Page 72 of Distress Signal
“Hell no,” I said. “I look back on that night fondly. I don’t have any regrets. Do you?”
“Absolutely fucking not.”
“Good, then I’ll see you tonight.”
twenty-one
. . .
REAGAN
Okay,I could admit it: I was nervous as fuck to go to dinner with Finn’sentirefamily.
What if they didn’t like me?
And why did that possibility bother me so much?
Before dinner that evening, which Finn told me started promptly at six p.m., I ran back into town to get flowers and a bottle of wine. He hadn’t told me I needed to bring anything, but the southern hospitality deeply rooted in my DNA refused to let me show up empty-handed.
Hands that shook against the steering wheel as I navigated to a stop in front of a gorgeous farmhouse. A few hundred yards away down a gentle slope stood a big red barn, a paddock, and some other ranch-related buildings I couldn’t begin to guess names for.
From a distance, it looked like an impressive outfit. Maybe Finn would show me around one day.
I’d barely gotten out of the vehicle before two women appeared on the front porch, the screen door slamming shut behind them triggering memories of childhood summers,running barefoot through our neighborhood with my sister at my side—my constant companion, my other half.
Shaking those images off before they pulled me under, I swung around to the passenger side. Once I grabbed the bouquet of flowers and Sauvignon Blanc—the perfect summer wine, in my opinion—I faced the women.
There was no mistaking them as anything other than mother and daughter. Though the older woman’s blonde hair was threaded with white, the strands that remained untouched by age were identical to her daughter’s. The same blue eyes peered out from identically shaped faces, matching mouths pulling up at the corners and spreading into twin grins.
Damn, the genes in this family were fuckingimpressive. The beauty shared by Finn’s mom and sister made me even more curious about his dad.
“You must be Reagan!” the older woman crowed as she rushed down the steps to greet me, not waiting for a response as she pulled me into a hug.
I sank into that embrace, deeply comforted by her warmth and the scents of yeast and honey that clung to her.
“I am,” I said when she pulled back. “You must be Birdie.”
“And this is my daughter, Aria,” she replied as Aria stepped forward.
“It’ssooooonice to finally meet you,” Aria gushed, dragging me into an embrace when her mother released me. “You’re even more gorgeous in person.”
I blushed, wondering where in the hell they’d seen pictures of me.
“Thank you.” Then I thrust out the wine and flowers. “These are for you.”
“Oh, these are lovely,” Birdie said, lowering her face into the bouquet and deeply inhaling. Aria accepted the wine. “But you know, you didn’t have to bring anything.”
Shrugging, I said, “I’m southern. It’s the way I was raised.”
“Explains the accent,” Aria giggled. “Where are you from?”
“Tennessee,” I said proudly. “Small town near Knoxville.”
Birdie whistled low. “You’re a long way from home. This must be so difficult for you and your family.”
“I—” The rest of whatever I’d been about to say died in my throat. “It’s just me and Lainey,” I murmured. “Our parents passed almost eight years ago now.”
“Oh dear,” Birdie said, her hand flying to her chest. “I’m so sorry to hear that. We lost our Jace a long time ago, but it never gets easier.”
