Ask Me Why(60)

Brance chooses this exact moment to appear. He sits down next to Ollie, inspecting our castle turned family home. He glances at his son. “What do I tell you?”

“We should always share. That’s why you and Miss Braelyn are in the same room.” Ollie motions to our assigned plot.

“Is that so?” Brance’s searing stare is fixed on me. Those ocean blue waves are liable to pull me under at any second. The afternoon sun is suddenly too hot. Maybe I need some shade.

Ollie isn’t aware of the combustible chemistry moments away from boiling over. Or he’s choosing to ignore it. “Uh-huh. We’ll have so much fun. Miss Braelyn can come to our house for dinner. She’ll sleep over and stay so we can eat breakfast together in the morning.”

I’m certain a concave dent is marring my forehead. This kid has it all sorted out. “Um, well, I already have my own place. That’s where all my stuff is.”

Ollie looks to his dad for backup. Brance scratches the nape of his neck. I scrub my clammy palms on a nearby towel. Who’s going to crack? My money is on me.

Brance clears his throat. “How about we start with just dinner?”

I let my mouth hang open. This must be a straight violation against our code of conduct. I’m frozen in contemplation, my gaze jumping from Ollie to Brance.

“Can you eat at our house, Miss Braelyn?” Ollie’s little hands are clasped together.

My heart squeezes painfully. “Sure,” I wheeze.

Ollie bounces to his feet. “Great! My daddy will cook something super-yummy.”

My eyes fling up to meet Brance’s waiting stare. “You’re gonna make dinner?”

His lips kick up in a half-smile. “Should I be offended by your tone?”

I rein in my shock and smooth the tension from my features. “Um, no?”

“Who’d you think prepares the meals at our house?”

“Mary?” I bury my toes in the sand, wishing they were my head.

Brance snorts out an exhale. “Thanks for that. But due to mommy dearest being the worst, I was self-sufficient at age eight. I have an extensive collection of recipes. Which is helpful since Ollie gets bored easily.”

My brain is trying to pick apart this new revelation. What a strange day this is turning out to be. I rub my throbbing temples. “Well, okay. I guess that sounds good. Are you thinking sometime this week?”

“Why not tonight?”

I think my jaw is still slack and gaping open. The surprise didn’t have a chance to ebb yet. “W-what?”

Brance strokes his stubbled chin. “I can whip something up quick. No hassle or fuss. I’ll think of something easy and delicious.”

Ollie whispers something in his father’s ear. Brance nods while looking at me. “I bet she’ll love that,” he murmurs.

Ollie is smiling wider than I’ve ever seen. “Come over at six, ‘kay?”

Considering we’ve been at the beach for hours, that might be right around the corner. But what difference does it make? The odds of me not showing up are super slim. Stalling will get me nowhere fast. My stomach grumbles, giving away how I really feel on the matter. I laugh and pat my belly.

The Stone men wear matching expressions of impatience. There’s no hint of humor in their taut postures. Ollie appears ready to leap at me, being held off by a fraying string. Brance’s frown grows more intense. I swallow another giggle and put them out of their misery.

“I’ll show up hungry.”





Brance



Butter



I set an overflowing casserole dish on the middle rack. A small pan of extra tater tots goes in next. I close the oven with a quick lift of my wrist. After setting the timer, I turn to my son. He’s humming a happy tune while coloring. His legs swing back and forth from his spot at the high-top counter. I move closer to get a better look. My stomach tightens almost painfully. A vibrant rainbow decorates his page.

Ollie looks up, his baby blues glittering. “Is Miss Braelyn coming soon?”

The question distracts me from the subject of his artwork. I check the clock on the stove. “About fifteen more minutes.”

His face screws up a bit, wheels turning quickly. I’m sure he’s trying to calculate that length of time in his terms. “Can I go play in my room until she gets here?”

“Of course, buddy.”

He hops off the stool, pushing his picture toward me. “I made this for Miss Braelyn. Maybe she’ll stick it on her fridge. Or hang it up at Thicket.”

“I’m sure she’ll love it, little man.” And I know she will. That woman has the softest spot set aside for my son. If he wasn’t mine, I’d be jealous of the smothering attention she dishes out to him.

“I’m really excited for dinner. Are you, daddy?” He blinks those wide eyes at me.

There’s only one answer to give without crushing his dreams. “Of course, Ollie. I love eating with you.”

“And Miss Braelyn,” he adds.

I don’t bother confirming or denying that. Am I encouraging him by agreeing to have her over for dinner? Maybe. Was it a terrible decision to indulge his meal idea? Probably. Will this make things more complicated? Absolutely. Did that stop me? Not at all.

With a parting grin, Ollie dashes out of the kitchen. I grab plates and silverware, three of each. The odd number doesn’t register as a snag in my routine. If I allow myself to be honest, the sight of an extra place setting feeds that starving piece of my heart. Braelyn is doing one hell of a job restoring strength in the most desolate parts of that beating organ. And I’ve decided to stop fighting against what feels good.