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“What?” I questioned her when she made no move to speak.
Shaking her head, she attempted to brush off whatever thought she’d had and swallowed a bite of her chicken. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just that, my mom always used to ask me that question when I was younger.”
I lifted a forkful of rice pilaf to my mouth. “What do you mean?”
“Every birthday, she’d ask me if I felt older,” Rhea shared. “Sadly, I don’t think I ever felt the difference. Well, other than maybe when I was old enough to finally go for my driving test. Other than that, it’s always felt the same, even if I can now look back and say I’m a completely different woman than I was when I was eighteen.”
I couldn’t say I didn’t understand that sentiment. “That makes sense.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Well, you know how old I am,” she declared. “I think it’s only fair you share that same information in return.”
Fair.
Until she said that word, it hadn’t really dawned on me. Maybe this particular conversation wasn’t groundbreaking, but that single word had me thinking about every interaction we’d had from the start.
And if one thing had been made clear to me the day I walked into The Sweet Landing and introduced myself to her, it was that Rhea believed whatever Westwood’s planned to do would result in her family getting the short end of the stick.
Hell, even in her inebriated state last night, she refused to agree to have dinner with me until I acted upon her request and danced with her.
While it was possible I was reading too much into things, I didn’t think it would be unwise to keep this nugget of information lingering in the back of my mind.
Smiling at her, I shared, “I’m twenty-eight.”
“Just turned twenty-eight, or soon-to-be twenty-nine?” she pressed.
“Right in the middle. My birthday is on September 18th,” I told her.
“I see. And do you intend to celebrate like I did with a night out with your friends, eating, drinking, and dancing?” Rhea asked.
I felt like I was even luckier than I originally thought. Because where I expected some form of interest from her, mostly as a courtesy to having a conversation with another person, that question made me believe she might have had a bit more interest in me than she’d let on to this point.
Letting out a laugh, I replied, “I guess there was a time when I would have done that, but not for the last couple of years.”
She seemed surprised by my response and halted the movement of her fork to her mouth. “Oh?”
“If it’s a workday, I go to work. And if it’s the weekend, I stick to my normal routine. As for celebrating, I typically just do whatever my family plans, and my friends will stop by for that.”
Her brows knit together. “Your family plans birthday parties for you?”
“Well, they don’t plan multiple birthday parties for me in the same year, but yes, that’s how it typically goes in the Westwood family,” I confirmed. “If there’s one thing we struggle with, it’s doing things small. And any opportunity that arises that allows for a big celebration will not be missed.”
“That sounds like fun.”
I nodded and reached for my water. After taking a sip, I confirmed, “It is. But it’s not for the faint of heart, because it doesn’t just stop at all the birthdays. My family will use any excuse to throw a party. Holidays are a big deal, too.”
“It can’t be that bad. A couple of birthdays and a few holidays,” Rhea reasoned.
“A couple? We’ve got my parents, my three brothers, my two sisters, my grandparents, my aunt, her husband, and their five kids,” I divulged.
Rhea’s eyes nearly fell out of her head. “Are you joking?”
“Nope.”
“Are you the oldest?”
