Page 81 of That: Taylor & Brooks

Two Weeks Later

They hadn't put a label on it, but the way he held her, shielded her… she knew what it was. They'd found a rhythm. Laughter, comfort, stillness. But real love asked for more. Tonight, would prove that.

They'd quietly celebrated Christmas and New Year's together, just the two of them. No need for a spectacle or grand gestures—simply enjoying each other's company in the warmth of her home or his, exchanging thoughtful gifts, sharing midnight kisses, and whispering promises for the year ahead. Those intimate holidays had only deepened what was growing between them.

Taylor watched Brooks carefully as he adjusted his belt in the mirror. She could see the tension in his jaw, though he tried to hide it behind that mask of confidence he wore so well.

Life had been good and moving smoothly, but after she told her mother about Brooks over lunch, her mother insisted that they had dinner together. And tonight was the night.

Brooks met her eyes in the mirror, his expression softening when he looked at her. “Yes, we do. I’m not running or dodging your parents, Tay. That’s not how I move.”

Taylor sighed, smoothing her hands down hisback. It had taken a few days of convincing her father to agree to have dinner with Brooks. Her mother had been easier after their reconciliation, and Teresa Bradshaw had been making a genuine effort to support Taylor’s choices. But Reverend Bradshaw? He’d barely agreed to come.

“I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” she admitted.

Brooks turned, cupping her face in his hands.

“Tay, your daddy’s disapproval ain’t nothing I can’t handle.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “This matters to you, so it matters to me. Respectfully, you know what type of time I’m on.”

People rarely got to see Brooks like this—protective, intentional, gentle. He held her through every storm without demanding credit. She rested against his chest, trusting him completely.

He wasn’t trying to be disrespectful when he said he didn’t care what people thought. He was just being honest. Nobody on earth had the power to make him back off her. They could throw rocks, whisper rumors, even pray against it, but they’d have better luck drowning a fish.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Brooks checked his watch. “We should head out. Don’t want to keep the reverend waiting.”

The drive to Ashton’s was quiet. Taylor kept fidgeting with her dress. She kept it modest but stylish in a satin cream dress.

Brooks reached over, stilling her restless hands with one of his. “Relax. We got this.”

“I know.It’s just. I’m not really in the mood for this either.”

He squeezed her hand. “No, we doing this ok? I’m not here to win him over. I’m here for you.”

Inside, her parents waited. Teresa Bradshaw greeted them warmly, embracing Taylor before extending her hand to Brooks. “Good to see you again, Brooks.”

“Thank you for having me, Mrs. Bradshaw.”

Reverend Bradshaw sat stiffly, offering Brooks only a curt nod. “Bishop.”

“Reverend,” Brooks replied evenly, pulling Taylor’s chair out before sitting himself.

After drink orders, Teresa tried to ease conversation. “Taylor mentioned your new location in Millville, Brooks.”

Brooks nodded, his posture relaxed despite the scrutiny. “Yes, ma’am. We're creating opportunities. Making something positive from my past.”

The Reverend eyed him steadily. “I knew your father. Complicated man. Did good and harm alike.”

Brooks didn’t flinch; many people knew his father unless you lived under a rock.

“Clarence,” Teresa warned softly.

“I won’t judge a son by his father,” he continued anyway, eyes sharp, “but apples rarely fall far from trees. Men like you don’t change; they hide better.”

Brooks placed a gentle hand on her thigh under the table, calming her. His expression remained composed, unbothered.

“With all due respect, you’re not wrong about my father. He did what he thought he had to do to survive and provide. I learned from him both what to do and what not to do.”

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