Page 14 of Don’t Fall for your Best Friend's Brother

6

Emma

Okay. So, my mother’s religious fanaticism embarrasses me.

This information had not occurred to me until Finn and I were talking the other day. It was a strange lightbulb moment where, for a moment, I wasn’t going to mention it. But then I just took the plunge.

I thought about it afterward and realized why I had never felt such reticence before. The reason is ridiculously simple: I’m just not close to anyone back home. My best friend lives in this very house, and Sylvie is the person I pour my heart out to. All other relationships I have—the students I studied with, the people I might see on a regular basis—are all superficial.

And yet, for some reason that I cannot explain, I told Finn about it. Maybe it was because he looked genuinely interested. Maybe I felt put on the spot. Honestly, I have no idea. It just came out. I was expecting a mocking look or a snarky comment, but he did neither of those things. In fact, he just kept looking at me with the same expression he had before. If anything, he looked more contemplative after I’d told him. What he was contemplating, I have no clue.

We spent the rest of the day moving the furniture with no more mishaps, thank goodness. It did frustrate me a little when the lamp fell, especially after I had made the very logical suggestion of moving the items off the table. But I didn’t get a chance to stay frustrated for more than a second, because Finn started laughing at me for cursing. Clearly, he was surprised.

His evident misconception of English women amuses me. Maybe he thinks we’ve all just walked out of a Jane Austen adaptation. If he ever visited London, he’d been in for a shock.

Yesterday, once all the furniture was removed and the larger items covered with huge white sheets, we painted two of the walls. The bookshelves covered the other walls, and they would need to be moved later. Martha, Sylvie’s mum, had suggested keeping to the muted colors that the room already had, and Danny had agreed. “It is a relaxing room after all. We don’t want anything brash.”

I had been too worried that I would pick the wrong color, and so I had left that decision to Finn. Finn, in turn, had taken Mr. Shilliday’s advice. I’ll be honest—I was surprised when the older man suggested a pale sage green. I was even more surprised when he told us that this color was currently trending. I didn’t think, given his age, that the man would understand what that phrase even meant. Serves me right for judging a book by its cover. I don’t do it often, but on this occasion, I did.

Finn had smirked as he paid for the paint. “I would have thought, given your Fine Arts degree,” he had quipped, “that you would have been an expert at this sort of thing.”

I had raised my eyebrows. “Hardly the same thing.” At the time, I didn’t know whether he was mocking me, especially after Emma’s statement at the dining table the night before. But the more time we spend together, the more I’m realizing that Finn Brecken isn’t the mocking type.

There hasn’t been as much conversation today. Instead, with the house empty, Finn has been blasting music: Led Zeppelin, among many other rock ballads.

“Thought I’d make you feel more at home,” he said when “Whole Lotta Love” started playing.

My eyes lit up, and at first, I could hardly believe the coincidence of Finn choosing my favorite band of all time. But after a second, I remembered what I’d been wearing the other day.

“The t-shirt,” I said.

“The t-shirt,” he repeated with a grin. “They’re a London band. You’re from London. I thought, you know, it would save you from getting homesick.”

I am not sure if you can get homesick after only being away for four days, but I didn’t argue that point.

“Thank you. I love this song. But they weren’t all from London.”

Finn raised his eyebrows at that comment. Clearly, I’d shared a fact he did not know, and with the eagerness of a true and obsessed fan, I jumped right in.

“Robert Plant is from West Bromwich.” At Finn’s clueless look, I said, “Just below Birmingham.” This information made no impact on his expression, so I tried again. “The middle of England.”

He nodded then, though whether that was to appease me or not, I don’t know. “John Bonham, the drummer, was from Redditch.” I didn’t even wait for his confused look this time. “Which is about twenty-five miles away from West Bromwich.”

“Okay,” he said, at least attempting to keep up.

“The other two are from London. In fact, Jimmy Page comes from a place called Heston, only thirteen miles away from where I live. John Paul Jones is from Kent. Plant and Bonham were in a band together before they met the others…” And on and on I went.

By the time I was finished, “Whole Lotta Love” had ended. In fact, I think a few more songs may well have come and gone. Finn was just looking at me like I had grown an extra head.

“What?” I shrugged.

He smiled widely. “Anyone would think you were a fan or something.”

I laughed at his wit. “Or something. My lifelong wish is that I was born earlier. Then I would have been able to see them perform live.”

“Yes, but if you were born earlier, then I would never have met you and been roped into doing such charitable work for my parents,” he said, his tone heavily draped in sarcasm.

I giggled then, and after that, we got down to doing the charitable work he was so eager to complete.

---