The Copper Valley Bro Code Series: Volume 1, page 74
35
Grady
I can’t remember the last time I couldn’t wipe a goofy smile off my face, but as I dump the burnt cookies and clean up the kitchen while Annika’s digging through some women’s clothing I found in one of the spare bedrooms downstairs, I realize I’m also whistling.
She stayed.
She seduced me.
I have my best friend back. We’re good. We’re better than good. And I’m just getting warmed up with being everything she needs me to be.
She steps out of the basement stairwell across the room with a wrinkle-nosed smile, and I bark out a laugh when I take in her socks, which go all the way up to her knees over purple leggings.
“Rainbow stripes? Not so sure those go with your boots.”
“Don’t judge, Mr. Leopard Print Robe.”
“I put that back in the closet.”
“But you still put it on first.” She’s in a Thrusters T-shirt—the pro hockey team in Copper Valley—and her damp hair is dangling over her shoulders, leaving small wet spots on the gray cotton where it touches.
She tugs at the back of the leggings like they’re a size too small. “Best I could find. Thank you. For starting the laundry. I could’ve gotten that.”
“Annika.”
“I said thank you. You can’t expect me to not add that I could’ve done it myself. So say you’re welcome and let’s move on to seeing if I can burn these no-fail brownies you swear are Annika-proof like those cookies. Which smell awful, by the way.”
Yep.
She’s hilarious, and she doesn’t even know it.
“My fault on the cookies. If you’d been alone, you would’ve heard the buzzer.”
“If I’d been alone, I probably would’ve been lost in a podcast about DNA testing and the scandal and drama that goes with it.”
“Really?”
It’s not often she goes ruddy in the cheeks, but there it is. “Guilty pleasure.”
“Why guilty?”
She joins me by the sink and takes the cookie sheet to dry it. “It’s all these people who think they’re someone, and then they find out they’re someone else, and it’s…well, it’s hardcore who did your mom really sleep with gossip on top of how many siblings do I have and was anyone ever going to tell me? And all these other people having their lives turned upside down when they find out their dads slept around and they have seven siblings or some rare genetic disorder in the family that doctors would’ve missed without the missing family link…”
She ducks and turns to put the clean cookie sheet away in the island cabinet.
“You ever do it?” I ask.
I know the answer. She told me she refused to spend $30 on a pedicure when she got back from a deployment, because she could scrub the dead skin off her own feet for the cost of a pumice stone.
No way she’s dropping a hundred bucks just to find out her mama’s her mama.
“Yeah,” she says quietly.
I’m not fast enough to stop my brows from meeting my hairline, and she gives a self-conscious laugh as she straightens. “I knew my grandma ran away from home in New York when she was seventeen because her dad was an abusive asshole, and she married an abusive asshole of her own who mysteriously disappeared when my mama was four, but I didn’t know…”
She trails off, and it’s not hard to jump to where she’s going. She didn’t talk about it much in high school, but I was with her once when she saw him. “You wanted to confirm who your father was.”
“No. Mama wouldn’t have lied.” She shakes her head. “That was never the question. I just…if any of them ever take it, I want…I want them to know. I want my record to be there too.”
Them.
She has siblings.
Not just Bailey.
“He’s…?”
“Married. Three kids. Happy family in Copper Valley. Soccer teams and honor roll and new gaming systems for Christmas, last I heard. Why’s the oven still on? We’re not seriously making brownies tonight, are we?”
“You want them to know he didn’t help you.”
“Mama,” she corrects. “He didn’t help Mama. She didn’t get pregnant by herself, but raised me by herself while he denied even knowing her. That’s not okay. It’s never okay. I know he was a teenager, but you know what? So was she. And she did what she needed to do. Alone. Maybe I’m being petty in hoping they find out, but I do. Are we making brownies or not?”
“You’re fucking amazing, do you know that?”
“Queen of the tooth-cracking brownies and flaming granite cookies with a side of a thirst for vengeance buried deep. I know.”
I hook an arm around her neck, kiss her hair, and tug her to the island. “C’mon. Brownies. You can do this, and they’ll be ready before your clothes are done. Remember the first lesson?”
“Yes. Talk so dirty to the dough—”
“Batter, for real, this time.”
“—to the batter that I get arrested for exposing a thirteen-year-old to sexual harassment in the workplace.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“Oh my god, Grady.”
I grin. “All you have to do is feel the love. You don’t have to say it out loud. But I highly encourage it while you’re here. Here. My favorite recipe from school. I tweaked it, but people would know something was up if you had brownies identical to mine.”
“You know what would be awesome? If we didn’t have to pretend to be enemies in public and sneak around to see each other. That would rock.”
“It would, but Annika, look at how many customers our war is bringing in. We’ll come out one day. But right now—get Duh-Nuts on solid footing. Save up for the lean times.”
She sighs. “I know. I just—it would rock. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I rock.”
“You are a Rock.”
“In so many ways.”
I grin.
She laughs.
And we manage to get a pan of brownies in the oven before we fall back into making out in one of the massage chairs in the living room.
I don’t want to let her go, but eventually her clothes are clean again, and she’s walking herself to the door whether I like it or not, so I trail along, not wanting to let go.
Not when I’ve waited this long for us. “Come camping with me tomorrow night. When you’re done with…what’s on your calendar tomorrow?”
“Roller skating.”
“Whoa. Your mom’s up for that?”
“No, it’s—Bailey set me up on a date with Roger’s son.”
I see red. And green. I growl and tighten my grip on her hand.
“We’re not dating, remember?” she says. “We’re keeping up pretenses.”
“You—he—fuck that.”
Her laughter breaks through the Incredible Hulk act I’m pulling. “Grady. Hi. I’m Annika Williams, and of fucking course I’m not going. But thank you. I like this possessive growly thing you have going on. It’s oddly erotic.”
She pushes up on her toes to brush a kiss to my cheek. “Let’s see if I’m still standing tomorrow night before I promise anything, okay?”
“I can pick you up.”
“What would I tell Mama and Bailey?”
My heart’s still thundering out a howl at the idea of her going on a date with anybody, but I’m slowly getting it back under control. “Who’s your friend? Liliana, right? Wait. The same Liliana who told everyone I had lice freshman year?”
She tilts her head. “I don’t—oh. Yes. That Liliana. She grew up.”
“She—” I stop, because reminiscing about someone who also replaced the C with an extra P when the cheering squad had a Cooper Rock day with letter flash cards—thus making it a Pooper Rock day—isn’t going to move us forward here. “Have her tell your mama there’s an overnight at the winery or something.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” she says, but her brows furrow. “Thank you for tonight. I—we needed this.”
I grab her in a tight hug. “You could stay tonight too.”
“I can’t, Grady.”
Three words, seven million meanings, and most probably things that are racing through her head. I have responsibilities. Bailey will worry. Mama will worry. I don’t have a good excuse. I’m terrified of how quickly I’m falling in love with you.
Okay, that last one’s all me.
And I’m not terrified.
Not of falling in love with Annika.
Not when she’s finally letting me in.
But I do steal another kiss before I let her go.
I don’t know when I’ll get another.
But I know one thing.
It won’t be soon enough.
36
Annika
My body is both bone-tired and also more relaxed than I’ve been in months when I finally park my car in front of Mama’s little house.
The new wood on the railings that Roger and the neighbors installed stands out in the dark, and I sigh softly to myself, because it’s stupid that Shipwreck and Sarcasm fight when they both have residents who care so damn much.
Why can’t they care about each other like that?
And why can’t they support two bakeries without them having to be at war first?
I let myself into the house and close the door softly behind me, then yelp at the figure on the couch.
“You’re late,” Bailey says.
She switches on the lamp and crosses her arms. Her foot hangs loose over her knee, tapping out an expectant beat.
“Fell asleep during the movie,” I lie.
Her nose quivers, and oh, shit.
Can she smell the fabric softener? It’s different from the no-perfume stuff we use here.
“Is that brownies?” she asks.
I almost sag with relief. “Liliana tried to teach me a few tricks. How’s Mama?”
“We had a dance party with Roger and Birch. She can still shake it. You should’ve texted that you were going to be so late.”
“Sorry. I thought you’d be in bed.” I sit next to her, and she curls into me, leaning her head on my shoulder and wrapping her arm around my stomach. “Why aren’t you in bed?”
“Boys are stupid.”
“I know, but you can’t change it, so you shouldn’t lose sleep over it either.”
“And hormones are stupid.”
“Hashtag truth.”
“Annika. We’ve talked about you saying hashtag. Don’t do it.”
I stroke her hair and smile. “Sorry. Tell me about your hormones. You want some brownies? Liliana sent me home with a few.” God, I hate lying, but Bailey would bolt if she knew I was with Grady all night—plus Grady and I agreed on the whole we need to be a secret for the benefit of our bakeries thing—and right now, she clearly needs someone to talk to.
I’d rather it’s me than one of her friends, who are all nice enough, but also in the throes of puberty.
“We should make brownies at Duh-Nuts. Oh my god. Annika. We should make brownie donuts. No. Caramel brownie donuts.”
“Or peanut butter brownie donuts.”
“Who are you, and where did you gain this amazing baking inspiration?”
Huh.
Maybe sex with Grady is good for my culinary creativity.
Actually, no.
I’ll keep the sex part but leave the culinary part to him.
I’m really not built to be a baker.
“You must be rubbing off on me,” I tell her. “So. Tell me about the boy.”
“I like talking about brownie donuts better.”
“You like him and you wish you didn’t?” I press quietly.
It’s a relatable emotion, though I’m finally in a place where I don’t wish I didn’t like Grady.
I like liking Grady.
I like kissing Grady.
I just don’t like keeping Grady a secret, even if I can see his reasoning.
Bailey sighs and sags deeper against me. “My logical brain says it’s stupid to like boys. Boys haven’t been good to our family. But every time I’m around him my heart starts beating like I sampled too many chocolate-covered coffee beans and my belly gets all fluttery and I get so tongue-tied that I feel like I’m talking out of my elbow.”
“That sounds like a crush.”
“I don’t want to have a crush. Crushes can destroy your whole entire future. Look what they did to Mama.”
My hand stills in her hair. “I don’t think Mama would say she feels robbed of the life she was supposed to have,” I say quietly, the revelation rocking me deep in the pit of my stomach as the simple truth of it finally penetrates past my logical brain and into my feels.
“She spent her whole life raising you, and then me, and now she’s fucking blind,” Bailey whispers. “She was robbed.”
“Do you remember when you two came to visit me in Texas three summers ago? When it was so hot, and we went to that giant water park?”
“That was so fun. I hate Shipwreck. They have a water park like that.”
I stifle an eye roll. “You were going down the waterslide over and over and over while Mama and I did the lazy river. And she was asking about my job and my life and I was catching up on how you suddenly decided soccer sucked but volleyball was life, and that you had three new friends who would come over and have dance marathons with that old Wii that Mama picked up refurbished on sale after Christmas—”
“Oh em gee, when we all dressed up in boas and pretended to be llamas invading a unicorn dance-off?”
“Yes. And she was laughing so hard she fell out of her tube on the lazy river.”
“Well, yeah. Adriana’s llama impersonation isn’t something you can forget,” she says with a giggle.
“Mama loves being our mama. She’s so proud of you. And so proud of me. She didn’t plan on being a single mom so early in life, but she fucking rocked it. And she probably hasn’t loved every minute, but we are her world. And we’re pretty awesome. Because of her. I don’t think Mama regrets the life she didn’t have. She’s too busy enjoying the life she does have.”
“I’m too young for philosophy,” she says quietly.
“No, you’re not. But listen—it’s okay to have a crush on a boy. It’s okay to go on dates. It’s okay to kiss a boy once you’re twenty-four.”
She giggles and pokes me in the ribs, and I squeeze her tighter in a big hug.
“You know where babies come from. When you’re thirty-seven and ready, you know how to be safe and protected.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous.”
“Hush. I’m coping with the fact that I need to take you bra shopping this weekend.”
She sighs. “It’s all the baked goods. It makes them grow.”
“It’s the hormones and genetics.”
“They suck.”
“They really do. They make us like boys who don’t like us back, and they make us cranky for no reason, but they also inspire us to binge-watch Gilmore Girls while eating chocolate ice cream, so they’re not all bad, right?”
“Are there boys you’ve liked who didn’t like you back?”
“I’m about the worst role model for healthy relationships with boys. I denied any feelings for anybody until it was too late and I lost them.”
“That Rock boy,” she whispers.
It’s my opening.
I should tell her.
I need to tell her if he’s going to be in my life. In her life. In our lives.
“You’re better off without him,” she announces quickly. “Mama says he would’ve married you, but then he probably would’ve divorced you and left you with three babies to feed.”
It’s a sock to the gut. “Mama did not say that.”
“No, but she should. Annika. He’s a Shipwreck shithead. People from Shipwreck don’t marry people from Sarcasm and have happy ever afters. It’s a rule. Especially when those shitheads are trying to ruin our bakery.” She pushes up and frowns at me. “We really need to find a full-time baker. Because if he ever actually ups his decorating game, we’re toast. Adriana snuck me one of the shithead’s banana pudding donuts the other day, and Annika, it’s bad. I mean, the donut was good. The donut was orgasmic.”
“How do you—never mind. Don’t want to know.”
“He can outbake us,” she whispers.
“He’s had half a lifetime more experience than you have,” I whisper back. “This will all be okay. I promise. Trust me?”
“No. Because so far in my life, you’ve never let me down, which means it’s inevitable that you will someday, because you’re human, which you can’t help no matter how hard you try, and I think I might die if this is the thing that you finally let me down with. So I’m just going to not ask you to take it on anymore.”
“That…didn’t make any sense.”
“We need a better baker, Annika. Roger can only help for so long, and since you won’t homeschool me…”
“Bailey?”
“What?”
“Go to bed and worry about boys. I’ll take care of the bakery. Even I can’t screw up bubble waffles, right?”
She opens her mouth, then closes it.
And then she leans over to hug me. “I love you anyway,” she says.
She turns the light out on me and heads to her small bedroom, and I pull my phone out.
Parenting sucks, I text to Grady.
I don’t give him a chance to reply before I add, And if you know anyone who can bake better than you can, I need to hire that person STAT.
He doesn’t answer.
Probably sleeping, or heading out with Sue to whatever campground he’s supposed to be at.
But he’ll get my message eventually.
Probably.
Hopefully.
And then he’ll help me fix this.
I could fix it by myself. I really could.
But I don’t want to anymore.
37
Grady
Sue and I are playing fetch at the edge of the lake while the sun sets on our little campsite, and I keep checking my phone.
The last text I got from her was a picture with the caption SOS.
