Page 77 of At First Smile
I’d told Finn about Pen earlier this week. One doesn’t have a brother who writes romance novels and not tap into his knowledge. Despite his bad luck with finding the right woman for himself, my big-hearted brother is open to all things love. It’s why he immediately agreed to join us for brunch. “She must be special if you’re calling in the troops,” he joked when I spoke to him Saturday morning while Pen showered.
That she is.
As much as Pen protested “too soon” about flying to Toronto with me to attend the fundraiser, the one I’m now officially locked into, and meeting my family, she’s comfortable with this. Perhaps Finn being one of her favorite authors makes it less intimidating and more like dipping her toe in the deeper waters of a relationship. I won’t push, no matter how much I want her to be mine as much as I’m already hers.
“I’m not just nervous about impressing Trina. You’re the first woman, I’ve introduced to my family.”
Her head tilts. “They didn’t meet Emma? Didn’t you date for like a year?”
“We did…and no, she did not meet my family.” Our stares lock.
“But you said he already adores me. Why are you nervous, then?”
“He does.” Leaning in, I rub my nose against hers. “Trina isn’t the only one a little hesitant about this. I know we both have our fears, and this is a big step for you. Thank you for trusting me…trusting yourself to do this.”
“I’m trusting in us,” she murmurs, closing the inches between us and pressing a gentle kiss on my mouth. At the chime of the doorbell, she jumps back and squeals, “They’re here!”
Game on.
Brunch is less interrogation of me like my first meeting of the bicoastal besties and more fawning over Wes and Finn. Even Trina’s stern expression washes away as JoJo joins Wes reading aloud a swoony scene from each woman’s favorite one of my brother’s novels.
“Go on without me…” Draped over the two stools set in front of the kitchen table as a makeshift stage set, Wes coughs.”
“There’s no going on without you,” JoJo says dramatically, her poor attempt at a posh New England accent makes her sound like a member of the Wahlberg family.
Vibrating with laughter, Pen covers her face and leans against my shoulder. I loop my arm around her, keeping her close and join in the laughter filtering through the room from the in-person and online spectators.
“JoJo, stop!” Trina howls, wiping tears from her eyes.
Undeterred, JoJo continues. Using a wooden spoon she plucked from the utensil crock, speckled with tiny seashells, she positions herself and points it as if holding a rifle. Her brown eyes narrow and blonde curls tumble over her face. “Let them come. If I faced my disapproving parents, those debutantes, and everyone who’s told me I can’t my entire life… I can face these wolves.”
“Shit—” Finn pinches his nose. “—did I really write that line?”
“Sure did.” Trina raises her Bloody Mary on screen. “And it’s fucking gold, Boy Brontë.”
My brother arches a blond eyebrow. “Boy Brontë?”
“Your nickname.”
“Guess it’s better than ‘Irish Puck Boy.’ Finn raises his glass of whiskey and tips his head to the screen. “Thanks, my Buffalo Girl.”
Trina blushes, just a bit, before she smooths down her already sleek red bob and shifts in her seat. “They called you Irish Puck Boy?”
“Not me.”
Her blue eyes almost twinkle. “Rowan?! I must hear all about this.”
“Excuse me—” JoJo claps loudly. “—we are in the middle of a dramatic reading.”
Wes sits up. “I normally hate it when the audience interrupts, especially when the actors are in the zone, and JoJo, you’re killing it”—she curtsies. He continues, “But I need to know more about Rowan’s nickname.”
“Me too.” Pen nudges me.
“Christ,” I groan, scrubbing a hand down my face.
“Sorry, bro.” Finn’s mouth slants into a lopsided grin.
Hands on her shapely hips, JoJo pouts. “Embarrassing Rowan storiesafter. We agreed.”
