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Just as I expected, she sits in the chair with her legs crossed. I sit on the couch, but I purposely pick the corner closest to her.
“How did you ever start cooking?” she asks.
“I told you, takeout—”
She raises a hand. “There has to be something else.”
I inhale, wanting to put on the television and forget this line of questioning. We said no personal questions about the past, but I can give her this. “When you don’t make a lot of money, it’s hard to eat the meals you might want to, so I looked up recipes online. It’s cheaper to buy the ingredients and make it yourself.”
She smiles and forks her fried rice. “Thanks for being so honest. You didn’t have to.”
“I’m not ashamed of not having money. I left home young and barely got by, so even when I jo—ended up with a paycheck, I still tend to cook.”
“So, you like bartending?”
I chuckle. “We’re getting personal.”
“You asked me about my job.” She points her fork at me.
I chuckle. “True. I like it enough, but it’s not my passion.”
“What is?” Her blue eyes look at me with avid interest.
I stop eating and stare at her. “I’ll tell you when you tell me.”
She nods and looks at the TV. “Okay, what are we watching?”
I laugh and she does too since we’re both happy to dodge the question, but her not answering proves that my instinct was right—she doesn’t want to run her family’s company. From what I’ve gathered working at Lucky’s, Bailey Timber employs more than half the town, and the Bailey name means something around here.
Nate told me the other day while I was opening that when Brinley’s grandparents died, the nine Bailey siblings varied in age from twenty-two to nine or something. Brinley’s mom came back from college to run the company with her grandma Dori, and Brinley’s uncle returned from college to raise the younger siblings. Apparently her uncle would’ve most likely gone pro for baseball but gave it all up. The town thinks of the Baileys as their own kids and treats them and the great-grandchildren much the same. Which just firmed up my idea of not crossing the line with Brinley because if I inadvertently hurt her, the town might come after me with pitchforks.
I grab the remote and turn on Netflix. It’s her account that’s logged on and I see that she’s already started The Mindy Project, so I hover over it and look in her direction. “Want to continue this?”
“That’s okay. I’m already on season three and there are only six, so…”
I nod. “You could catch me up. I did love her in The Office, and it says it’s the same writers.”
She sets down the bowl of rice and grabs her beer, looking a little solemn all of a sudden. “Truth?”
“Of course.”
“I was watching it with my husband. I’ve tried over and over to get back into it, but I only make it a few minutes in before I turn it off.” She shrugs. “Feels weird watching it by myself or something.”
My lips press together. “Then it’s a done deal. You need new memories of watching it and I happen to be a fun person to watch television with.” I click the button to start the show.
A sound comes out of her, but she finishes her beer and goes into the kitchen. “Do you need another one?” she asks, her voice cracking.
“Sure.”
She comes out with two beers.
I look at her with concern and pause the show. “I didn’t mean to pressure you. If it’s too much…”
She shakes her head. “No, I’ve been wanting to see what happens, and I need to move on, right?”
I smile, feeling proud in a way. It’s clear this ex did a number on her, and moving on hasn’t been easy. “Damn right you do.”
She straightens her back and tucks her legs under her ass, putting the bowl of rice on the arm of the chair. “You can start it again.”
