Page 111 of Chasing Forever
Chapter Forty-Three
Brooks
Arriving late isn’t exactly the impression I wanted to make on her family now that I’m officially Lottie’s husband in more than name alone.
And damn it, after all that, I forgot Darla’s flowers.
“See, I told you Romy would have eaten all the appetizers.” Lottie walks in and sits down at the table. “Sorry we’re late.”
“My chicken is cold now,” Wren whines, which isn’t like her.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“It’s okay, I remember those days.” Darla looks lovingly at Brad.
“And if we didn’t live on this ranch, there would be more.” Brad picks up his fork and cuts into his chicken.
“What days?” Wren asks, but Bennett tells her to eat her food.
“I’d like to hear about Romy and where she’s been disappearing to lately.” Lottie changes the subject fast.
Her relationship with her siblings is so different from mine with Holden. Nowadays, I never even talk to him. Guess I can add my parents to that list as well now.
Romy looks at Wren. “Just hanging out with a friend.”
“I have a new friend,” Wren says, smile bright.
“Kayla, right?” I wink, putting a piece of chicken in my mouth.
“Is that the Millers’ girl? I’ve heard he’s really converting some voters over to his side.” Brad glances at me.
“The girl we met at the fair?” Lottie asks. “She’s nice. You like her?”
“Not her.” Wren shakes her head. “I like her, but she’s not my new friend.”
“Oh, who?” Bennett’s wrinkled forehead tells me even he’s in the dark about it.
“Leia,” Wren says. “Kayla and I asked her to play with us at recess.”
“So, you have a trio, that’s cute.” Romy smiles at her niece.
Wren tells us how Leia is from California, but her grandparents live here. When she says her last name, it doesn’t sound familiar to any of us though.
“I guess we’ve had a few transplants recently,” I comment since I know most of the people who come and go in the area.
“Everyone wants to live in Willowbrook.” Darla smiles at us, and I quickly feel as if I’m in the hot seat. “So, Brooks, how are things progressing?”
“Don’t, Mom. Stay out of it.” Lottie’s hand falls under the table and squeezes my thigh.
“Hands where I can see ’em, Lottie,” Darla says, and I slide my leg to the side.
Lottie’s hand falls off my thigh, and she grunts. “I’m thirty-five.”
“If I can’t talk about it, you can’t touch him.” Her mother gives her a look.
I refrain from laughing because I know it would earn me a swat from my wife.
My wife.
