Laughing, Raven whispered, “No, you won’t.”
Her shoulders shaking with mirth, she kissed his mouth briefly— way too brief.
“Tonight, Bran.”
Following Raven inside, Bran adjusted his hard-on into a less painful position and untucked his button-up, draping the bottom half of the shirt over his dick.
When he entered the dining room, everyone was seated. His brother got to Raven first and pushed her chair in. Her smile was wide as she met his eyes.
“Jesus, Bran. I thought we were supposed to dress for dinner. I must say, I’m not loving the untucked, wrinkled look.”
He saw his dad duck his head to hide a smile. James laughed straight at him. The girls all blushed.
“Dad, honestly, you should have stopped having children after me.” As he walked behind Raven’s chair to kiss her cheek before taking his own seat, he childishly flicked the back of his brother’s head. His howl of pain was satisfying. As was their father telling Patrick to sit back in his chair when he was about to jump up to go after Bran.
“Patrick. Sit. You deserved that and more, I’m sure.”
His father sat at the head of the table. Patrick to his left, River across from him. Bran was next to River and across from Raven. Jo was on Raven’s left, Rowan on his right, with James taking the end opposite Dad. Any more people, they’d have to add in the extra table leaves.
The food was delicious.The chef had prepared several starters. Salad, crab cakes, chilled oysters and shrimp, and whole loaves of sourdough bread were placed up and down the table. The chef brought those out personally to tell them he used his four-year-old starter to make them.
The Byrnes all oohed and aahed— they said that they wondered at the bread’s exceptional flavor and that it rivaled their own Nan’s, who’d always kept a starter as her mother had. The chef’s cheeks turned pink before he went back to the kitchen.
Bran could understand how overwhelming it was to have the Byrne’s undivided attention. He could barely handle one.
Jo leaned over to ask Rowan what ‘his own starter’ was about. Bran listened to the explanation. Supposedly, it was an honor that the chef used his private starter for their breadtonight. That one had to cultivate the starter, caring for it like a child. For years. If a person ever gifted another baker with some of that well-tended starter, especially the older batches, it was considered a gift without measure.
Bran noticed the men practically ate a whole loaf to themselves while the women nibbled slowly on a small slice. If Bran were a woman, he’d still eat a whole damn loaf and buy a bigger dress if he had to.
Bran heard his phone vibrate a few times. Probably a text or email notification. He flicked the side toggle to silence it until dinner was over. The main courses were coming out, and work could wait.
Raven was enjoying the evening.The food was amazing— the company was better. There always seemed to be laughter with this crew. She loved them all, truly. She was glad Patrick had interrupted her and Bran earlier, or she would have missed out. Smiling into her crystal tumbler of Bushmills, she admitted, she probably would have enjoyed that version of the evening too.
Bran noticed her smile and mouthed, “Tonight.”
Raven noticed Patrick starting to open his mouth, but Hugh placed a hand on his younger son’s arm. She also saw Hugh and Patrick share a smile and a laugh. They all enjoyed the game of picking on one another. Bran enjoyed it, too, even though he grumbled. She and her siblings were the same.
Raven watched as Patrick’s attention was snagged on her youngest sister. Sitting back to see what was behind Bran’s brother’s wicked smile. Rowan noticed she held Pat’s attention and looked at him curiously. Patrick smiled at Rowan, and she smiled back.
“Rowan, that’s a beautiful yellow dress you’re wearing tonight.”
Patrick’s eyes were sparkling way too much tonotbe up to something.
Rowan smoothed her hand lightly down the front. “Oh, thanks Pat. It’s one of my favorites.”
“Aah, that’s right.” Acting as though a thought just came to him. “You were wearing it when we first met.”
Dawning horror started to turn her sister’s cheeks pink. River was already hiding her laugh behind her linen napkin.
“I only wondered what you are wearing under?—”
Patrick’s hijinks were cut short by Hugh tipping his son’s chair back. Patrick had to stop speaking to save himself from falling to the floor.
“Patrick!” Jo yelled. “Why in the hell are you asking Row something like that? You are such a shit!”
Most of the table couldn’t cover up their laughter. Patrick’s comment may have been the tinder, but Jo’s scolding was the lighter. Everyone burst out laughing. Even Hugh glanced at Rowan and chuckled. She smiled back at the older O’Faolain.
Finding her gumption, Rowan shook her finger at Patrick across the table. “You tellthatstory, atthisdinner table, and I can promise Patrick O’Faolain, you will wake up missing some of your favorite body parts.”
