Page 61 of A Christmas Celebration
‘So,’ I said, letting out a breath.
‘So,’ Brodie responded, pushing his glasses further up his nose.
I could still see his long, thick lashes behind the lenses and they were as sexy as hell. I tried not to keep honing in on them but they seemed to have some sort of magnetic pull. If I’d had my wits about me, I would have immediately started making inroads into working out what the connection between him and my godfather was and whether it was going to impact on us possibly getting to know each other better, but all avenues of conversation seemed to have driedup the moment my backside touched the seat and my eyes were level with his.
‘I’ll just go and get us another drink,’ he said, bumping the table in his haste to get up.
I was talking to Will when he came back.
‘I don’t think I’ll ever get used to them,’ the wonderful vet had just confided. ‘The booms are too much. I’m going to suggest the silent type, next year, but I’m pleased you can still enjoy the noisy ones, Paige.’
‘Fireworks,’ I said to Brodie, who was looking confused.
‘I haven’t been able to stand the noise since I came out of the army,’ Will further explained. ‘It’s triggering. Sets off my PTSD.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Brodie, eyeing me curiously.
‘Will wanted to know if I felt the same,’ I said, ‘but I was fine tonight.’
‘Which is great,’ said Will, raising his glass. ‘Okay, I better go. Enjoy the rest of your evening, guys.’
‘Thanks.’ I nodded. ‘You, too.’
‘What was that all about?’ Brodie frowned the second Will was out of earshot. ‘You’re an aid worker, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’ve recently been working in refugee camps.’
‘Is gunfire an issue in refugee camps?’ He frowned.
‘It can be.’ I swallowed.
Especially if the aid worker in question has put their colleagues at risk.
‘Can we talk about something else?’ I asked, regrouping. ‘Why don’t you tell me about your work?’
The artistic fantasy I’d woven around Brodie didn’t marry up with my godfather’s request to ‘see a return’ from him and before I fell further for the man with a tendency to turn all Mr Darcy at the drop of a hat, I thought I should try to get my act together and get to the bottom of it.
‘Or just more about you,’ I added, making my enquiry more general. ‘Because beyond knowing that you’ve only recently moved here and that you’re living with your brother, I don’t know anything. Are you planning to stay or just passing through?’
Brodie pushed his hands through his hair.
‘Well,’ he sighed, ‘the jury’s still out on that one at the moment.’
‘You’re older than Jack, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’ Brodie nodded. ‘I am the eldest. Unfortunately.’
‘That was a loaded answer.’ I laughed. ‘Why is being the eldest an issue?’
‘Because it meant that I was the brother who was pressured into following our father and grandfather into the family career.’
‘That sounds rather old-fashioned,’ I unnecessarily pointed out.
‘It’s a ridiculously out-of-date attitude,’ he agreed. ‘But I was given my grandfather’s name and as a result, I was raised with the mindset of following in his footsteps and sticking to the business our family have always excelled in.’
Neither Brodie’s words or expression suggested that he was enthusiastic about the family career path or that it hadanything to do with wielding a paintbrush. My assumption the day we met in the gallery, that he was about to instruct an art class, must have been wrong. Perhaps he had just been holding the fort until Lizzie came back in. I still hoped not though because my artistic fantasy suited him so well.
‘So,’ I tentatively asked, ‘what is the business that your family excels in?’
