Page 57 of Heartsmashed
BRUNCHON THE patio with coffee, tea, and food served family style was exactly what was called for after last night. There was enough on the table for a larger party, but it was only going to be the four of us, since apparently my brothers already had plans.
“Absolutely not,” my mom—Catherine, CEO, powerhouse, terrifying to most people but somehow still capable of organizing a themed party that involved glow sticks and wine coolers—was saying as we walked up. “If anyone suggests another dance party this week, I’m vetoing it.”
“Darling, you loved it,” Mama—Lily, theatrical, dramatic, and currently wrapped in a silk robe that could double as a costume—shot back. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t.”
“My feet disagree.”
“I told you not to wear those shoes.”
“The shoes matched the outfit.”
Mama only smirked at her over her teacup, but then she caught sight of us and her eyes lit up. “Finally, there you are.”
“You got him out of bed,” Mom said to Beckett. “I’m impressed. He’s not easy.”
“Good morning to you too.” I bent down to give her a kiss before doing the same to Mama. I slid into an open seat across from her, and Beckett pulled out the chair beside me, his hand brushing my back as he sat. Easy and familiar, like it was second nature to him.
Like nothing strange had happened between us at all.
“You both looked like you had fun last night,” Mom said, pushing the French press in our direction.
Beckett reached for it. “It was a great time,” he said smoothly, pouring a fresh cup of coffee in my cup first and then his own. “I didn’t think my knees would still be working this morning, but we survived.”
“Barely,” I added.
“This is where caffeine and carbs come in handy,” Mama said, buttering her toast. “Now, before we begin, just know your brothers already filled us in on the basics.”
I froze mid-stir. “Of what?”
“Nothing scandalous,” Mom said, though the slight curve of her mouth said otherwise. “Just all the questions we haven’t gotten to ask, like where you met, how long you’ve been seeing each other, that sort of thing.”
“Fantastic.”
“Which means,” Mama jumped in, “we can skip the boring questions and get to the good ones.” She held the bread basket out to Beckett. “Try the strawberry muffin—it’s delicious.”
He smiled at her and took one off the top, but I only shook my head.“There are no good questions, just intrusive ones.”
“What’s the point in being parents if we can’t enjoy all the embarrassing details?” Mama went on.
“I’m loving this. Really.”
Mama ignored me entirely. “All right, let’s start easy.” She pointed her butter knife between us. “Who made the first move?”
I choked on my coffee.
“Define ‘move,’” Beckett said, playing along.
Mama leaned toward him. “Was it him? It feels like it was him.”
He glanced at me, an amused tilt to his lips. “He did approach me first.”
Mama clapped her hands and laughed. “I knew it.”
“Traitor,” I muttered.
“Approached him at a hotel bar,” Mom mused, as she popped a grape in her mouth. “Interesting.”
“It was the lounge, actually.” Not that it made a difference, butbarsounded like I’d been out for a hookup or something.
