in a deep breath. “But, Brady—”
“Oh no, a ‘but,’” he says, his lips pulling slightly upward.
“Yeah. I just . . . well, I feel like my heart is elsewhere right now. And it can’t be fully yours, which is not fair to you.”
“Where’s your heart?” he asks, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. He tilts his head to the side, inquisitively. “Is it Henry?”
“What?” I say, trying to cover up the surprised look my face wants to give him. It’s not an easy thing to do, and I probably look like I’m suffering with some constipation issues. “What makes you think that?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Just a vibe, I guess. He’s always looking at you.”
“He is?”
“Yeah, definitely.”
“Well, it’s not him,” I say, the lie rolling off my tongue easily. I’m not going to admit that to Brady, but I also can’t do that to Henry. I don’t think Brady would say anything to him or anyone else, but I can’t take that chance.
He purses his lips, rubbing them together a few times. “Well, then why aren’t you with this other person who has your heart?”
I let my shoulders drop. “It’s not really a possibility,” I say, letting the words wash over me. I know this. I know Henry and I can’t be a thing. My fanciful brain and my heart still aren’t getting the memo. My body, either, with its over-the-top reaction to just being in the same room as him.
Brady sits up straight in his chair. “Okay . . . but if it’s not a possibility, then why not give it a try with me? See where this goes?”
His face right now is so vulnerable, so sweet. I can’t help but feel something.
I lift up the corner of my mouth, giving him a half grin. I reach over and place a hand on his knee, and his eyes travel down to the spot. “That’s not fair to you, though, is it?”
“I don’t mind.”
“Brady,” I say, taking my hand away and placing it in my lap. “Do you really want to settle for that?”
He looks to be contemplating this. “Well, the way I see it is, if it isn’t a possibility with this other guy, then maybe—in the future—there’d be a possibility with me.”
His eyes meet mine. There’s an earnest look there. Almost a look of determination.
“Well . . . I mean, there’s always the possibility.” Even as I say it, though, my mind is currently in an argument with itself. One part telling me that Henry is who I want and it will be a long time before I let him go, and the other part saying, Well, I’m sitting in front of a man right now who’s kind, and sure, he doesn’t make me laugh all that much or make my body zap and zing, but . . . he’s here. And it would seem that he’s fighting for me—for us. When has that ever happened before? Henry certainly didn’t fight.
“So you’re telling me there’s a chance,” he says, just like Jim Carrey says in that movie my parents love to watch, Dumb and Dumber.
I can’t help myself; it makes me giggle. And the part of my brain that seems to want to give Brady a chance starts up its chatter: See? He does make you laugh.
“I’m not pressuring you, Quinn,” Brady says. “Just . . . don’t write me off. We can take it slow, okay?”
My lips slowly curve upward. Here is someone fighting for me. Here is someone putting himself out there for me. Me. Someone who’s never been fought for. It seems like Brady is willing to move mountains for me. Isn’t that what I wanted?
He reaches over and wraps a warm hand around mine. No cold fish hand this time. “Will you at least think about it?”
“Of course.” Since my brain has already started running with the idea, it’s an easy answer.
“And will you go out with me this weekend?”
“Brady,” I chide.
“I said we’ll take it slow,” he says. “I promise to keep my hands to myself.”
I look down at our hands together and then move my eyes back up to his face.
“Oh, come on, holding hands is even too much? Fine,” he says, taking his hand away.
His face is teasing, and I wonder how I never saw this side of Brady before. I reach over and grab his hand. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, I’ll go out with you this weekend.”
“It’s a date,” Brady says, his smile bright.
“Okay,” I say,