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“We’re a cutthroat bunch, Dear. We hold a family poker tournament when we’re all too full to move.”
“Brady plays poker?” I asked, trying to picture it. It was hard to imagine him taking risks with his hard-earned cash. Then again, he was an expert at keeping his expression cool.
“Yes. Games are a family tradition. We play poker and a few other games every year at major holidays.”
I had a hard time imaging Matty’s poker face, but something made me think that I underestimated her at my own peril.
“Sounds fun,” I said faintly.
Would it make a good impression or a terrible one, if his family learned I couldn’t bluff for beans?
"I'm so glad to see Brady happy," Matty said, wielding the motherly note in her voice with the expertise of a scalpel. "For a long time after the accident, we worried."
I bit my lip. She'd dangled her concern like bait. Was it a trap, or an attempt at kindness, cluing me in to something I needed to know?
I trusted Brady to tell me the important things. But that didn't mean we'd told each other everything.
Temptation nipped at me, exerting pressure until I burst.
"Oh?" I said as noncommittally as possible. "Brady seems like the last man you need to worry about."
"Exactly."
The way Matty said it, triumph clear in her smile sent a shiver of foreboding through me.
"But he takes his responsibilities a littletooseriously sometimes. He seems, I don't know,lighterlately. I think it's thanks to you, Eve."
Would Brady be annoyed, knowing his mom and I talked about him? They seemed close, but that didn't make me comfortable disclosing too much about our personal relationship to his mother. I was reluctant to accept her praise.
"I think time helps heal old wounds too," I said instead, trying to downplay any impact I'd had on a hurt that Brady hadn't seen fit to share with me yet. Our relationship was still new. Part of me was dying to ask about the accident she referred to, wondered if it had something to do with the brother he'd mentioned briefly, but everything about the conversation, her hushed tones, the motherly concern, hinted at it being something that I needed to hear directly from Brady, not his mother.
We fell into silence, listening to the soft music I played while working on clients.
"Oh, before I forget – I hear you're in need of a proxy for the auction," Matty said. "I can help you with that if you’d like."
I bit my lip, debating. Would Brady think it was weird that I'd enlisted his mother to bid on him for me? If she was the proxy the mysterious 'book club' had sent, I didn't want to turn her down. She made a certain kind of sense.
"That's right," I said.
"I'm happy to help you out, dear. Just give me a budget, and I'll make it happen."
“Something in between a cup of coffee and a new car. Maybe a thousand dollars?”
“They say you can’t put a price on love, but I don’t blame you for trying.”
Holding back my groan, I shook my head. Did that mean I’d given her a budget that was too high, or too low? Brady might kill me for this, but Gwen's rules didn't leave me much choice.
"Thanks, Matty."
After work, I made the short drive to the Pruitt Farm.
I'd bundled up because the sky looked like snow. We'd likely have a shorter than usual campfire session. While most of my friends had grown up in Campfire, not even they wanted to hang out around the fire while it snowed.
"Hey, Eve," Gwen welcomed. "You're just in time."
Code for: late as always. Sophie, Jo, and Izzy were already gathered in their chairs, huddling close to the flames for warmth.
"Sorry, a client ran late."
