Page 27 of Wish Lists and Road Trips

“You can’t run away from this, Bridget. You may have no issue ruining your own reputation, but now you’ve ruined ours. Not to mention Sean’s.”

“I think Sean’s reputation will be just fine, Daddy. This isn’t an episode ofMad Men. Sean’s relationship status doesn’t affect his work. Besides, you’re his boss. Aren’t you the only one he has to impress?”

“Sean has always impressed me. That’s not the issue.”

“And me not so much?” I hated the way my voice sounded. I hadn’t heard that voice in days. Not since I’d put hundreds of miles between myself and my family.

“I’ve been paying my own way since I got to Houston,” I reminded him.

“Yes, I see. Gift shop trinkets, drinks at the airport bar. Did you forget that I’m a signer on your account?”

How could I? He’d set it up that way when I was sixteen. I wasn’t stupid, I had my own account too, but I had to keep my deposits going into this one so he wouldn’t know. He’d only stopped going through it with a fine-tooth comb once I moved in with Sean. I guess he was back to it.

“Are you seriously tracking my purchases? Why can’t you just trust me for once?” I hissed.

“Because you’ve proven yourself unfit to make decisions in your own best interest, Bridget.”

“Right. Of course you think that.” I’d followed Nick to the self-checkout. He was loading the bags into the cart in his lane, but he turned over his shoulder at my raised voice.

“Everything okay?” he mouthed, staying a respectable distance away so he couldn’t bear witness to my humiliation.

“It’s fine,” I snapped.

His mouth clamped closed and the way his eyes turned sympathetic made my saliva form a ball in the back of my throat. I’d almost believed it for a moment there, that I deserved the pride on Nick’s face when I told him my plans. But here I was, being scolded like a child by my father.

My new crown tilted, nearly sliding off my head in shame. I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I’ll be home soon.”

“See that you are.”

Back in the car, Brit busied herself beside me, opening and testing all of her new products. I kept one eye on the road and one on her, watching as she gave herself a makeover in the passenger side mirror. I thought she was beautiful bare-faced, but I had to admit whatever she’d done to her eyelids and lips was sexy as hell. Plus now she smelled like some sort of tropical flower, so there was that.

She took a picture of herself after finishing another step, her lips pursed, eyes wide. Her freckles popped in the sun. Damn, she was cute.

Great. Now I’m going to have to get an Instagram account.

I liked watching her work, but I didn’t like the new quiet that had settled in. I’d done my best to avoid listening to her phone conversation in the store but our proximity for the foreseeable future didn’t allow much privacy. I could tell it wasn’t pleasant.

“Why’d you choose that name for your business?” I asked.

Brit peeked at me over a makeup brush the size of her forehead.

I dug the card out of my pocket and read it. “Álainn. Does it mean something?”

“It’s pronouncedaw-len. It means ‘beautiful’ in Gaelic. My father used to call me that when I was little.”

I glanced sidelong at her, thinking about the parts of that phone conversation that I could hear, her face when she’d hung up. “He doesn’t call you that anymore?”

“Can’t remember the last time.”

“Álainn.” I said it again, pronouncing it right, and she pressed her hand to her heart and smiled.

Listening to Brit talk about her business had me swimming in a whole bunch of memories—nights on the lake when Tom and I would lay out on the dock at my uncle’s camp and talk about being the next generation of Callaway and Sons. The things we’d do when the company was ours, how when we grew up we’d have our own sons to pass it down to. We were going to run the world.

But first we would make Drew our permanent coffee bitch because he had the misfortune of being born two years later than us.

I hadn’t let myself think about those plans since my father chose Alex to be president of the company. He made it clear what my place was that day—to be there when he needed me, to carry his torch instead of trying to light my own. But Brit had that hunger that I used to have. Seeing it was kind of like looking at a photograph from the past.

Brit tossed the brush in her bag and picked up her phone. “Oh! Up here, a mile off of the next exit is a place we should check out. It’s a state park that has a haunted bridge. There’s a waterfall!”

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