Baby With My Brother’s Broken Friend

1. Avery

Chapter one

Avery

The car door swings open, and the sound of rain pounding against the pavement fills the air like a relentless drumbeat.

I glance at my phone one last time, shielding the screen from the downpour as water sneaks onto the glass anyway. The text glares back at me: “The Greek restaurant on Oak Grove Road, Westhaven.”

Perfect. Oak Grove Road. Got it.

I shove my phone back into my bag, already regretting every decision that led me to this moment. Cassy, with her unrelenting enthusiasm for forcing me out of my comfort zone, owes me big. “It’ll be fun,” she had said. Fun, my ass.

The second I step out of the Uber, my foot lands in an ankle-deep puddle. Cold water seeps through my boot, and my coat instantly feels like it weighs ten pounds as the rain pelts me from every direction. The driver barely waits for me to slam the door before speeding off into the storm. Great.

I squint through the rain, my soaked hair sticking to my face, and spot the glowing sign ahead: “The Athena.” It’s Greek, and it’s on Oak Grove Road, so… this must be it.

Just as I make my dash across the sidewalk, a car flies past, spraying a tidal wave of filthy water right at me. It soaks what little part of me was still dry.

Fabulous!

The wind howls, tugging at my coat as I reach the restaurant. A small sign in the window reads: “Exciting Events Held Regularly!”

Without giving it much thought, I push open the heavy wooden door and rush inside, immediately hit by the warmth and the smell of garlic and oregano.

Relief. Sweet, wonderful relief. Except, as I take a glance around, something feels... off.

The room is dimly lit, almost romantically so, with candles flickering on the tables. It’s quiet—too quiet—and completely empty, except for one table near the back where a man sits alone.

I’m soaked to the bone, water dripping from my coat and hair, leaving little puddles on the floor as I move. My teeth are nearly chattering, but at least I’ve found the right place.

I’ve never been to a speed dating event, so maybe this is how it works. Small. Intimate. Fine.

The man looks up from his phone as I approach.

He’s unbelievably good-looking in that frustratingly effortless way—designer suit, jet-black hair, dark stubble on a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, a deep cleft in his chin, and piercing emerald eyes that immediately pin me in place.

But the look on his face? Not friendly. Not remotely.

I pull out the chair across from him and sit down, trying to gather what little dignity I have left.

He raises an eyebrow, and what looks like confusion quickly morphs into something closer to irritation. “Yes?” His tone is clipped.

My cheeks burn as I swipe at my face, smearing more water than I actually remove. “And what... uh?” I stammer, my voice rising before I can stop it. “That’s supposed to impress me, is it?”

His brow furrows deeper, and he leans back, staring at me like I’m a puzzle he has no interest in solving. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Then it hits me. My heart nearly stops as I really look at him. The man sitting across from me isn’t some random stranger. Fuck... it’s Gray. My brother’s old best friend. The same Gray who starred in every single one of my teenage fantasies.

I suddenly remember how he used to tease me when I was fifteen, calling me “Squirt” and stealing my snacks just because he could. And oh, how I’d blush and stammer, too mortified to tell him off properly.

But he doesn’t recognize me.

The realization sends a fresh wave of humiliation crashing over me. My stomach twists, my pulse spikes, and my dignity crumples into a sad little heap.

“Oh… uh…” I mutter, fumbling to say something coherent. “Sorry. I… thought—never mind.” My words are a mess, and I’m pretty sure my face is the same shade as a tomato.

Gray’s frown deepens, and just as the waiter reaches the table, I bolt like a bat out of hell. I push past the door, back into the rain, and pull out my phone with shaking hands.

Cassy answers on the first ring, her voice full of chatter and noise in the background. “Where the hell are you? I’m here at the Greek restaurant!”

“What? I was at the Greek restaurant!” I shout into the phone, the rain splattering against my face and soaking my phone screen.

There’s a pause before she says, “Oh… oops. I meant the Greek Tavern. I think it’s three doors down.” Her voice is sheepish, almost amused.

I hang up, standing in the rain like a drenched idiot. Three doors down. Of course.

Muttering curses under my breath, I trudge along the sidewalk, my once-perfect outfit now plastered to my skin. By the time I reach the third door, my shoes squelch with every step, and my mood is somewhere between murderous and resigned.

There it is—'The Greek Taverna’. A cozy, slightly battered wooden sign hangs above the entrance, the paint faded but still legible. “Speed Dating Every Wednesday Night at 7,” it declares in bold, hopeful letters.

Well, this must definitely be the place.

As I approach, the sound of lively Greek bouzouki music and overlapping voices spills out, muffled but unmistakable. It’s warm, loud, and chaotic—exactly what you’d expect from a place promising speed dating as a mid-week attraction.

I push the door open, and the noise hits me in full force. Plates clatter, people laugh, and someone shouts something that sounds vaguely Greek but might also just be very enthusiastic swearing.

The warm, savory smell of grilled meat and garlic is instantly comforting, though it does absolutely nothing to improve my mood.

I step inside, shaking the rain from my coat, and scan the room. Cassy is nowhere in sight, of course, because why would she be? My phone buzzes in my hand, and I glance at the screen.

“I’m in the back by the bar!” her text reads, complete with an obnoxiously cheery winking emoji.

Rolling my eyes, I wade deeper into the crowd, my wet shoes slipping slightly on the floor. A few heads turn to glance at me, their expressions varying from polite curiosity to outright interest.

One guy at a table gives me a cocky grin and raises his glass in a silent toast. Not tonight, buddy. I flash him a tight smile that probably looks more like a grimace.

By the time I spot Cassy at the bar, she’s already two drinks in, waving at me like she hasn’t just subjected me to an Olympic-level sprint through the rain.

“Finally!” she exclaims, grinning as I stomp up to her, dripping and scowling. “You made it!”

“Barely,” I slam my phone onto the bar and peel my coat off. “You owe me a drink. Actually, you owe me a whole bottle of wine.”

She laughs, completely unbothered by my damp fury, and shoves a cocktail toward me. “Here. It’s on me. Now, let’s get you signed in and a hot Greek guy to dry you off.”

I groan, but I take the drink, downing it in one big gulp. The sweet burn of alcohol warms me from the inside out, though it does absolutely nothing for the rainwater still clinging to me. “If this doesn’t work out, I’m blaming you,” I mutter, slamming the empty glass on the bar.

Cassy just grins, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You’re already blaming me. Let’s go.” She grabs my arm and steers me toward the front of the bar.

As we pass through the main area, she snorts, shaking her head. “I still can’t believe you went to the wrong place."

"Uh? Sorry, you said Greek restaurant," I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out of my head. That is when the image of Gray flashes through my mind.

Cassy cackles, totally unapologetic, as we approach a small folding table set up near the entrance. A woman who looks like she’s been organizing events since the dawn of time sits behind it, her reading glasses perched low on her nose.

A clipboard and a stack of name tags are spread out in front of her, along with a sign that reads 'SPEED DATING REGISTRATION – $20'.

“Hi, there!” the woman chirps, looking up. “Are you here to register for speed dating?”

Before I can knock out a snarky remark, Cassy cuts in. “She is. Cassy shoves me forward like a sacrificial lamb. I glare at her over my shoulder before reluctantly pulling out my wallet.

“Name?” The woman’s pen is now poised over the clipboard.

“Avery Bennett,” I mumble, handing her a twenty.

She writes it down, then gives me a sticker with my name scrawled on it in blue ink. It’s crooked. Great, even the sticker doesn’t want to be here. “Stick this on. The rules are simple—five-minute rounds, then you rotate when the bell rings. Be friendly, be open, and most importantly, have fun!”

“Sure,” I reply flatly, peeling the backing off the name tag and slapping it onto my chest. Fun. Right. That’s exactly what this feels like.

Cassy claps her hands together. “Alright, let’s scope out the competition.”

I follow her into the main part of the bar, where several tables are set up with pairs of people already sitting across from each other.

It’s like a bizarre cross between a romantic comedy and an interrogation room.

Some couples are laughing and chatting like they’re old friends.

Others look like they’d rather be anywhere else, and one guy is staring so hard at the woman in front of him that I’m worried her head might actually explode.

“I don’t know about this,” I whisper, scanning the room. The tables are small, covered with cheap white tablecloths, and there’s a single candle flickering at the center of each. It’s cozy in a way that screams, ‘We tried, but not too hard’.

“Oh, relax,” Cassy says, nudging me. “Look at them! You’ve got this in the bag.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Really? Because the guy over there is wearing socks with sandals, and I’m pretty sure that guy just asked his date if pineapple belongs on pizza. Spoiler: who cares?”

She laughs and hooks her arm through mine. “Stop being so judgy. Just sit down, smile, and if the guy isn't a sexy hunk, then just keep your mouth shut and wait for the timer to go off. Easy.”