Page 9 of Beehives and Broken Heroes

“Adequate?” She huffed.

He grinned. “More than.”

Honey came around to sniff him. He and the big dog had gotten along immediately—Honey reminded him of a dog he’d had as a teen. He was good-natured and loyal and whiter in color than gold. Brandon scratched him behind one fluffy ear.

Allie let out another sigh.

“You okay?” he asked.

She rocked her hips to the side, pulled something from her back pocket—a photo—and handed it to him.

“What am I looking at?” It was a picture of a man and a woman.

“That’s my dad,” she said.

The only picture Brandon had seen of their dad sat on the desk in the office at Sticky and Sweet. The twins were in it and close to their current ages, their dad only a few years younger than the age he’d been when he’d died earlier in the year.

She leaned over him and pointed to the woman. “And that’s not my mom.”

He stared. No, it wouldn’t be. This woman was blond. “Who is she?”

Allie leaned back. “It’s Millie Douglas.”

He’d only met Millie once, the day the twins were moving out of their house. The woman had been harassing them, and Allie had almost hit her—she probably would’ve had Jo not stopped her.

“That was the same year my parents got married.” Allie shivered and rubbed her arms. “Apparently, my dad cheated on Millie with my mom.”

Brandon frowned and shucked out of his jacket, handing it to her. “Do you believe that?” He already knew the answer. This explained why she’d suddenly decided to swear off men, and now that he thought of it, it explained the weird conversation about needing more than one storm cloud, probably. Why did women always have to talk in circular metaphors? Confusing.

She slipped his jacket on and sank down inside of it. “Photographic evidence.”

“You should ask your mom about it,” he said, trying not to let his mind wander to how charming she looked in his coat.

“No, that’s not what Jo would do.” She breathed out long and hard. “Jo would keep it to herself and handle it. And that’s what I’m going to do too.”

Brandon furrowed his brow. He liked Jo—a lot. She was an amazing gal, but she took too much on herself and held things in. He was like that too. Was Allie’s way of dealing with emotions insane? Yeah, kind of. But Brandon knew from experience that it was the healthier way to live life. Holding things in did no one any good.

He rubbed her back. She glanced up at him for just a moment, and his gaze fell to her lips, to their lovely arch, perfect plumpness, and natural rosy hue. For one brief moment, he wondered what they would taste like. His gaze trailed back to her eyes, and she shivered again, deep inside his oversized andthermaljacket.

Warm light from the house shone behind her, lighting her hair in a halo-like glow. He loved her hair. Bright, energetic, and alive, just like her. He wouldn’t care if she cut it; it’d still be lovely—she’d always be lovely. Acting purely on impulse, he reached out and tugged on a lock of it, then ran his fingers down the silky strands.

He made eye contact then—Allie had listed forward, her eyes drooping, and she’d never looked more inviting. He leaned forward just an inch, and her eyes shot wide open. Making him pause.

She quickly looked away from him, and then, in a surprise move, she rested her head on his shoulder. “You’re a good friend, Brandon.”

A good friend. That’s what he was. He took a deep breath, the lavender smell of her overcoming his senses. He was just a good friend.

Chapter 4

Allie snuggled in deeper into Brandon’s coat and allowed herself a moment to rest her head on his shoulder, letting the moment soothe her frazzled nerves. It didn’t, of course. She’d gone from being upset about what Millie had said to feverish from the way Brandon had looked at her and the way he’d tugged on her hair.

She might never cut her hair again.

And that thought startled her. She wasn’t seeking another relationship. She’d barely gotten out of the last one, which had been a nightmare in the end, and frankly not that great in the middle.

“You ready to go inside?” Brandon asked after a few minutes.

Allie blinked her eyes open; she hadn’t even realized that she’d closed them. She pulled back and sat up. She was getting way too comfortable. “Sorry, I didn’t mean . . .” She couldn’t finish that sentence. She’d known what she was doing when she’d rested her head on his shoulder.

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