Page 45 of At First Smile

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Brothers

Pen

“ Y ou about ready?” Bemusement coats Rowan’s question.

“Almost.” Teeth scraping against my bottom lip, I take in my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My hair, pulled half back, is styled in loose waves. The sapphire-blue sheath dress that JoJo helped me select, drapes my curves in a flattering, but not too sexy way.

It’s just enough to give me the confidence I need to meet Rowan’s family, mainly his mom. She’s only been a muffled voice from Rowan’s phone, when I eavesdrop, just a little, on his weekly calls with her. Rowan assures me that she’ll love me, but still a jitteriness ignites my nerves.

“You’re perfect.” Rowan comes behind me and winds his arms around my waist.

“You’re biased.”

He nuzzles into my hair. “A hundred percent… Doesn’t mean I’m not right, though.”

The presence of his arms calms the anxious swirl inside me.

Nobody has ever had this power, not even Aunt Bea.

The last few weeks dealing with the situation with Alex has frayed my nerves.

But each night coming home to Rowan awakens those same nerves in the best way.

I don’t have to pretend with him that everything is okay, like I do at the hospital.

Nor do I have to be on constant guard. With him, I get to just be me… Just Pen.

“You make me feel perfect,” I murmur.

“You make me feel so much.”

A quiet throb almost whispers in my chest with how full it is. Sometimes I fear I may burst with how much I love this man.

“I have something for you.” He squeezes my middle.

“Is it your cock?” I sass, rubbing my backside against him.

“Christ, woman,” he laughingly groans.

“You love it.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you.”

He slips a small rectangular box out of his back pocket and places it in my hand.

Eyes wide, the breath swooshes out of me. “Rowan…is this…”

He squeezes my middle. “It’s not a ring. We’re not there yet.”

Yet? The word both taunts and comforts. I’m not sure what scares me more, that it may happen or the idea of it not.

With Alex, even after six months of dating, I couldn’t envision a future with him. Beyond the excuses that it was too soon when he proposed, and I wasn’t ready, I knew Alex wasn’t my tomorrow. With Rowan, he’s my today and I can almost feel the warm kiss of a breaking dawn in the way he holds me.

With a click, I open the box revealing a pair of earrings. Squinting, I trace each earring’s shape. Forehead wrinkled, I gasp, “Are these…”

“I had them made. It’s a hockey stick and a white cane twisted to form a heart.”

Every bit of the emotion in my chest rushes to my throat, making it nearly impossible to speak. Tears prick, but I blink them away. Taking out my gold hoops, I put on the silver dangly earrings.

Spinning to face him, I offer a big grin. “How do I look?”

His thumb glides along my jawline. “Perfect.”

“I love you.” I place his hand on my heart, its beat reminiscent of a horse’s gallop. “So much.”

“You say that now, just wait until my mam pulls out the photo albums.”

“Please tell me there was an awkward phase and you weren’t always a sexy god?”

Alas, Rowan’s always been a sexy god. My expression bounces between annoyance and gaping as I sit beside his mom on the couch in the family room. Using the magnification feature on my phone, I flip through page after page of adorable boys who became cute teenagers and then turned into gorgeous men.

“Fiona, where are the embarrassing pictures? The ones with bad haircuts and acne?” I guffaw and turn to a picture of all three brothers in suits for a family wedding.

“Don’t moms live for embarrassing their children?

I know my mom loves to pull out the pictures from when I cut my own bangs when I was twelve. ”

“Oh, but my boys do a fine enough job taking a piss out of each other. They don’t need me to do that,” she says, her warm Irish lilt hums in my ears.

The anxiety that swirled in my belly throughout our ninety-minute drive to Hamilton is now a calm ocean.

Warmth radiates from Fiona. The moment we entered the house, she folded her arms around me and then bestowed on to me a Society of Headstrong Obstinate Girls sticker, an outline of Elizabeth Bennet below the script letters, for Cane Austen, which I promptly put on.

It’s clear her boys’ height comes from both she and her late husband, but her fair complexion and blonde mane seem to have only been gifted to Finn. Rowan and Gillian’s darker features are almost carbon copies of the pictures of Axel in the photo album.

“Don’t worry, Pen.” Finn places the tea service on the coffee table. “I have all the best Rowan stories. Did I tell you about the time Gillian convinced him that mayonnaise would stop the itching from the poison ivy he’d gotten?”

“He didn’t?” I cover my mouth to stifle my loud snicker.

Fiona pours two cups of tea. “I found him stark naked smothered in mayo in the kitchen.” Handing me a cup of tea, she tips her head towards her other two sons. “These two hooligans were laughing like hyenas.”

Finn now sits in the chair to the right of the couch. Gillian, who’s said only two to three words all afternoon, broods in the corner. His head tilts between us and the bay window that overlooks the front yard.

“I was seven! Of course, I believed my big brother.” Rowan groans beside me, his arm looped around my waist.

“For a time, whatever Gillian said, you believed.” Finn chuckles, reaching across the table for a scone.

“A power he took advantage of,” Rowan snipes quietly.

“Perhaps.” Fiona clears her throat. “But what I also remember is a big brother that used my cookie cutters to make reindeer tracks in the snow on Christmas morning before you woke, so that you thought Santa had come.”

Rowan shifts beside me and coughs. “I didn’t know that.”

“I told you he’s got a soft nougaty inside.” Finn’s tone is playful but shaded with a twinge of smugness.

“Sure.” Rowan’s mutter elicits a quiet but annoyed breath from Fiona.

I squeeze Rowan’s forearm. “It really is sweet,” I say, offering Gillian a soft smile. I can’t help but wonder what happened to the boy who got up early to extend his younger brother’s belief in Santa just a little bit longer.

Rowan reaches for the plate of pastries. “Do you want a scone, luv?”

“Yes please, baby.”

“Luv? Baby?” Fiona almost squeals as she slaps her hands together. “Terms of endearment and family introductions, this is serious.”

“Easy, Mrs. Bennet,” Rowan tuts, playfully.

Fiona’s entire being lights up at the Austen reference.

It’s easy to see the fondness she has for her sons and they for her.

Even if Rowan worries that he disappoints her, there’s a closeness.

The length of their hug. The inside jokes.

The playful banter. It all paints the image of a mother-son bond.

“What kind are they?”

“There’s cream, and this one here…Mam?” Rowan asks.

Gillian clears his throat. “Carrot cake scone with a white chocolate glaze.”

“You made carrot cake scones?” My head tilts to the right.

“Rowan said you liked carrot cake.”

“You make Pen and Rowan’s favorites, but where’s mine?” Finn taunts, his mouth full.

“Cream scones are your favorite?” I look at Rowan.

“Yep.” He spreads lemon curd onto his scone.

“Thank you, Gillian.” I blink. Nougat much?

“You’re welcome,” he mutters, almost as if it pains him to receive a compliment.

Breaking off a piece of still-warm scone, I pop it into my mouth. “Mmm… So good.”

“Luv, please don’t make that noise in my mam’s living room,” Rowan whispers, his smirk pressed against the shell of my ear.

“Jealous?” I coo, batting my lashes at him.

“You and that smart mouth.” He presses a chaste kiss, but his possessive grip at my waist teases me with the promise of all the ways he plans to make me scream his name.

“Get a room,” Finn quips.

“Hush, Finn, they’re sweet,” Fiona defends.

“Diabetic,” Gillian mumbles.

“Since last night, I’ve watched them do nothing but kiss or eye-fuck each other,” Finn groans.

“Watch it!” Rowan chucks a piece of scone at him.

“Boys,” Fiona scolds with a soft laugh.

Finn catches the tossed piece of scone and pops it into his mouth. “Seriously you’re going to have to double up the birth control or you’ll make Mam a grandma before the year’s out.”

“I do like the sound of that. Pen’s lovely hair and Rowan’s green eyes,” she gushes.

“Mam, it’s too soon for that talk,” Rowan protests, but his palm rests against my lower abdomen making the butterflies somersault.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I agree that any future children should have Rowan’s eyes. They’ll work better,” I deadpan.

There’s a beat of silence until Gillian snorts a laugh. “Your girl is funny, Rowan.” His gruff timbre softens with warmth.

“She’s many things.” Rowan presses his lips against my cheek.

“I can see that.”

Today is a far different interaction than the first time I’d met Gillian. The scornful dismissal is replaced by approval and wistful longing, not for me but for someone else.

He stands. “I should go prepare dinner.”

“Can I help?” I ask.

“No,” he says quickly, but not harshly.

Rowan bristles beside me and I press into him, feeling his muscles relax.

Gillian sloshes a long breath. “I mean, no thank you. You’re the guest. You should…”

“Do what she wants and if she wants to help you in the kitchen, so I don’t have to deal with your homespun version of Hell’s Kitchen , then I, for one, am appreciative,” Finn fills in the blank.

Another round of silence stretches as Gillian seems to consider my offer or Finn’s reasoning. I’m not entirely sure why I offer to help. He’s hurt two people I love. Still, the breadcrumbs he’s offered this afternoon hint that he may not be as gruff as he appears.

“Okay,” he says in defeat.