Page 96 of Hometown Touchdown
We sit and plates are passed, drinks are poured, and we ease into the kind of dinner conversation that skirts just wide enough around the truth. Small talk cushions the table—early fall weather, a new café opening near the courthouse, how Frank still refuses to give up mowing his own lawn despite Brynn offering to hire someone.
It’s easy. Familiar. Not tense. Brynn catches my eye, and I feel the small shift in her posture. Not nervous—just ready.
She sets her fork down with quiet confidence. “So,” she says, tone clear, “we didn’t just invite you over for a roast and polite conversation.”
I catch her dad’s eyebrows lift. My mom freezes mid-sip of her iced tea.
“There’s something we wanted to tell you,” I say, glancing at Brynn as our fingers link under the table. Her hand’s steady in mine, but I can feel the way she’s holding her breath.
She gives me a quick smile, then looks at our parents. “We’re dating,” she says. “Again. Taking it slow, but…we’re dating.”
For a heartbeat, the room goes still. Then my mom gasps, sharp, dramatic, like she just found out she won a cruise.
“Iknewit!” she cries, practically knocking her napkin to the floor. “The minute she moved in next door, I said it. Didn’t I say it, Frank? ‘Mark my words,’ I said, ‘they’re going to find their way back to each other.’”
Brynn’s mom lets out a delighted sound that’s halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Oh, honey. This makes me so happy. Look at your face—you’re glowing.”
Brynn laughs, cheeks pink. “It’s the lighting. And maybe the wine.”
“Nope, that’s love-glow,” my mom says, fanning herself. “Don’t argue with a woman who watches twelve hours of Hallmark a week.”
Brynn shoots me a look. “We’re not going to survive this dinner, are we?”
“Absolutely not,” I say, grinning.
“I need wine,” Susan says, already pouring another glass. “Because I promised I’d stay neutral, but now I’m invested. Fully. Emotionally. Possibly financially.”
“I’m hosting the engagement party,” my mom declares.
“We arenotengaged,” Brynn says quickly, eyes wide.
“Yet,” both moms say in unison.
Brynn stares at them. “This is a coordinated attack.”
I lean in. “Should’ve known better than to underestimate them.”
Our dads just sit back, smiling into their drinks.
“I’m just glad someone finally said it out loud,” Frank mutters. “I was starting to feel like I was in a soap opera rerun.”
“Same,” Brynn’s dad agrees. “You have no idea what your mothers have put us through.”
Brynn drops her forehead to the table. “We’re never going to hear the end of this.”
“To subtlety,” my mom says, raising her glass. “May it rest in peace.”
“To second chances,” Susan adds, clinking hers with a soft, proud smile.
Brynn turns to me, her eyes dancing, fingers squeezing mine.
And just like that—this moment, this family, this chaotic, love-filled dinner—it all feels exactly right.
My mom claps her hands like someone just announced free pie for life. “Oh, I’m so happy for you two,” she gushes. “You two always had that something. Everyone else could see it. Took you long enough to catch up.”
I smile, shaking my head. “We’re giving it a real shot this time.”
“Good,” she says, eyes darting between us with the kind of excitement that makes me nervous. “Because I’ve been biting my tongue for months. Every football game, every church potluck, I kept thinking—just kiss already!” She leans forward, grinning. “And now look at you. All grown up. Back where you belong.”
