“I wasn’t even born when she ran the first event.” It happened during the inn’s second year in business. It was the first actual 4th of July, though. Ellen opened the inn in October. “So, maybe you’re right… but the time I was old enough to remember things, she just made it look easy.” Unless she was some sort of superwoman. Brady didn’t think that it was impossible for that to be true, though. If anyone could do something out of the ordinary, it was his grandmother. “I know I’m just putting too much pressure on my shoulders. Thinking that it’ll be the event that will make or break me. It probably isn’t going to be the case, and a part of me understands that. It isn’t the biggest part of me, though.” He sighed. “I’m usually my own worst enemy… what can I say?”
“I can get a sniper rifle.” He stated nonchalantly. It was mostly a joke, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t at least partially true, because it was. Money could get a person just about anything. Brady had some of that. But it was only as good as the person who was shooting it was. In this case, Quentin wasn’t the ideal person to pulling the trigger. “I’m a really crappy shot, too… there was this time when I was dragged to some hunting trip. I didn’t shoot anything. I could barley hold the gun without shaking like I was having a seizure or something.” Brandon was there, and he was laughing his ass off.
The blond took the glass with a small nod of thanks. “It really depends on your thought process, I guess. What you want to paint, stuff like that.” He wasn’t speaking from experience, however. Brady didn’t have any to speak of. He wasn’t an artist.
There was a moment where he paused. “Really? I needed to get away from the inn for a little while. It seems like I’ve had some invisible ball and chain that keeps me from doing much of anything. I was starting to get cabin fever. But… I also… you know… needed to come around, and make sure that we were cool… after what happened…” conflict sucked. So much.