Page 41 of Book Boyfriends
“You like my sad story?” The corners of his mouth flex into an earnest grin that spreads gooey warmth inside me.
“It helps that I know it has a happy ending.”
A chuckle rumbles in his throat. “I’m starting to understand your fondness for the romance genre.” He nods, his smile getting a little bigger. “It did end happily. Deanna and Mimi became my foster moms when I was ten, and even though my dad never lost or relinquished his parental rights, they are my moms, and Pop and Nan are my grandparents. At eighteen, I aged out of foster care, but they never let go of me.”
“They’re your family in all the ways that matter.”
Despite the love that envelopes Davis, I know he’s haunted by the relationship with his dad. The comment about people failing you that he’d made during our first date in this very brewery whispers inside me. My heart may be melting for this man, but the warning bells that sounded that night about skeptical men still caution me to stay away.
He clears his throat. “I bought a romance novel.”
The abrupt topic change causes my eyebrows to shoot up. “You didn’t?” I guffaw.
“I did.” His thumb massages the top of my hand. “Three to be exact.”
“You didn’t?” Gaping, I repeat my question, knowing exactlywhichthree he’d bought.
“You were so passionate in your defense of the genre that I thought if I was going to start my education, it should start with yours.”
“And?”
“I’m halfway throughTwice Baked Lovebut?—”
“No!” I laughingly whine. “Of all the ones to start with, that is not the one. It’s my worst! You should have started withThe Duke’s Darling. It’s probably my best.”
“I’m enjoying Owen and Selena’s story.”
I rub the center of my forehead with my free hand. “But it’s like a saccharine-sweet Hallmark movie.”
“I don’t recall icing play in any of the Hallmark movies my Nan watches at the holidays,” he teases, bumping his knee against mine. “It is a little cheesy, but it’s also heartfelt and layered. How Owen thinks of everyone but himself, and how that even gets in the way of his relationship with Selena. You’re really talented.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“Take the compliment, Peach.” His mouth quirks.
An unexpected clench tightens my core at the way Peach sounds on his lips. It’s playful but loaded with seductive intent. As if he plans to bite into me, then lick up every drop.
Good lord, Georgia.I squeeze my legs together. My legs that are still caged by his.
“Why happy endings?” He juts his chin toward me.
“Besides the obvious ooey-gooey feeling?”
He smirks.
“As a kid, I was sick a lot. Stomach issues. Migraines. It was all related to my celiacs but we didn’t know it until I was twelve. My parents also fought a lot until they got divorced when I was eleven. My dad fancies himself the next Andy Warhol. It caused a lot of tension between my parents. He was always leaving to do art shows or teach at a different art institute.”
“Jackson? Georgia? Don’t you have an older brother called Rembrandt? You’re all named after artists?” he says, his nose crinkled.
“Yep.” I shrug. “Nolan Lane lives and breathes art. Hence the divorce. My mother never stood a chance against his one true love. After the divorce, he left to chase his dream.”
“And I thought I got fixated.” His laugh-filled expression sobers. “What about you and your brothers? It’s hard to have your dad choose something else over you.”
Wouldn’t he know this better than anyone? An ache radiates in my chest at Davis losing both his parents to substance abuse. I have empathy for whatever demons his parents face, but it doesn’t erase the impact on their son.
I haven’t experienced the same pain as this man, but I won’t pretend that there isn’t a little hurt related to my dad. As a kid, a blend of grief and sadness over the loss of my dad often knotted inside me. But that was more about the loss of the dream of what a father should be versus who Nolan Lane was. Once I let go of that and just accepted my dad and the relationship as is, that sadness got easier to deal with.
“He loves us, and, in his own way, he’s been there for me. I’m probably the closest to him out of the three of us. Hope, my bestie and Rem’s wife, sends holiday and birthday cards, but Dad and my older brother don’t have a relationship. Jackson texts Dad, and they talk a couple of times a year. Dad and I talk a few times a month. Mostly about what books I’m reading, his art, and my writing. He might be the most supportive about my writing.”
