Page 34 of Forever Wild

“Miss Congeniality?” she says with an exasperated huff.

“Oh.” I scratch my beard. “The one with Sandra Bullock as the FBI agent?”

“Mmmhmm. The same movie that made it so I can’t say Texas without pronouncing it Tex-ass. It’s actually pretty good.”

“I do think I’ve seen it once, maybe with my sister. It clearly wasn’t that memorable.” Thinking about my Netflix and Chill fantasy from earlier, I add, “But I’d definitely be interested in giving it a try if you want to watch it together sometime.”

She smiles, glancing out the front windshield as the car nears our brunch spot. “Sure. That sounds like fun. I love watching movies, though it does annoy my sisters how often I quote them.”

I pause before opening my door. “So, you’re like a real fan of movies, then?”

She shakes her head noncommittally. “Eh. I’m definitely a fan, but it’s more that my brain has just decided movie quotes are important enough to remember. Most of my classes from grad school? Completely forgotten. Random line from a movie I watched once in eighth grade? Holds a prominent place in my long-term memory.”

I laugh as I open my door and climb out. Bryn slides across the seat, choosing to exit onto the sidewalk rather than braving the LA traffic whizzing by on her side of the car.

Glancing at the brunch spot a few paces away, I take note of the people milling about, drinking coffee from paper cups and playing cornhole. Kids are running around, their parents clearly too tired to even pretend this is abnormal behavior for a Saturday morning.

Bryn notes my glance and shrugs. “Saturday-morning brunch. I’ve never understood why more places don’t have reservations available. It’s like if, as a society, we’ve decided brunch is better if we have to suffer a bit before we get in.”

“Well, sure. For dinner, the masses have already suffered through a whole day of work or of chasing their offspring around the house or to various activities. Your penance has been paid. Breakfast, you’re up early, so that’s punishment enough. Brunch, though? You need to sacrifice something before you get to it. Clearly they should’ve gone with firstborns, but people get so touchy about sacrificing children these days.”

She laughs, and I smile back, enjoying the simplicity of being with someone who gets my sense of humor.

“You know,” I say, hating what’s about to come out of my mouth but knowing I need to offer it, “I could probably go throw my name around and get us in right away.”

“Nah.” She shakes her head as she moves toward the door. “I’ll put our name in. You stay incognito. Plus, I’m happy to just hang out with you while we wait.”

I smile and tug on the baseball hat I’ve been carrying in my pocket, watching her long legs disappear into the restaurant. And damn if it doesn’t make me just a little hard, something I know is inappropriate brunch talk, but, frankly, can’t be helped.

Chapter seventeen

Bryn

One of the hardest decisions in life is if I should get something sweet or something savory when I’m brunching. Izzy would tell you to get both. I, like the sane person I am, feel mixing sweet and savory ruins them both, so I opt for the breakfast sandwich. It was delicious and messy, and I am now licking egg yolk off my fingers. “So, it was terrible?” Jameson asks as we both rise from our booth.

“Oh yeah. Hated every bite.”

Jameson holds the door for me as we exit, his eyes narrowing on something behind me.

I’m surprised when I feel the pressure of his big hand on my lower back, a little more forceful than expected as he shepherds me forward. Jameson starts lengthening his stride, almost like he’s running away.

“Excuse me, sir!” a voice sounds from behind us.

Jameson sighs, and I note the defeated lowering of his shoulders before he is smiling and turning around. I follow suit, and we come face-to-face with a man and his teenage son, both of whom appear to be big Jameson Walker fans. Thank goodness we made it far enough away from the waiting crowd that we don’t draw more attention.

“Excuse me, sir,” the dad says again. “Could my son get a picture with you?”

“Are you sure you want one with me, man?” Jameson jokes with the kid who now looks embarrassed at the whole spectacle. “Last year wasn’t my best showing.”

“Uhm.” The boy turns a brighter shade of red before starting again, “You’ve always been my favorite golfer. I follow JT on social media just in case you happen to be in one of his stories. I know this year will be better for you.”

Jameson laughs, and I mentally make a note to start following JT. That won’t be too weird, right?

The dad pulls out his phone, and I jump in, offering to take the picture so both father and son can be in the photo.

“Oh!” The man seems to notice me for the first time. “That would be wonderful.”

They all pose for the picture before shaking hands with Jameson and heading back in to—assumedly—finish eating the breakfast they just abandoned.

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