the city, text me before you leave.”

“Why? So you can tell me not to come?”

“No. So I know when to worry if you don’t make it.”

Oh my heart. “You’re on your self-diagnosed deathbed, and that’s what you’re thinking about? Taking care of me?”

He gives a soft, helpless smile. “Pretty sure that’s not something I can turn off.”

“I’m so lucky to be someone you care about.” I sit beside him, our shoulders touching. “But how about if you rest today and worry about me when you’re feeling better?”

He takes a few more sips of tea, then puts the cup on the coaster and takes my hand as he leans back and closes his eyes.

I pull out my phone and put it on the end table. “Here, lie down and put your head in my lap. I have to do some work for Knox anyway. I can do it on my phone while you sleep.” I scoot over.

“Is it weird that I’m jealous?” he asks as he stretches out.

“Yes.” I laugh. “Close your eyes and go to sleep.”

He turns onto his side and wraps his arms around me, snuggling in. I pull the blanket around him and run my fingers through his hair. It doesn’t take long before he feels heavier, his hold on me loosening, as if he’s forgotten to hold everything together for once. I don’t reach for my phone or move a muscle other than running my fingers through his hair. I just enjoy this moment and thank my lucky stars for the trust he’s bestowed in me.

Chapter Twenty-Four