Page 4 of The Perils of Pretending
It will be. Promise. [kiss face emoji] And be happy you got a list. I was too young when Dad died for him to make one for me.
My heart pangs like a bell echoing in an old abbey. Poppy won’t get to do a trip designed by Dad. Of course, my trip is different than Brody's was. We all lost something we’ll never get back.
And at least Mom and Brody are coming with me so I won’t be completely alone. They can be my buffers and hopefully help me cross off as many list activities as possible. One day, when Poppy’s not finishing her degree and has more free time, we can take her on a trip that Dad would have approved.
Another text notification pings my cell.
Brody
We’ll be there in about thirty minutes.
My brows rise in shock. My brother is on time for once? His wife, Daphne, must have kept him on track. He’s notoriously late for everything. He almost missed the birth of his daughter and his wedding, which was delayed an hour because Brody was craving a sandwich. Not just something he could make at home. It had to be a meatball sub from his favorite mom-and-pop shop across town.
I pack the rest of my items at top speed, putting my favorite burnt-orange hoodie in my suitcase and zipping it up.
My clothes are ready. I check my backpack, making sure I have everything I might possibly need for the flight. Checking my packing list, I run through the items not crossed off, ensuring that I have them.
Snacks
Lysol wipes
Meds
Eye mask
Cardigan
Socks
I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something, but I have no clue what it could be. Of course, I’ll figure it out when I need it during the flight. The nagging in my brain is poking at my memory, pestering me that I had meant to add another item to my list but didn’t do it the moment I thought of it and now I’m kicking myself. I stand in my bedroom, looking around for whatever it is, but nothing jumps out at me.
I grunt and head into my galley kitchen. I snarf a quick breakfast of eggs and toast. Thirty minutes on the dot, my doorbell rings.
“Come on in,” I say while I wheel my bags toward the tiled entryway. I crouch to zip up my backpack and hear the door open. “Hey, can you take this one? And before you come at me with howmuch luggage I’m bringing, you can blame Mom for instilling in me the need to be overprepared for everything.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything, but since you brought it up, one could argue the amount of luggage you bring says more about your emotional baggage than your need to be prepared.”
I freeze.
That isnotBrody’s voice.
And hello. Rude much?
My emotions are just fine, thank you!
I narrow my eyes, raking my gaze up the body of the man who insulted me, starting at his broken-in running shoes, moving up to his black athletic shorts, gray shirt showing off his muscled pecs, and finally to his face.
My breath catches in my throat the moment my eyes lock on his. Heat sears my neck and face. Dang, he’s hotter than Chris Hemsworth. Which I never thought possible for any man, but here’s Max proving me wrong.
He smiles teasingly at me. Dimples show through his trim, light-brown beard and I’m done for. I’m too focused on those two cute indents to get my mind and mouth to form any sort of response other than a lame stammering, “Oh. Uh. I. Thought you…were…Brody.”
He’s still grinning as I straighten to stand. “I figured as much. Are you ready to go, princess?”
And there’s the snark I don’t miss. Why is my older brother’s best friend here and why does he have to say things that make me want to punch him? Someone so annoying doesn’t deserve those dimples. I wag a finger. “I’m not a princess.”
He pointedly stares at my two large suitcases, carry-on, and backpack, then back at me. Smirking, he says, “Right. Just a regular ol’ girl scout coming prepared for the Alaskan wilderness.”
Besides the girl scout part, the rest of his sentence is accurate. I fold my arms across my chest, eyeing him up and down. “Why do you and Brody have to be so close?”
