“You should make your profile public,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because my followers will want to know you.”
“I’m a private person, Braden.”
“Not anymore.”
I lift my eyebrows. He’s right. Kay Brown accosted me at my workplace. She’ll no doubt be the first of many. “I didn’t sign up for this.”
He laughs. A solid laugh, so unlike him, and I revel in the joyful sound.
“You did, though. You wanted to date, Skye. This is what dating me is like.”
I keep my jaw from dropping open.
“In fact,” he continues, “I’m on my way to do some charity work. Why don’t you join me?”
“You do charity work?”
“Does that surprise you?”
“No.” Though it does. Someone as rich as Braden can simply write a check rather than do the work. I’m glad he’s willing to put in the time as well. Makes him even more attractive than he already is.
“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.