She rolls her eyes again and opens the bag, pulling out the cinnamon roll, its warm, sweet scent drifting toward me and immediately making me regret my decision. “Mom was dying to be the one to tell you about the movie, you know. I had to put my foot down and insist I be the one to break the news to you.”
“Why did she want to tell me first? So she could give me a lecture about the big, bad world and how I should’ve never done that interview?” I’ve already heard it, more than once. Mom went along with my decision to talk with Lisa Swanson but I know she didn’t like it. She’s tried her best to be supportive, but after all, she’s a mother. My mother. And she wants to protect me.
Plus, she’d been trained by my father over the years to never speak of what happened to me. She’s so conditioned, she flinches if she so much as hears Aaron Monroe’s name. And when she hears my name and his together, along with words like kidnapped and raped? Forget it. She can hardly take it.
“Probably. I warned her off.” Brenna takes a sip of her drink. “I told her I wanted to do it because I also come here with ulterior motives.”
I frown, unease slipping down my spine. “What do you have up your sleeve?”
“Oh stop. I always have your best interests at heart.” She smiles and sets her drink on the coffee table, then tears into the cinnamon roll. “I have a proposition for you,” she says after she takes a bite.
“What is it?”
“I work with this guy.” I part my lips, ready to protest, and she cuts me off. “No, listen to me! He’s really sweet. His name is Greg and he’s a speech therapist for the school district. Quiet and calm and so incredibly patient with the kids, they just adore him. And he’s cute.”
“Brenna . . .”
“Stop. I think a date is in order, Katherine. You deserve a fun night involving dinner and conversation, no pressure. I told him about you.”
My jaw drops open. “What exactly did you tell him?”
“Nothing about—that, but if he wanted to find out, he could. Google exists, you know. There’s nothing we can do to prevent anyone from looking you up.”
I slump down on the couch, lean my head back against it, and stare up at the ceiling. She’s hitting me with too much information all at once. “I know you mean well, but I don’t need you setting me up on dates.”
“If I weren’t already taken, I’d go after Greg big time. He’s adorable. Twenty-six, he dresses nice, and I like his hair. He has friendly eyes.” Brenna is rambling on, not even paying attention to what I’m saying. “Look, if you’re nervous we could double-date the first time. That’ll probably help you feel more comfortable with Greg.”
She looks so hopeful and I know she means well. “I’m sure he’s a great guy and I appreciate you looking out for me, Bren, but I’m not interested.” I pause. Should I tell her? “I, uh, I’ve sort of . . . met someone.”
It’s as if Brenna didn’t even hear what I said. “Though I’m sure for your first date, while you’re getting to know each other, you don’t want us there as a third wheel. Well, third and fourth wheel—you know what I mean.” She stops talking, her eyes going wide. “Wait a minute, what did you say?”
“I met someone,” I admit again, my voice quiet, my thoughts all over the place. My heart pounds hard against my chest at the mere thought of Ethan and all of a sudden I feel like I could burst. “His name is Ethan and he’s . . . I like him.”
She stares at me as though I’ve grown three heads. “Where in the hell did you meet a guy?” she practically screams.
“Um, the day you called me? When you and Mom were tracking me?” At least my sister has the decency to look embarrassed. “I met him there. At the park.”
“In the amusement park?” Brenna squeaks out.
“Well, yeah.” I pick at a loose thread on the couch. I’m not going to tell her the circumstances that surrounded our meeting. She might freak out, or worse, tell Mom about the almost purse snatching and that’s the last thing I want to happen. “We started talking and the next thing I knew we were at a coffee shop, and it was—it was nice. He’s easy to talk to.”
Brenna looks stunned. “Give me more details. Where does he live? What does he do? How old is he?”
I give her a brief rundown, telling her we went to dinner, the movies. Leaving out the part where I ran out on him. That was a few days ago. We’ve texted off and on, nothing major, but he’s wrapping up a website project and warned me he’d be busy.
Funny how I barely know him yet I still miss him.
“I want to meet him,” she says vehemently the moment I stop talking.
“Not yet.” I shake my head. “You’ll scare him off.”
“I will not!” She appears indignant as she tears off a chunk of the cinnamon roll and shoves it in her mouth.