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  “I give a lot of money to charity,” he says, “but there’s no substitute for diving in and getting your hands dirty.”

  I look down at my work clothes. “I’m not really dressed to get my hands dirty.”

  “Just an expression, Skye. Though I do help with a community garden in my old neighborhood. But that’s not what I’m doing today.”

  “Yeah? What are you doing today?”

  “You mean ‘what are we doing today?’”

  I smile. “Okay, what are we doing today?”

  “Wait and see.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  We end up at a food pantry in South Boston, which is where Braden grew up. Definitely not what I expected.

  “I come here once a week for an hour and hand out food,” he says. “Let’s go.”

  We walk past the line of people waiting and into the building.

  Several people rush to greet him.

  “Nice to see you, Mr. Black,” a young man says.

  “Braden!” An older woman grabs his hand. “I see you’ve brought a friend.”

  “Cheryl, this is Skye.”

  The woman holds out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Skye.”

  “Cheryl’s an old friend,” Braden says. “We used to be neighbors.”

  “When he was just a little guy,” Cheryl says. “We’re all so proud of his success.”

  I’m in a kind of shock. Yes, Braden had humble beginnings, but why a food pantry? Why not just write a fat check and fund all the food pantries in Boston? Who is this man? Every time I think I’ve scratched his surface, he surprises me again.

  “You all had a hand in it,” Braden says to Cheryl.

  “He’s an amazing person,” she says to me. “Never forgets his roots. His donations keep us in business. We’re able to help more people than ever these days.”

  I smile. I’m not sure what to say. I like this side of Braden. I really like it.

  Braden grabs a shopping cart. “This place means a lot to me. Come on, Skye. I’ll show you the ropes.” He takes the cart to the person at the head of the line. “I’m Braden.” He holds out his hand.

  A young woman carrying a toddler places the child in the buggy seat and then shakes Braden’s hand. “Elise.”

  “How many people in your household, Elise?” Braden asks.

  “Just Benji and me.”

  “And how are you today, Benji?” Braden goes to shake the little boy’s hand.

  The boy looks away.

  “I’m sorry. He’s shy.”

  “Not a problem. I was a shy kid myself.”

  He was? News to me.

  “This is Skye,” he says.

  “Hi.” I hold out my hand to Elise. “Nice to meet you.”

  Elise shakes my hand weakly. She’s a pretty young woman wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. Her son is adorable, his light-brown hair combed just so.

  “You’ll need some powdered milk for Benji,” Braden says. “We’ll have fresh milk soon, once the new refrigeration unit is installed. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience. Refrigeration is down during installation.”

  The new refrigeration unit is being paid for by Braden, I bet. My heart warms, and a smile splits my face.

  “Benji doesn’t like milk,” Elise says. “I wish he’d drink it.”

  “Not a problem. We can give you some sugar-free chocolate flavoring to put in the milk. Guaranteed to please.” Braden leads the way down the first aisle.

  I follow, walking next to Elise.

  What’s her story? I’m curious, but it’s not my business. I’d also like very much to take a photo of her and Benji, but I don’t dare ask for the privilege. Elise didn’t come here to be photographed. She came here to get the help she needs. I’ve never been hungry, something I’ve taken for granted. Gratitude swims through me. I need to remember how lucky I am.

  I smile at Benji, and to my surprise, he smiles back. He’s a happy little boy, no different from any other toddler. Does he have a father in the picture?

  “What do you like to do, Benji?” I ask.

  He looks away then.

  “He’s not talking much yet,” Elise says. “Benji, you should speak to the nice lady.”

  “Oh, no. That’s okay. He’s a beautiful child.”

  “Thank you.” Elise smiles.

  Braden pulls items off the pantry shelves and puts them in the cart. Powdered milk, canned fruits and vegetables, sliced bread, peanut butter, and jelly. Pasta and sauce, boxed macaroni and cheese, and some apple juice. Down another aisle he finds cereal, oatmeal, and instant coffee.

  “Is Benji potty-trained?” he asks Elise.

  “Yes and no. He still wears a diaper at night.”

  Braden turns down a new aisle and pulls a pack of toddler-size diapers off the shelf. “Anything else you need from this aisle?”

  Elise shakes her head.

  “Is there anything special that you’d like today?”

  “No, I don’t need anything,” Elise says. “Just the food is fine.”

  I get it. Elise is proud. She comes here to feed her son and herself. She doesn’t want to take anything more than necessary.

  Braden doesn’t push. He helps Elise bag her groceries, and then he and I pack them in the little red wagon she left outside the pantry.

  “Do you live near here?” I ask.

  “About twenty blocks away,” she says. “It’s a nice walk.”

  “There’s a bus stop right there.” I nod. “Let me give you—”

  “No, thank you,” Elise says. “Benji and I enjoy the walk. Thank you very much for the food.”

  “You’re very welcome,” Braden says. “You come back anytime.”

  Elise smiles and nods and then places Benji in the wagon among the bags of food. She begins the walk home. I watch them for a moment. Benji pulls a loaf of bread out of the bag and squeezes it. I smile. I never could resist squeezing a loaf of fresh bread, either. My mom got used to making sandwiches with misshapen slices.

  “Thank you for bringing me here,” I say.

  “No need to thank me.”

  I look over my shoulder. Cheryl is leading another woman with a small girl hanging on her hand into the panty. Another volunteer takes a young man from the line.

  “Why this place, Braden? You could volunteer anywhere.”

  “Because,” he says, “my mother used to bring Ben and me here when we were little to get food.”

  My mouth drops open.

  “Apparently I’m full of surprises today,” he says.

  An image pops into my mind of a volunteer leading a beautiful woman—for Braden’s mother must have been beautiful—with a gorgeous little boy tugging on her hand. Probably two little boys, as Braden has a brother. Did their mother wheel them home in a wagon? Did Braden like to squeeze a fresh loaf of bread?

  “I think it’s wonderful that you volunteer here and also support the pantry financially.”

  “It’s the least I can do. Never forget where you came from, Skye. It’s a part of you. Always.”

  We head to the Mercedes where Christopher waits. He opens the door for me.

  Braden slides in next to me in the back seat. “I showed you a part of my past today. Now I’d like to know something about you.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Something that had an impact on you. Helped define who you are.”

  “Okay. But I want to say something first.”

  “Go ahead.”

  The words take a moment to come. “I didn’t know you ever went hungry.”

  “Did you give it a second thought?”

  “No, I didn’t. I’ve never gone hungry, and I never realized how lucky I am. I’m going to try not to take things like that for granted
anymore.”

  He trails a finger over my cheek, warming me. “Good. You should never take anything for granted. It can all be gone in a minute.”

  His words puzzle me. Does he really think his fortune can just vanish? “I’m sorry,” I say. “The thought of you going to bed hungry makes me so sad.”

  “Don’t be sorry, and please don’t be sad. Everything in my past has contributed to what I’ve become. Just as it has for you. Maybe you don’t have one thing you can pinpoint. But tell me something about your past. Something that helped shape who you are today.”

  Funny thing is, I can pinpoint the event that caused a shift in my personality. I’ve never told anyone other than Tessa. Mostly because it’s embarrassing. Everyone expects a control freak to have some huge story. Mine isn’t huge. It’s not even interesting.

  “Do I really have to go into this?”

  “No. I’ll never force you to tell me anything.”

  “Thanks.”

  Except now I want to. He shared something with me, and I want to share my experience with him. It was traumatic at the time. I can still feel my racing heartbeat.

  Silence for a few minutes.

  Then I speak.

  “When I was seven, I was playing by myself in our cornfields.” I close my eyes for a moment. The sweet scent of the plants drifts into my mind. Green giants to a little girl, and though I loved them, they became monsters that day.

  “By yourself?” he asks.

  “Yeah. I’m an only child, and none of my friends lived close by. I saw them only at school until I got older. Anyway, I got lost.”

  “In the cornfield?” He raises his eyebrows.

  “Don’t look so surprised. Our cornfields are huge. We have more than two hundred acres. I was only allowed to play at the very edge of the field where someone could keep an eye on me. Anyway, I got caught up chasing a praying mantis.”

  “Somehow, I never took you for an entomophile.”

  I’m impressed that he knows the word. Heck, I’m impressed that I know the word. “I was seven, Braden, with the attention span of a praying mantis myself. They’re green, as you know, and it was a challenge to see it as it hopped from one stalk to another. I followed it with my camera I’d gotten for my birthday. I wanted to take its picture.”

  “You were having fun.”

  “I was. There wasn’t much else to do.”

  “Except outrun tornadoes.”

  I give him a good-natured smack on his upper arm. “I won’t deny taking shelter from a few in my day, but you can’t outrun a tornado. You shouldn’t try.”

  “Dorothy did.”

  “You watch too much TV.”

  “I don’t watch any TV.”

  “That was a clear Wizard of Oz reference.”

  “I read books, Skye.”

  Of course he does. Why should that surprise me? He’s not college educated but he’s still brilliant. “Anyway, it hopped away from me again and again, and it was great fun to follow it, until I realized I had no idea where I was. I was shorter than the corn, and all around me was more corn. I freaked out. I can still feel my little heart pounding against my chest. It was like my whole body became my heartbeat. I started running in no particular direction and kept tripping over roots and stalks.”

  Even telling the simple story, the feeling of sheer terror and panic washes over me.

  I inhale slowly to calm myself and then exhale. “I started screaming bloody murder, and eventually I ran into a scarecrow and knocked myself out. The next thing I remember is waking up in my bed with my mother next to me, holding a clammy washcloth on my forehead.”

  “So they found you.”

  “They did. I wasn’t very far from the yard. It just seemed far to a frightened little girl.”

  I expect him to burst into laughter at my silly story, but he doesn’t.

  Instead, he says simply, “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

  …

  Back at the office, Addie still hasn’t come in. I’d texted her to let her know I’d taken a longer than usual lunch, but it looks like she hasn’t even read the text. I check email and her posts quickly, making necessary adjustments. Then I regard my own Instagram account.

  You should make your account public.

  Should I?

  I had several requests to follow after Braden’s first post at Union Oyster House, but I ignored them. What would happen this time? And did I want it to happen?

  I have to put off my decision because Addie walks in. “Hey,” she says. “Sorry. Overslept.”

  Until two? I just nod. “Nothing much going on. The posts all look good.”

  “Any new offers?”

  “Not today.”

  She shrugs. “Okay. I’ll be in my office.”

  She seems a little off. Is she still upset that I was with Braden at the gala? Should I ask? Should I at least ask about Braden and why he’s bad news?

  I sigh. No. I’m here to do my work, not get gossip from my employer.

  A few moments pass, and then—

  Addie storms out and thrusts her phone in my face. “What the hell is this?”

  Braden’s post.

  “We had lunch,” I say.

  She flips through several other posts and then thrusts the phone at me again. “And this?”

  The post from Union Oyster House. “That was a week ago. You haven’t seen it?”

  “I don’t follow him, or at least I didn’t. I just followed him now, sitting in my office.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because I’m curious. I care about you, Skye. I don’t want you getting into something you can’t handle. You’re so young.”

  I’m twenty-four to Addie’s twenty-nine, but I can’t believe she mentioned my age. She usually hates thinking about how old she is. The big three-oh is just around the corner, and her current offers are reflecting that. A few weeks ago, she got an offer for a new brand of support leggings. She pouted for hours after that one.

  “What’s your problem with Braden?” I ask. After all, she brought it up.

  “He’s bad news. I told you.”

  “You’re going to have to give me more to go on than that. Exactly why is he bad news? You said you had a thing with him a while ago. What happened?”

  “I don’t talk about that.”

  “Then how do I know he’s bad news? None of his other girlfriends have said anything about him.” That I know of, anyway. I don’t read gossip rags.

  “You should just trust me,” she says.

  What can I say to that? I have no reason to distrust Addison, but I also have no reason to trust her, especially if she sees herself as a woman scorned. I think back to our first conversation about Braden. Addie said they’d had a thing the summer after she graduated from high school. She was eighteen then, and Braden would have been twenty-four. The same age I am now.

  He made his millions a year later, at twenty-five.

  Addie knew Braden when he was a blue-collar construction worker. I stifle a laugh. Addison Ames was slumming after graduation. A last fling before college. Sowing her wild oats and all that.

  “You and Braden were young when you were involved,” I say.

  “True. But a tiger doesn’t change its stripes.”

  “Addie, there’s a world of difference between a twenty-four-year-old guy and a thirty-five-year-old man.”

  “Not when both of them are Braden Black.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just know. Stay away from him.”

  Or what? The words hover on the tip of my tongue. What’s the worst that can happen? She can fire me. I need the job, but I’ve made tons of contacts working for her. I could probably find something else fairly quickly.

  Unless she blackballs me.

  “We�
��re dating,” I say calmly.

  “Braden doesn’t date.”

  “Apparently he does now.”

  “Don’t fool yourself.” She flounces back into her office but then looks over her shoulder before she shuts the door. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  The door slams.

  At least she didn’t fire me.

  I pull up my Instagram account and hit Public.

  What can it hurt? I can always change it back.

  Within seconds, though, I’m inundated with followers. Seriously, a thousand in ten minutes. What is going on? I haven’t even posted anything about Braden, and I’m only tagged in two of his.

  Ding! A notification pops up. Apparently I’ve been tagged in a comment to one of Braden’s posts.

  @krissmith4009: @stormyskye15 your lip color is gorgeous! What brand is it?

  Without thinking, I reply.

  @krissmith4009 Glad you like it. It’s Susanne lip stain in Cherry Russet.

  One of my favorites and my usual “everyday” color because it’s beautifully neutral and goes with everything.

  Almost immediately, I get a notification.

  @krissmith4009 liked your comment.

  I cock my head, expecting the xylophone rendition of The Twilight Zone melody to begin playing. Because I had lunch with Braden, someone out there is interested in my lipstick.

  Surreal.

  A half hour later, I have more than a thousand likes on the post of Tessa and me at the gala, plus quite a few comments.

  You look gorgeous!

  Beautiful ladies.

  Wowza!

  Who’s your friend? You’re both hot as hell.

  Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I’m Braden Black’s girlfriend.

  At least that’s how one of my new followers describes me.

  You’re so lucky to be Braden Black’s girlfriend! #envious

  This new comment appears on the post of Tessa and me from the gala after I get home from work. I’m warming up some leftover beef stew when my cell rings. Must be Tessa. She saw the post. Without looking at the number, I put it to my ear. “Hi, Tess.”