I had lived here for a few months, while Addi divided her time between her parents’ place in Toronto and here. Addi amused me with her objections to our living together before we got married, even when I reminded her both her parents and mine had done so.
“We’re not them, Brayden,” she replied, lifting her eyebrows.
“So old-fashioned, Addi,” I teased back. “Let me get this straight. You’ll stay with me in a house our parents gave us on weekends, but you won’t live here until we’re married.”
She had tossed her hair. “The occasional weeknight as well.”
I laughed. “Right. You realize that makes no sense, right?”
“It does to me.”
I leaned close and kissed her. “Whatever makes you happy.”
She cupped my cheek. “You do.”
When she looked at me like that, and kissed me the way she did, I’d give her anything.
I always would.Chapter 2AddisonI woke up, throwing back the blankets and getting out of bed, regardless of the fact that the sun wasn’t up yet. I threw on my favorite robe, added a wrap to my shoulders and stuffed my feet into a pair of warm socks. I always felt the cold—not the way my mom did, but more than most people. Layers were my friend. And strangely enough, my favorite season was winter. I had learned to dress properly and not let it stop me.
I headed downstairs, not bothering with lights. My feet knew the way, the incline of the stairs, the layout of the rooms I walked through. I pushed open the kitchen door, not at all surprised to find my dad sitting at the table, a pot of coffee at his elbow. His ever-present laptop was open, but he wasn’t busy typing or reading emails. Instead, he sat at the table, staring out the window. The overhead light glinted on his dark hair, highlighting the shots of gray that were scattered throughout it. He was a handsome, distinguished man, his posture straight, his shoulders still broad. He worked out with my uncle Aiden daily and could easily run circles around my brother or cousins. Something he liked to do on the basketball court weekly.
I smiled at him, crossing the room. “Hi, Dad.”
His return smile was tight. “Addi.”
I grabbed a cup and held it out. He filled it for me, indicating a plate. “Your mom made you some cinnamon raisin scones last night. I knew you’d want them this morning.”
I loved my mom’s scones—especially the cinnamon raisin ones. I bent and kissed his cheek, sliding my arms around his neck for a hug. “Thanks.”
He wrapped me in a fast embrace. “No problem.”
I sat beside him, picking up a scone.
“You’re up even earlier than I thought you’d be,” he observed, taking a sip of coffee.
I peeked at the clock—it was barely after five.
“Big day.”
He huffed into his cup. I studied him in the low light. He looked weary this morning. Still calm and unruffled—stoic and stern, but weary.
Bentley Ridge was a legend. He was known as a hard-nosed, brilliant businessman. Unflappable. Detached. His company, BAM, was synonymous with quality. What started out as a dream for him in college had grown beyond even his expectations. Together with my “uncles” Aiden Callaghan and Maddox Riley, they had built an empire. Land development, construction, office buildings, housing, house flips, and everything in between, they were known for their excellence. And now, the next generation, including Brayden and me, ran ABC, focused on the outskirts of Toronto and finding new income streams, concentrating on the commercial aspects. A successful resort, a winery I had rescued from ruin, and a small private grouping of retirement cottages were some of our most profitable triumphs so far.
I was often compared to my father. I had inherited his business acumen and his stern resting face. While other little girls were playing with dolls, I sat on my dad’s knee, listening and learning. I was known as severe and humorless. Emotionless. I had been referred to often as “a chip off the old block.” Strangely enough, that comparison didn’t bother me at all. I considered it a compliment. Like my father, I didn’t much care what the business world thought of me personally. I let my record speak for itself.
But the faces we showed the world and those we showed the people we loved were vastly different. My dad was one of the kindest, generous, and most loving men in the world. Behind closed doors, with his family and those he treasured, he smiled and laughed. Teased and cajoled. Thought nothing of getting on the floor and wrestling my siblings or giving me a piggyback ride when we were younger. Sitting beside us, explaining homework and helping us understand. His patience with us always amazed me, given his cut-and-dried persona with business. With his extended family, he showed the same love and caring. He was loyal and protective. Always ready to help out or offer encouragement.