Page 33 of Falling for the Bombshell (Falling for #1)

Three Generations of Heart

The kitchen smelled like cinnamon rolls and Sunday peace. Morning light poured through the window, casting a golden glow over the worn wooden table. Linnie stood barefoot in Blaine ’ s mom ’ s kitchen, apron dusted with flour, while Bria leaned against the counter scrolling on her phone.

“ You know,” Bria said without looking up, “ this is the most domestic I ’ ve seen anyone look in this kitchen. Ever. Even Mom.”

Linnie smirked. “ You saying I ’ m pulling off farm-wife chic?”

Bria raised an eyebrow. “ I ’ m saying you ’ ve got cinnamon in your eyebrow and still somehow look like you ’ re winning at life. ”

From the corner, Jillian, Blaine ’ s mom, let out a warm laugh. She was sipping coffee, watching them like someone trying not to get too sentimental too fast.

Linnie slid the cinnamon rolls into the oven and set the timer.

“ Alright, teenage sass queen. You want to help with icing or just provide commentary?”

“ I ’ m more of a vibe curator,” Bria said. “ But I will taste test. For quality control.”

Linnie was already used to this rhythm—the teasing, the smirks, the way Bria gave her grief and love in equal measure.

What she hadn ’ t expected was how deeply she ’ d grown to care about her.

Blaine ’ s little sister wasn ’ t so little anymore.

She was observant. Smart. Protective of her big brother in a way that reminded Linnie of herself.

A few minutes later, once the rolls were cooling and Bria had wandered off with a gooey corner piece and a “ Don ’ t judge me, I ’ m growing,” Jillian gestured toward the porch with two mugs of fresh coffee.

They settled onto the old swing outside.

The air was cool but soft, the sky a pale watercolor blue.

“ I wasn ’ t sure about you at first,” Jillian said after a moment.

Linnie looked over, not surprised. “ I know.”

Jillian smiled wryly. “ I didn ’ t mean because of who you are.

You're lovely. Kind. But Blaine… he ’ s my whole world.

And I had a very specific idea of what his path should look like.

When that changed, I struggled. I was scared.

Then suddenly this beautiful dancer shows up and he ’ s all in and—” she shook her head. “ I panicked.”

“ I get it,” Linnie said softly. “ I probably would ’ ve reacted the same if I were you.”

Jillian looked at her, eyes filled with something deeper than apology. “ But I was wrong. Not about you—about what he needed. You are what he needed. His light, Linnie. You brought something into him I haven ’ t seen in years. Focus. Confidence. That shine in his eyes again.”

Tears pricked behind Linnie ’ s lashes. She smiled through them.

“ He did the same for me. He makes me feel safe to be exactly who I am.”

They sat with it a moment—the honesty, the calm between two women who loved the same boy in different ways.

Jillian reached over, squeezed Linnie ’ s hand. “ I ’ m really glad you ’ re in our family.”

Linnie bit her lip to keep from crying. “ Thank you. That means more than I can say.”

Just then, Bria pushed the door open with one hand, holding up a sketchpad in the other. “ I present… The Future of Football and Dance ,” she said, showing off a page where she ’ d doodled a ballerina in a Bullet jersey doing a grand jeté over a football field.

Jillian laughed. “ Where do you even come up with this stuff?”

“ I ’ m a genius. Also maybe slightly unhinged. It keeps life interesting.”

Linnie grinned. “ You ’ re hired as the wedding illustrator.”

Bria blinked, then beamed. “ Wait. For real? Like, official flower- child-adjacent duties?”

“ Very official,” Linnie said. “ But there ’ s payment.”

“ Ice cream and a Spotify playlist veto?”

“ Done.”

Bria flopped onto the porch swing beside them, sticking her feet under Linnie ’ s blanket like she ’ d always belonged there.

“ You know,” she said after a beat, “ I used to worry Blaine would never find someone who got him. Like, really got him. And then you came along with your twirls and sparkles and your little boot prints on our doormat. And he ’ s just... Blaine again. But better.”

Linnie didn ’ t say anything for a second. She just reached over and wrapped her arm around Bria ’ s shoulders, holding her close.

Jillian wiped at the corner of her eye. “ You girls are going to make me cry on my own porch.”

“ Let it happen,” Bria said, grinning. “ We ’ re a Hallmark movie now.”

They all laughed, leaning into one another with coffee, sketches, and the kind of peace that only came from earned trust and shared love.

It wasn ’ t just Blaine who had found something real.

They all had