Chapter 13 - Atticus
ATTICUS
Iended the call with my mother and set my phone on the nightstand, listening to Brenna singing in the shower.
“Mom says four o’clock tomorrow works perfectly,” I said, stepping inside, tempted to take off all my clothes and join her. “She’s already planning dinner and probably calling my sisters as we speak.”
The water shut off. “Did you tell her about us?”
“I said we had news to share in person.”
“So that’s a yes.”
I picked up the towel and wrapped Brenna in it when she opened the glass door.
“Your mother’s not stupid. She’ll know the second we walk in.”
“Probably knew before we did.” I dropped the terry cloth and pulled her against me despite her damp skin soaking through my shirt. “You nervous about tonight?”
“About Luke?” She tilted her head back to look at me. “Terrified.”
“He’s going to be happy for us.”
“Or he’s going to gut-punch you.” She traced her finger along my jaw. “Better than your face, though. I’d hate for him to mess up this handsome mug.”
“Your brother hasn’t thrown a decent punch since his second year at the academy. I’m not worried.”
When she laughed and stepped away, heading for the closet naked, I whistled and, for the second time, thought about stripping out of my shirt and pants, both of us getting back in bed, and fucking her senseless.
Instead, I went downstairs and checked my email. Nothing new this morning, which didn’t bother me any. I wanted to focus on Brenna today, not on the mission that would pick back up the minute we set foot on Valley Ridge Resort and became Atticus and Bronwyn Nolan again.
Knowing she preferred her eggs poached, I made two for her and two for me, then stuck wheat bread in the toaster.
Brenna appeared in jeans and a blue sweater that made her eyes even more striking. She’d dried her hair but left it down, and looked younger, less like a badass federal prosecutor and more like the girl who used to challenge everything Luke and I said just to prove she could.
“Looks good,” she said, sliding onto a barstool. “You’ve come a long way since my brother used to call you Pyromaniac Perry.”
I chuckled, remembering when he and I were freshmen and I’d attempted cooking in our dorm room, something that probably should’ve gotten me expelled if our AOC hadn’t laughed his ass off over it.
I slid eggs onto her plate.
“Speaking of Luke…”
I set the pan down. “Yeah?”
“I’m going to make cookies to take to him.”
“Okay. Uh…”
“What?” she asked.
“Can I have some?”
She smiled and shook her head. “Yes, Mason, you may have some.”
“Oh my God,” I groaned as I plated my own eggs then grabbed our toast.
“What was that about?”
“I don’t even want to say it out loud.”
She took a bite of eggs, then patted her lips with a napkin. “Either tell me, or you don’t get cookies.”
“You sound just like my mom. Then and now.”
Brenna rested against her chair. “Yeah, so, don’t ever say that again.”
I chuckled and leaned forward to kiss her. “Deal.”
The afternoon passed quickly. Brenna baked cookies—snickerdoodles, Luke’s favorite since they were kids—then decided they weren’t perfect and made a second batch. The kitchen filled with cinnamon and sugar while flour dusted every surface. I didn’t mind since the first set seemed perfect to me.
“You know he’d eat store-bought cookies and be happy, right?”
“That’s not the point.” She slid another tray into the oven. “When we were growing up, Mom always made these for special occasions. Luke requested them every birthday until he left for the academy.”
“And this is a special occasion?”
She glanced at me. “Isn’t it? My brother finding out about us?”
“When you put it that way.” I snagged a cookie from the cooling rack. Still warm, perfect blend of sweet and spice. “These are incredible.”
“Mom’s recipe. Though I add extra vanilla.”
“Rebel.”
While the cookies cooled, we did quick check-ins with the team, confirmations for the weekend, all the logistics that kept the investigation moving forward without consuming our entire day.
At five-thirty, we loaded into the BMW for the drive to Sonoma. Brenna had changed clothes three times before settling on a long-sleeved dress that she said was casual enough but didn’t look like she was trying too hard.
“Is this okay?” I’d asked, motioning to the khakis and blue button-down I’d chosen.
I changed to a blue polo when she said I looked too formal.
“Since when is looking formal bad?”
“Since we’re trying to seem relaxed and happy, not like we’re attending a deposition.”
The drive north took us through San Rafael and into wine country. Brenna fidgeted with the radio, the temperature controls, her phone, anything to keep her hands busy.
“You’re going to break the console,” I said, catching her fingers as she reached for the radio again and bringing them to my lips. “There’s nothing to be nervous about.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“Right. That’s why you’ve checked your phone seven times since we left.”
“I wanted to make sure he wasn’t running late.”
“So, how do we act?” I asked a few minutes later.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve gotten pretty used to fake-marriage role-playing. Should I keep my hands off until we tell him?”
“Now, I am nervous. Why didn’t we just tell him already? Then we wouldn’t have to think about how we should act.”
We arrived in Glen Ellen with fifteen minutes to spare. A Girl and a Fig sat on a quiet street corner, its windows glowing warmly against the late-afternoon sun. I found parking half a block away and came around to open Brenna’s door.
“Ready?”
She grabbed the cookie box and took a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be.”
“Hey.” I caught her hand and pulled her close. “Luke loves you. He wants you happy. Once he sees you’re happy, everything else is details.”
“You’re right.”
“I usually am.”
That earned me an eye roll, but she was smiling as we walked toward the restaurant. Then she stopped so abruptly I nearly ran into her.
“What?”
“I bet that’s his rental car.”
“Good. If he’s here already, that means we can get the awkward part over with before the wine comes.”
“I was hoping to have a glass before he arrived.”
I took the box of cookies from her hand and set it on a bench near the restaurant’s entrance, then pulled her into my arms. I didn’t say a word, just held her close until she relaxed against me.
“The part where he threatens me with bodily harm if I hurt you? Yeah, that’ll be awkward.”
She laughed despite her nerves. “He wouldn’t.”
“He absolutely would. It’s in the brother handbook.”
Inside, the hostess led us to a corner table where Luke was already seated, scrolling through his phone. He looked up as we approached, and his face broke into a genuine smile.
“Bug! God, it’s good to see you.” He stood to hug his sister, then turned to me. “You too, Perry.”
“Twice in one week. People will talk.”
“Let them.” He gestured at the table. “I ordered a bottle of your favorite—Pinot.”
“Thanks,” she said, sliding into the booth so she was between us.
We settled into easy conversation, the kind that happens when people have years of shared history. Luke talked about his business and the stress of managing a company that had grown faster than expected.
“Trevor’s basically running the entire West Coast operation now,” he said, refilling our wineglasses. “I couldn’t do it without him. He brought in two new investors last month I haven’t even met yet. Guy’s got a gift for networking.”
“Sounds like a good partner,” I said.
“The best. Although we were supposed to go rock climbing while I’m here, but he says there’s too much work to do.” He shook his head. “Gotta keep up with Mindy’s expensive tastes, I guess.”
“Who’s Mindy?” Brenna asked.
Luke made a face. “His wife. Did you know she wanted a Hermès bag for her birthday? Thirty thousand bucks for a purse.”
“That’s insane.”
He reached for the breadbasket. “Trevor seems happy, so who am I to judge? I’d love for you both to meet him while you’re in town.”
“That would be great,” I said, wondering if I should broach the subject of Brenna and me or if she was going to. It was the one thing we should’ve talked about, but didn’t on our way here.
“If you’ve got time.” Luke set down his wineglass and studied us for a moment, his eyes tracking between Brenna and me.
I watched the exact moment recognition dawned—his gaze caught on my hand resting near Brenna’s on the table, the way she leaned toward me when she spoke, how we’d been unconsciously mirroring each other’s movements.
Luke’s eyes opened wide. “No.”
Neither of us moved.
“No way.” Luke took a drink of his wine, then refilled his glass.
“Another, sir?” the waiter asked when he passed by the table.
“Definitely. Wait. Bring us the Dalla Valle Grand Cru instead.”
“Yes, sir,” the guy said as he walked away with a big smile on his face.
I put my palm up on the table, and Brenna threaded her fingers through mine.
“Holy shit.” Luke stared at our joined hands. “You two are together.”
“Luke—” Brenna started.
“How long?”
“Since Sunday,” I said.
“Sunday. As in four days ago?”
“Technically,” Brenna added.
“Four days.” He was still staring at our hands. “And you already seem like...”
Brenna raised her chin.“Like what?”
“A couple.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Not that I didn’t see it coming.”
“You’re not upset?” Brenna asked.
He shook his head and laughed. “Upset? Mom literally called this at graduation. She said you two were inevitable; you both just needed time to figure it out.”
“She did not,” Brenna protested.
“She absolutely did. Dad bet her twenty bucks it would take less than five years. Mom said at least ten because you’re both too stubborn to see what’s right in front of you.” He picked up his wineglass and raised it in our direction. “Guess Mom wins.”
“Your parents bet on us getting together?” I asked.
“Sure did.” His expression grew more serious. “Though I’ll admit, I tried to prevent it for a while.”
“By telling me all of Atticus’ dating horror stories?”