by Amanda Tru
Dylan held the door for Brooke, and they exited the café.
The cool air hit Brooke in a rush, and she hurried to zip up her jacket. While pulling her hood over her head, her hand touched the cut on her forehead from yesterday.
Her wince didn’t go unnoticed.
“Does it still hurt?” Dylan asked.
“Yes, but mostly just when I knock it,” she said, not wanting him to be concerned.
“If you want, I can bandage it up again to help protect it,” Dylan offered. “Are you sure you want me to take you back to your car at the floral shop? I can take you home and bandage you up. Then I can pick you up in the morning to get your car.”
“No, but thank you. I’m fine to drive now, and I think my owie is fine too,” Brooke assured with a smile. Dylan’s protectiveness was rather endearing. “I took the other bandage off because I didn’t want to attract attention today. I also thought it would be good to give it some air.”
Dylan didn’t say anything else, but she could tell that both the car and her cut still worried him. Reaching the Porsche, he opened the passenger side door, and she slipped inside with a little shiver. It sure felt cold for November.
When Dylan got in on the driver’s side, Brooke asked, “Didn’t you say your mom was a nurse?” She recalled his expertise with patching her up yesterday, and she was trying to match up what he’d said then with what he’d told her in the café about his background.
“Yes, she still is,” he said, turning on the heat before heading out on the street toward Crossroads Floral. “Both she and my sister live in Arizona.”
“Are you going to get to see them for Thanksgiving?” Brooke asked curiously.
Dylan grimaced. “No. My mom is going to my sister’s house, and I’m not really welcome.”
Brooke looked at him with raised eyebrows “That seems harsh.”
Dylan shrugged. “Not really. I wouldn’t want to go there even if I was welcome. My sister is married, and I don’t get along well with her husband. I mostly object because he is a jerk who doesn’t treat her well. It’s better for everyone if I stay away.”
His words didn’t set right with Brooke. In fact, his situation sounded pretty terrible. “So what are you doing for the holiday?” she asked with concern. “Do you have any other family that you’re going to see?”
“No, both my grandparents have been gone for several years now,” Dylan answered. “Without a dad, and with my mom’s quite colorful relationship history, there isn’t really any other family to speak of. I’ll probably just stay home and enjoy the day off watching football.”
It was a short drive back to where Brooke’s car was parked in the Crossroads Floral lot. Dylan pulled in beside her car, but instead of getting out right away, Brooke sat there, thinking about what he’d just said. Though his words seemed horribly sad, Dylan didn’t seem upset about it in the least, which made her wonder how many Thanksgivings he had spent alone in front of a football game.
“Why don’t you come with me and have Thanksgiving dinner with my family?” she asked impulsively.
Dylan didn’t answer right away, but stared at her in surprise, as if waiting for her to immediately retract the offer. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” he finally asked.
“Yes!” she said eagerly. “I have a huge family, and yet my mom still makes so much food that we have leftovers for days! I want you to come. I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the dinner at all if I knew you were alone with a bag of potato chips instead of a turkey!”
Dylan spoke slowly, “Well, I guess I can come if you’re sure your parents won’t mind. Maybe you’d better ask your mom first.”
“I will ask her, but I know for sure that she won’t mind. I also know that she would very much object to you spending Thanksgiving alone.” In fact, Brooke knew that her mom would be quite upset if Brooke didn’t manage to get Dylan to agree to come!
“Well, if you’re sure, then I’ll plan on it,” he said, the white of his smile catching the glow from the streetlights.
“Great!” Brooke said. Then she reached out her hand. “Can I borrow your phone?”
“Oh, you don’t have to call her now,” Dylan protested.
“Can I please just borrow your phone?” She held out her hand insistently.
“Where is yours?”
Without speaking, Brooke simply wiggled her empty hand.
Giving up on understanding, Dylan unlocked the screen and handed her the phone.
After a minute of pushing buttons, Brooke handed it back to him. “Now you can call if you want to talk to me. You won’t need to ambush me and ask me out on a date to do so.”
Dylan grinned, his eyes sparkling in the dim light from the parking lot.
“I’ll call.”
“You’d better,” Brooke said, opening her car door. “You have no idea how much my family will enjoy the fact that I’m bringing Dylan Masters to Thanksgiving Dinner!”
“Mom! Dad! Brooke brought home a boy!”
Brooke turned to Dylan. “I did warn you about my family, right?”
Dylan looked a little wide-eyed as he followed Brooke through her parents’ front door, through the living room, and into the kitchen.
“Ok, everyone!” Brooke called as soon as they came into view of the group clustered in the kitchen. “This is Dylan Masters. He is not my boyfriend. We are not dating. We are friends. And I invited him to have Thanksgiving dinner with us. End of story.”
“That doesn’t sound like the end of the story,” Brooke’s brother, Dallas, said. “Why is it that we are blessed to have Brooke’s friend-but-not-boyfriend share Thanksgiving dinner with us? This isn’t exactly normal Brooke Hutchins behavior. When was the last time Brooke brought a boy home?” Dallas turned to his siblings. “Five years? What was his name?”
“Jake,” Sydney said. “I think it was Jake.”
“No, it was Andy,” Geneva said with certainty. “But you’re right in that it was about five years ago.”
Sydney shrugged. “Well, I guess you’d know, Geneva. You were the one who—”
“Dylan’s family lives in Arizona,” Brooke interrupted. “He didn’t have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving, so I invited him here, which is a decision I am beginning to regret.”
“I think she also felt bad for having screwed up my order at the floral shop,” Dylan supplied. “I figure this must be part of her penance.”
“Now there’s the story!” Dallas said eagerly.
“Tell us more about how she exactly ‘screwed up’ your order,” Geneva said, propping her elbow on the counter and leaning against her hand, as if greatly interested. “I heard about some kind of mix up, but this sounds a bit juicy!”
“That’s enough!” Brooke’s mother, Lydia, said softly, but with a tone that instantly gained all attention. “Leave Brooke and her friend alone. Dallas, go see if your dad needs help checking the turkey on the deep fryer. Geneva and Sydney, finish getting the table set.”
Though still sending glances of amusement Brooke’s direction, while Brooke shot back glares, her siblings obediently went to their tasks.
Turning to Brooke, Lydia said, “Brooke, honey, wasn’t there another friend you said you’d be bringing as well? We have plenty of food.”
Brooke shook her head, thinking about the conversation she’d had just yesterday with Aimee, the woman who had accidentally gotten flowers from her deceased mother. “No, I asked Aimee, but she decided to go out of town to her aunt’s house for Thanksgiving. So she won’t be coming.”
“Well, I am glad you could make it, Dylan!” Lydia said cheerfully. “You will have to excuse Brooke’s brother and sisters. She is the youngest in the family and gets the teasing and babying from everyone. Just be thankful all of my children aren’t here at once!”
“How many brothers and sisters do you have?” Dylan asked, under his breath.
“Six,” Brooke replied. “But don’t worry, it looks like you’ll only have to deal with three. Tru
st me, half of them aren’t nearly as difficult as all of them!”
Lydia turned back to the kitchen and called over her shoulder, “Brooke, could you please mash the potatoes? You always do such a nice job.”
“That’s me,” Brooke said quietly, “the great potato masher.”
“Dylan, would you mind going out to the deck and asking John how much longer the turkey will be?”
“John is my dad,” Brooke supplied. “Tall with gray hair. You can’t miss him.”
“Thanks,” Dylan said with a hint of amused sarcasm. “I don’t think I could have figured it out without the description.”
“I aim to please,” Brooke said sweetly.
Dylan turned to his task while Brooke drained the potatoes and began mashing. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched her mom. Lydia Hutchins carried herself regally. While she often saw that same quality in her sisters, Brooke felt it had missed her particular set of genes. But, feeling awkward wasn’t the only way she was different from her mom. Lydia had short brunette hair and was small in stature. She was cute, but with her taste for finer things in life, her beauty translated more to sophisticated. Brooke, however, was taller and blonder, like her dad. And sophisticated was not a word that would ever be associated with her. Though she may not have inherited her mother’s physical characteristics or her social grace, Brooke really hoped she could at least resemble her in her kind, generous, and welcoming personality.
“Dylan seems like a nice man,” Lydia said casually as she checked on the rolls in the oven.
“Please don’t get your hopes up, Mom,” Brooke said. “I am not interested in him romantically, nor do I intend to be.”
“And why is that?” Lydia asked pointedly.
Startled, Brooke stammered a bit in responding, “Well, he isn’t a Christian, for starters.”
Lydia nodded and pulled the nicely browned rolls from the oven. “That is a good reason. I certainly wouldn’t want you to date or get attached to someone who wasn’t a Christian. I just worry that you always have a reason for not letting anyone get close. It’s almost like you’re afraid and don’t want to take any risk with your heart.”
Brooke sighed and turned on the mixer. With the loud noise, she bought herself a couple minutes to respond. She had hoped that her mom’s interest in her love life would slow down after her brother, Israel, gave her the first grandchild. But it hadn’t. Her only consolation was that her mom probably did the same thing to her other siblings as well. Five single adult children offered plenty of fodder for meddling.
Brooke turned off the mixer and stirred the potatoes by hand. “I’m sorry, Mom, but I lost my job and my reputation in the community. Now I have no job leads and no way to pay my bills. I think my life has enough risk at the moment without a relationship.”
“Sweetheart, I really wish you’d call Uncle Wayne and talk to him about that,” Lydia said.
Brooke stifled a groan. Though she had successfully managed to change the subject from her love life, she didn’t know this new subject was any better. “Mom, I don’t know what good talking with Uncle Wayne would do. I certainly don’t want to relocate so I can be his employee.”
“But he’s in the business, Brooke,” Lydia insisted, her knife pausing as it cut through an apple for the fruit salad. “At the very least, he can give you a listening ear. He may have some advice for how you can help your reputation in the community.”
“The potatoes are done,” Brooke said, refusing to respond to her mom’s suggestion. “It looks like everything else is ready, too. I’ll go round up everyone else to wash their hands.”
Then she left before her mom looked up from the fruit salad.
Ten minutes later, everyone was seated at the table, piling food on their plates after saying the blessing.
“So, Dylan, what do you do?” Geneva asked, passing him the bowl of mashed potatoes from directly across the table.
Instant anger flared up in Brooke. She knew that tone of voice. Geneva wasn’t just being friendly. That overly sweet tone meant that she was flirting. And there wasn’t anything Brooke could do about it. She had already, very specifically, revoked any claim on Dylan, which meant it was open season as far as her sisters were concerned. And Geneva was gorgeous, and a doctor—exactly Dylan’s type.
“I’m an investment banker,” Dylan replied simply. “What about you?”
“I’m a doctor,” Geneva answered, her perfect white teeth flashing in her flawless porcelain face as she smiled. “I finished my residency in Brighton Falls this past spring.”
“Nice,” Dylan smiled back. “Though I wouldn’t have guessed you were a doctor.”
“Yes, apparently I don’t look the part,” Geneva said, laughing. “I usually have to bring a nurse with me when I’m meeting a new patient just so she can verify my credentials.”
“I doubt you get any complaints from your male patients, though,” Dallas said, joining the conversation. “Once they figure out you’re a real doctor, they probably want to see you for a paper cut!”
Geneva laughed. “I do pretty good triage on paper cuts!”
“You should talk, Dallas,” Sydney said. “One of my friends mentioned that some of the department’s more regular offenders were specifically requesting you to do their questioning. She said one lady, who was being arrested, asked if you could be the one to put her in handcuffs!”
“It’s an occupational hazard of being so hot,” Dallas said, wiggling his eyebrows. “But I’m sure Dylan knows all about that.”
Geneva smiled craftily. “Now that you mention it, what kind of investments do you offer, Dylan? I may be interested in some of the long-term variety.”
Brooke choked on her turkey. She coughed, her face turning red as she gagged. Her dad pounded on her back, and Dallas looked like he was ready to hop up and give her the Heimlich.
Finally, getting the meat out of her throat, she took a swig of water, washing it down.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” her mom asked worriedly.
“I’m fine,” Brooke managed hoarsely.
Unfortunately, the incident managed to put all eyes, and attention on her.
“Brooke, I have a favor to ask,” Geneva said, her focus momentarily swayed from Dylan. “A friend of mine is having a baby boy, and her baby shower is in a few weeks. Do you think you can make one of those cute diaper cakes for me to give her?”
“Sure,” Brooke answered. “If you let me know if they have a theme, maybe I can work it in. I’ll call you next week to talk about what you want and how much you want to spend.”
“Good!” Geneva smiled. “That’s a relief. I think they really like sports, so maybe you could work that in. I’m so glad I won’t have to pick something out. I love having a creative sister. It gets me out of so much shopping!”
“Brooke, Mom says you’re looking for a job,” Sydney said from on the other side of Dylan. “I have a few contacts in the interior decorating business in Brighton Falls. Do you want me to check if they have any openings? I’m sure I could get you an interview.”
Before Brooke could respond, Dallas jumped in. “This whole losing your job thing could actually be a great opportunity for you, Brooke. You should give London a call. Just think about it. She could probably get you some kind of decorating job in Hollywood. That would give you some great experience and look impressive on a resume.”
“That’s a good idea,” Lydia said enthusiastically. “We’re going to call London and wish her a ‘Happy Thanksgiving’ anyway. Why don’t you ask her about a job?”
“Maybe Brooke doesn’t want to leave Crossroads,” Brooke’s dad, John, said, his forehead wrinkled with worry.
“Well, if she doesn’t, she could always do something other than interior design,” Sydney said helpfully. She turned to Dylan and placed her beautifully manicured hand on his forearm, “I’m sure you get a lot of traffic through your bank, Dylan. Have you heard of any place that was hiring? Brooke would be great at something that
involved childcare. I’m not sure any medical or business office would hire her with her recent history of messing up orders, but she wasn’t making a whole lot at Crossroads Floral anyway. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find an equivalent-paying job that doesn’t require education or experience.”
Brooke stood suddenly, dropping her napkin onto her plate. “Thank you all for your concern. I appreciate your offers of help, but I would very much prefer to find my own employment. Now, if you will excuse me, I think I need some fresh air.”
Brooke hurried for the patio door, exiting quickly to the backyard. Lifting her face to the soft breeze, she let the air cool her hot cheeks and eyes. She took great, deep breaths, working to calm her frayed nerves and the cornucopia of emotions filling her to overflowing.
She knew her family meant well. She was the baby of the family, and they wanted to help. Her siblings were so used to working to protect her that it usually didn’t occur to them that she was a competent adult, capable of finding her own job and making her own decisions.
And Geneva was just a flirt. She would never intentionally hurt Brooke. Most of the time, she wasn’t even conscious of her flirting tendencies or how irresistible a picture she made with her long blonde hair and dark, fluttering eyelashes. If Brooke thought about it too much, she might even conclude that Dylan and Geneva might be a good match. They were quite similar in that Geneva dated a lot for fun, but seemed to struggle with serious relationships.
But Brooke didn’t want to think about it.
Sydney was a different story. Sydney usually knew exactly what she was doing. Every phrase or gesture always had some purpose. And the fact that her older sister had very deliberately touched Dylan’s forearm made Brooke think that Sydney was playing some kind of game. Brooke doubted she was actually interested in Dylan romantically. More than likely, she had picked up on the fact that Brooke felt some kind of attraction toward Dylan, and she was playing an angle to try to make Brooke jealous. Sydney wasn’t mean; she was just gifted in the arts of reading and manipulating people. And of course, in Sydney’s mind, she always had their best interests in mind.
