Page 70 of The Older Brother
“We’re doing this, huh?” He nods and grins like a kid about to get a sticker for good behavior. For such a sexy man, he can be downright adorable.
My hair dried in the car during our drive, so I run my fingers through some of the clumpy waves, suddenly very aware of how casual I look. I should have dressed nicer. Maybe been more formal or conservative? I didn’t know this was our official mom meeting, and that was before I fully understood how important Cora Anderson’s approval was to me.
The door opens just as my hand is midway through a knotted lock of hair, and I panic when my eyes meet Cora’s, tangling my nails in the matted curl.
“Saylor! Oh, wow. Look at you!” She steps forward to hug me, but all I can do is jut out my elbow.
“I got stuck,” I admit in a sheepish voice.
Cora simply laughs, gently taking my elbow and guiding me inside her home while her oldest son follows with a gentle hand at the small of my back.
“Same girl you always were, I see. You were always like a tornado. Even in the water.” She closes the door behind me, then turns her attention to my hair situation.
“Let’s see,” she mumbles, uncoiling my nail from the thick strands that somehow ensnared it.
"I don't even have nice nails. How did this happen?” My shoulders slump, but I’m acting mostly. Cora is so sweet, as she’s always been, that my embarrassment is quickly fading.
She has my hand free and is working her own comb through my hair easily within minutes. Rowan, in the meantime, has moved to the kitchen, where he’s suddenly scouring his mom’s fridge while making comments about how she eats like a bachelor.
“Well, if my sons came to visit more often . . .” she suggests.
He closes the fridge and stands up straight, holding his hand over his heart.
“That’s fair. I should come more. And so should Caleb, even if I need to drag his ass here.” Rowan moves toward his mom, kissing her cheek as she tilts her head and gives him a hug.
“Come sit, get comfortable. I can order in if you’re hungry?” Cora leads us into her warm sitting area, where two leather sofas face a small table made of stone in front of a Spanish-style fireplace. Her home is the perfect complement to her artsy style, the white walls almost like galleries featuring distinctive, Southwestern art. Saltillo tiles flow throughout, every space defined by bright, colorful throw rugs that look like they were woven by hand. The space has a light hint of cinnamon, and the warm oranges and golds make it feel sunlit and bright despite the few windows.
“It’s nice here,” I say, the only words I can seem to utter now that my chest is hammering with my erratic pulse.
Rowan sits next to me, our thighs touching, and he takes my hand in his, putting everything out in the open. My heartbeat grows louder.
“You can relax, Saylor. Rowan told me you two were seeing each other,” she says.
I flash my gaze at him, and he shrugs.
“I had to tell someone besides Mig. Besides, she gives great advice.”
My shoulders drop to their normal position, and I relax my back into the leather pillow behind me as I exhale. Then his words fully hit me, and I pivot my attention to him again.
“Advice?”
He chuckles, and his mom utters, “Busted.”
“Yeah, I may have . . . well, I . . . so, when I was here last time.” It’s a fit of starts and stops from Rowan, his mom finally waving her hand to let him off the hook.
She leans in, her hands cupping a mug of what looks like tea as she rests her elbows on her knees.
“He likes you a lot, and I think he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to. So . . . I gave him permission. But . . .” She holds up a finger. “I told him to be careful with your heart and with his.”
Careful. Yeah, we haven’t been very careful. But our hearts are involved regardless. It’s too late for that. At least, it is for me.
“I told her the truth, Mom. About . . . about the fire.” Rowan sucks in a quick breath, and his hand tightens around mine.
His mom blinks a few times, not seeming to be truly focused on his face until her head tilts slightly to the right. Her eyes flit to mine and hold there, as if she’s waiting for me to give her permission, retroactively.
“You have an incredible son,” I say, because when it comes down to it, that’s the only truth I can give. I don’t know that it was right for her to let him take the fall. And I don’t know if I would have made a different decision if I were in her position. But I do know that if the roles were flipped, and it were me able to keep my father out of jail, I think I would. And I’d beg him to let me.
“He is incredible. They both are, even if Caleb is . . .” Her head bobs from right to left.
