Page 52 of Switched At Birth

“Well, hello to you too, T. And no, it’s Noah’s car, but since I know the way, he asked me to drive.”

She takes a long look at Noah’s sleek Mercedes. “Hell, you must really like my brother to let him drive this beauty.”

“Oh, here we go.” Tia has a slight filter, but stuff still passes through without any thought on her part.

“Oh, by the way, I’m Tiana, but most everyone calls me Tia.”

“Or brat,” I offer.

Her fuck-you glare reaches my eyes, but her attention turns back to Noah. “It’s nice to meet you.” She’s polite, I’ll give her that.

“Noah James. Nice to meet you too, Tia.” He extends his hand, but she pulls him in for a hug.

“Hell, if my brother brought you home, you’re someone special.” Noah relaxes into my sister’s embrace, and I breathe a small sigh of relief. He’s not a deer in the headlights, like I assumed he’d be.

“Come on. Mom is in the kitchen. She’s been cooking all day.” She loops her arm with Noah’s, escorting him inside, and I grab his dessert and flowers.

“Mom? Guess who I found outside.” My mom turns from the kitchen, a straight shot from the foyer, her oven mitts on both hands.

“Ashton!” she calls behind Tia and Noah, flinging off her mitts and bee-lining her way to my boyfriend.

“Noah, it’s so good to meet you.” Caitlyn Brooks is affectionate, always has been, and pulls him into an embrace.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Brooks.”

Mom will not like that. “Oh, none of that Mrs. nonsense. Call me Caitlyn, please.”

He turns around, taking the flowers out of my hands. “These are for you Mrs.—I mean, Caitlyn.”

She takes the bouquet, and stares at the dish in my hands. “You made a dessert too?”

“My mom would be appalled if I didn’t bring anything,” Noah explains, while my mom ushers him into the living room.

“I think I’d like your mom. Tia, baby, can you pour us some wine?” She looks to Noah. “Dinner will be another thirty minutes. Would you like merlot or riesling? I have beer, too.”

Tia sets the wine glasses on the coffee table, taking mom’s and filling it generously with riesling then grabs mine for the merlot.

“Merlot, please,” he answers, and Tia pours another glass, returning to the riesling and filling her glass to the top.

I relax into the sofa, tugging Noah close to me.

“Tell me more about yourself. Ashton has been tight lipped about you.” Mom’s stare stays on Noah, as she sips on her wine.

Noah and I exchange looks with each other. “You didn’t tell her?”

“Oh, this will be good. Are you an FBI agent, a spy, a male gigolo?” Tia asks.

“Tiana Frances,” my mom only half admonishes. I’m surprised my mother didn’t ask it herself.

“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that before. I guess I’m a little boring now. But, I’m an artist, like Ash.”

I lean forward taking both our merlots, handing him his glass. “Don’t let him fool you, he’s a very accomplished artist. Kate, at the gallery, set me up with him, remember?”

“So, that was you. What do you paint?” The Brooks Inquisition continues for the next thirty minutes, until we sit down at the table.

Noah is two glasses of wine in, directing his attention to Tia, after all our plates are full.

“So, Tia, tell me all the dirt on your brother. My own brother spilled some on me, so I need payback.”

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