Chapter 21 #2
“I swear to God, Madden, if you don’t stop, I’m going to throw a temper tantrum.
” He gives me a deadpan look like my threat doesn’t faze him, and I stamp my foot in irritation.
I don’t know what it is about my brothers, but the second I’m around them, I revert from a full-grown adult back into the nine-year-old girl who was easily teased and taunted by her older brothers.
It’s a phenomenon that someone should study.
“If asking a few simple questions freaks him out enough to scare him off, he’s never going to work,” Jesse says with a shrug.
“For whom? You or me? I didn’t realize you also needed to have a relationship with my boyfriend.” Even saying the word brings a blush to my cheeks.
Madden opens his mouth to argue, but then Adam’s warm hand is on my hip, pulling me back against his chest. Immediately, a wave of calm moves over me, and no one in the room misses the move. Even Mom lets a little squeak out, though an excited grin accompanies hers.
“Ask away, I have nothing to hide. If I had a little sister as gorgeous and kind as Wren, I’d be doing the same thing,” Adam says, and when I look over my shoulder, he has a sincere look on his face. That warmth settles in my chest, and I fight back a girly sigh.
A long moment of silence passes, and I hold my breath waiting for Madden and Jesse to jump on his open opportunity, but Jesse looks at Madden and shrugs. That’s when I realize we passed the first test, and I can possibly relax a bit.
“All right, you two, give your sister a break. Everyone, sit and eat,” my dad says, walking into the kitchen.
“I guess we’re having brunch?” I murmur with apology in my voice at him.
He shrugs, then puts a hand to my lower back, guiding me toward the set table.
I should have known when I texted Mom this morning to tell her we were stopping by before the farm opened to get a tree that she would put something together, but I thought since I hadn’t given her much time, I was safe. I should have known better.
I am her daughter, after all.
I can’t think about that too long because Jesse’s eleven-year-old daughter walks in, giving me a huge hug. I try not to focus on how big she’s getting, already up to my chest. She was born when Jesse was barely twenty-one and I was just fifteen.
“Aunt Wren,” she says, stepping back with a grin that looks so much like my brother.
“Hey, girl, how’s it going?”
“Good. Sixth grade is a piece of cake.”
I grin at her, then watch as she moves to the kitchen table with practiced ease. Jesse has a small house on the property where he and Emma live, so she spends a lot of time at my parents’ place.
“Well, you gotta pay attention. I’ve been telling Mrs. Taylor you were a star student when you were in my class, and I don’t want her to think I was just playing favorites.” She slides into her chair at the table and gives me a look filled with sass and attitude.
“But I am your favorite.” I sigh in exasperation, then turn to Adam, who is close behind me.
Mom sets platters of bacon and eggs, along with the cinnamon rolls, on the table, then gestures toward the table. “Come on, sit down, you two.” Before we can move, though, my dad steps closer and puts out a hand, giving him a surprisingly kind look.
“Adam, I’m Pete, Wren’s dad. Good to have you here.
” Adam takes the offered hand and shakes it, and a mix of confusion and relief floods me when I note it’s not aggressive like Madden and Jesse’s.
Then he moves to sit at the head of the table before pointing at the cinnamon rolls.
“Jess, send me over those rolls, will you?”
Madden looks at our dad, aghast, but Jesse grabs a platter and hands it to Dad without hesitation. I catch Mom’s eye, and she winks at me, and somehow, someway, I know this conversation is done and we’ve survived. I give her a grateful smile.
The rest of the unexpected brunch goes well, with Emma chattering along nearly the whole time, asking a million random questions to Adam—“What do you like better, unicorns or mermaids?” or “Do you think cats are better than dogs?”—and filling me in on all of the sixth-grade drama.
Well, that is, until I feel it happening.
I’m listening to Emma explain to Adam why his answer—that he would rather fly than speak to animals—is absolutely wrong when I hear my dad and brothers talking at the other side of the table.
“The wreaths gotta be brought down to the senior center. I told Maude I’d get them to her on Thursday, but I’m going to have to be here to receive a shipment at that time.”
“Can you drop them on Friday instead?” Madden asks, and Dad shakes his head.
“No, the volunteers are only there on Thursday afternoon.”
He’s right; I know this because I coordinated those volunteers, which was my first attempt to improve at delegating some of the holiday decoration tasks.
The senior center is located next to the community center.
Since the holiday festival is taking place at the community center, I would like to add extra decorations to the surrounding buildings.
The volunteers are supposed to add the wreaths donated by my parents to as many doors as possible on Thursday afternoon.
“Well, Wren can probably do it on a different day, right? Send her home with them, and she can hang them tomorrow or Monday,” Madden says.
I fight back my urge to glare at him, and my shoulders go tight.
They ease a little when Adam reaches over, placing a hand on my knee.
Just his touch is enough to calm my racing mind.
All eyes at the table turn to me, and my heart starts to race.
The thing is, I could do it. I could go home with them today and try to pencil in some time in the next day or two to head downtown and hang them myself.
I won’t be able to do it tomorrow since I’m supposed to spend most of the day at school, setting up for the big Polar Express party I volunteered to head.
However, maybe Monday morning before school, I could fit it in.
But the gnawing and uncomfortable fact is that I don’t want to. I don’t want to rush and try to fit this errand into my already busy week. And I don’t like how that’s sitting with me, the one who would usually jump at any opportunity to help.
Does that make me a bad person? Am I a bad sister or daughter if I don’t want to pitch in?
Relief washes through me when my mom speaks up, though, easing my own concerns.
“I’m sure Wren has enough on her plate right now, with the decorating committee and whatnot. You remember how busy Grandma always was, and she was a lot better at delegating.” My mom gives me a stern look I hope Adam misses, but I return her look with gratitude all the same.
“She always has time to help out,” Madden says, and my jaw goes tight. “How long could it really take to drop off some wreaths?”
“Or you could do it yourself,” Mom starts, giving him what I know from experience to be a cutting glare.
“I’m busy! I’m just saying she’s always free to help out.”
“Madden King, I—”
“I can just—” I start, wanting to end this before it becomes a real issue. But before I can, a new voice joins the mini argument, silencing everyone.
“Wren’s busy; she can’t do it. The woman barely goes to sleep each night as it is, trying to do everything herself.”
The glare Madden throws toward me and Adam has me opening my mouth, but again, I’m stopped.
“But I can help.”
I turn to look at Adam with wide, shocked eyes, but he keeps his gaze locked on my father. His hand does tighten on my leg, though, in what I think is supposed to be reassurance.
“I’ve got nothing going on next week. I can come here on Thursday, pick up the wreaths, and deliver them.
You can give me directions, right?” Finally, he turns to me, and I see a command to accept this written across his handsome face.
He expects me to argue, to tell him I’ll just do it myself, but all I feel is genuine relief and utter gratitude.
Not only did he stand up to my brother for me, but he’s also creating a solution that lets me feel guilt-free and doesn’t require me to do it myself.
He’s perfect.
Absolutely perfect for me.
“Uh, yeah,” I say, a blush burning on my cheeks with everyone’s gaze locked on me. “I can do that.”
Silence fills the room before Mom breaks it, leaning in on my other side. “Oh, I like him, Wren. Keep this one around,” she says in an ill-disguised stage whisper.
Madden continues to stare at me pensively while Jesse looks on, clearly entertained. Emma takes the opportunity of everyone being distracted to reach for another sugary cinnamon roll, but I don’t stop her.
Madden looks at Dad, then Adam, with a tight jaw, clearly annoyed that someone is stepping in and countering him.
He opens his mouth, and my stomach turns, knowing my brother, who is barely two years older than me and always the one to clash with me the most, is about to poke a bear. That is, until Dad speaks up.
“Adam, if you ever have some free time, we’d be grateful if you could offer some time,” he says in that my word is final way, and stares at Madden meaningfully.
“I’ve got a truck. Would that work? I don’t want to take Wren’s car because it looks like it’s on its last leg as it is.”
That’s all that is needed to break the discomfort hanging in the air. I turn to Adam, aghast.
“Excuse me, Bessie and I have a long, healthy relationship.”
“That you should end,” Adam retorts quickly with a slight tilt of his lips.
“Excuse me!” I stare with wide eyes at him, and his smirk turns into a grin.
“That thing is a death trap,” he says.
“I’ve been saying that for years,” Madden says begrudgingly. When I look at him, his irritated glare has turned into begrudging approval. “Maybe you can convince her to upgrade.”
I see calculation in Adam’s eyes, and considering I’m pretty sure he’s loaded, I don’t think buying Wren a new car is entirely out of the question.
We need a distraction.
“Okay, on that note,” I say, standing up, eager to get out of here. “Adam and I have a tree to pick out. Thanks for brunch, Mom, it was great, even if it was an ambush.”
Mom smiles without a hint of remorse on her face before she looks at Adam, who has also stood and is holding his plate awkwardly, clearly unsure of what to do with it.
“Leave it, honey, the boys will clean up,” Mom says with a wave of her hand.
“Mom—” Madden begins to whine.
“You’ve been nothing but rude to our guest, so it’s the least you can do.”
Madden glares at Mom, and I’m pretty sure Dad kicks him under the table, giving him the be good for your mother look, and despite him being almost thirty, he sighs and shuts his mouth.
I give him a faux sweet smirk before sticking my tongue out at him.
He scratches the side of his nose with his middle finger before Jesse speaks, probably trying to keep all of us out of trouble, as is his way.
“Yeah, don’t worry about it, we’ve got it. Nice meeting you, Adam,” Jesse says.
Then, before anyone can say anything else, I grab Adam’s hand and drag him out the front door.