Only You (Adair Family #5)(4)

“I’ll see you later,” I whispered.

“Okay, sweetheart.”

I walked away without a backward glance, but Brodan’s companion blocked the door.

His face was expressionless as he moved to the side and pulled the door open for me.

“Thanks,” I murmured and hurried out before I allowed myself to really feel my first encounter with my ex-best friend.

He’d ignored me.

After all these years, he just ignored me.

Like I’d meant nothing to him.

Then again, it shouldn’t come as a surprise, since he’d thrown me away and never looked back.

A chasm so painful, it made me breathless, opened in my chest. That man had occupied my mind more times than I liked to admit, which was shitty considering he obviously never thought of me.

Blindly, I made my way to the post office just before it closed to grab my parcel. I couldn’t tell you what words I exchanged with the postmistress, my mind still reeling from the café encounter. The parcel, however, pulled me out of my stupor. It was a large, awkward box containing craft supplies for a project I had in mind at school. Unfortunately, like most schools I’d worked at, the budget wasn’t there for these kinds of things, so like many of my colleagues, I bought it out of pocket.

In the end, I precariously balanced the two coffees on top of the box and ambled down the street. While I’d never been so grateful to see my old Yaris, the situation was a distraction from the arsehole who’d returned from my past. Until I reached my car.

He’d ignored me!

Lowering the box to the ground, I opened the boot and realized I needed to make space, so I pulled out shopping bags filled with my mum’s groceries.

As I lifted one out, the bottom of the bag gave way, and Mum’s milk, bread, fruit, canned soups, and all went flying every bloody where.

Tears of frustration burned in my nose, and then I made the mistake of looking straight ahead.

My heart skittered as Brodan stood outside Flora’s with his silent friend and stared impassively at the sight of me surrounded by fallen groceries.

Then he abruptly looked away, and those tears tried their damnedest to spill, but I forced them back, pinching my lips together as I bowed my head to collect the groceries.

Once upon a time, Brodan would have been the first person rushing across the street to help me.

I was vaguely aware of footsteps as I crouched and stretched under my car for the milk. When I finally got it and pulled it out, I turned to see Brodan’s friend gathering the other groceries.

Straightening, I looked back at Flora’s. No Brodan. I searched Castle Street. No sign of him at all.

His quiet friend came to me with an armful of food. “Where do you want them?” he asked. He was Scottish too.

“Uh, in the boot, thanks.” I gestured.

He drew up to me, and I could smell his attractive aftershave as he leaned in and dumped the items in for me.

“Thanks,” I repeated.

He met my gaze as he stepped back. “No problem.”

“I’m Monroe.”

“I know who you are,” he said mysteriously.

“Do you have a name so I can thank you properly?”

“Walker.”

“Thank you, Walker.”

He gave me a stoic nod before he turned and strode away.





If I lived in a world that gave a shit about me and what I needed, I would have been able to drive straight back to the caravan (if we were talking ideal world, I’d have my own house) and cry a bucket of tears over my first encounter with Brodan. Not only had he ignored me, he’d turned his back on me. His bloody monosyllabic friend was more chivalrous! Was picking up spilled groceries beneath the almighty Brodan Adair?

Arsehole.

But no. In my shitty, emotional mood, I had to spend time around Mum.

“I said last time that I hate this kind of bread,” Mum snipped at me as she hovered in the kitchen doorway.

“You should be off your feet,” I reminded her.

When she fell down the narrow stairs in the house and broke her hip, Mum’s healing didn’t go as the doctors had hoped. She was now scheduled for a hip replacement, which meant I was stuck playing nursemaid for goodness knows how long. The thought made me want to scream.

“That’s the wrong soup,” she sniped, picking up the can of lentil. “I hate this brand.”

“It’s cheaper,” I murmured.

“Och, well, I’m paying for it, so just buy the bloody brand I like.”

I sucked in a breath. “Actually, I’m paying for it. You haven’t given me any money for your groceries.” She’d promised she would, but I’d bought her groceries for six weeks now, and she hadn’t coughed up a penny.

“Oh, so now I’m a scrounger!”

I winced as she raised her voice, but continued to put away the food. “What do you want for dinner?”

“A grateful daughter,” she snarled. “I paid for your food until you were eighteen, lass. Surely a few weeks of returning the favor is little to ask.”

Well, technically, it’s a parent’s job to feed their child, but who could argue with that logic?

“Dinner?”

She made a sound of disgust and turned away. “Doesn’t matter. It’ll taste like shit, anyway.”