Page 137 of Big Dill

“I wanted you to have something that was just yours.” My voice steadies. “A little boutique next to the social. Not part of it. Not something you share with your brother—or with me.”

I hold her gaze. “Something to call your own. Your boutique. Your brand. Your hours. Your rules.”

“Brody…”

“I love you, Little Birdie. I think I fell for you that first night back in Halifax.”

She makes a soft moan, like she’s remembering that first night, that night that’s never really left either of us. Her fingers trail along my flannel shirt…yes, I wore it on purpose. Pathetic? Maybe. But I was pulling out all the stops.

“Lumber-snack,” she murmurs, and the corner of her mouth quirks up, just enough to let me know she’s teasing—but also not really.

I take her hand and lead her to the counter, where the lease and paperwork are laid out, waiting. “This is yours,” I say. “You just need to sign, and eventually figure out your business name. I can file it tomorrow morning. I’ll be at the town hall anyway for some social business.”

She looks up at me, and I can almost see it happen—the flicker of memory, the shadow of the past rushing in. Tristan. How he stole her business right out from under her. How he twisted the paperwork, the lease, the contracts, until everything bore his name instead of hers.

I’m just about to pull the papers back, to tell her she should do it herself, when she reaches into her purse. She pulls out a pen, signs without hesitation, and slides the papers back to me.

“Thank you, Brody.”

For a moment, I forget how to breathe. This is how much she trusts me and I don’t take a second of it lightly.

As if she can feel what’s happening inside me, she leans in and whispers,

“Breathe.”

I nod, pull in air and when my lungs are filled, I take her hands. “There’s something else I need to show you.”

“I bet there is.” Her grin is mischievous, full of want and as much as I want her, there’s something I need to do first.

I grab my jacket, tug it on. “We need to go next door.”

She goes completely still, color draining from her face. “Jaxon.” She takes a step back. “Brody, what will happen if⁠—”

“He knows,” I tell her quickly and she stands there blinking like she can’t comprehend that. “He’s always known.”

“What…how?”

“I talked to him, confessed everything. Told him I loved you.” I pull her back, lightly touch her face. “He’s okay with it, with us.”

“Really?”

“He gave us space to figure out what we needed.” Tears fill her eyes. “I know. He really is one of the good guys who cares about those he loves.”

“You actually talked to him.”

For some reason that means a lot to her. “I did. I wasn’t going to let you go without a fight, Jami.” I wipe a tear from her face. “Can I show you something?”

She nods and I push the door open. Her eyes narrow with pure curiosity as I walk her next door and into the social. Jaxon is waiting just inside. I give him a quick nod and he disappears.

“What is going on?” Jami asks.

I don’t answer. I tug her farther in, guide her to one of the benches beside the courts, and gently set her down. Then I pull out my phone and start recording.

A minute later, Nicola steps out from Jami’s yoga studio, modelling a pair of Jami’s yoga pants and a matching tank. She strikes a pose, grinning. Behind her come Mason, Abby, and Laci. Then Rachel and Jaxon. Susan and Scott. Ma. Verna and Theresa and Sadie, arms linked, laughing as they walk.

I turn to Jami.

Tears are already spilling down her face.