Bébhinn shifted by his side, clearly feeling guilty. She was very close to her whole family. He let go of her hand and wrapped a supportive arm around her back. She looked up at him and graced him with a soft smile.
“Sorry, Jon. Daniel.” She nodded to them both, acknowledging that she’d hurt their feelings, though unintentionally.
Patrick stepped up then and stuck his hand out. “Can we start this awkward fucking meet and greet over? I’m Patrick O’Faolain.”
Dagr took the offered hand immediately. “Dagr Griffiths. Thank you for having me.”
Bran stepped forward then, hand offered. “That was our wives and stepmother’s doing. Don’t get too comfortable.” His smirk softened his words, and Dagr shook his hand.
Jonathan shook his hand but had no words of encouragement or discouragement. Daniel was the last to shake his hand.
“Where did you sleep last night?" Daniel asked, dropping Dagr’s hand and stepping back to stand by his cousin.
“What the hell, Daniel. Screw off. You don’t want to start a war with me, boyo. I have too much on you, and it begins and ends with?—”
Daniel quickly cut her off by holding his palms up in surrender. “Peace.” The look he gave Dagr didn’t have a bit of amity couched in the five-letter word.
Dagr was pleased to see Daniel walk to Rowan, where she hovered just outside the group. “I love you, Aunt Row. Please tell me you truly forgive me. I would never?—”
“I know,” Rowan patted her nephew’s back. “You will show the same respect to my daughter and her boyfriend.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” Daniel agreed. Hesitantly.
Lunch had not been so much a pleasure as it had been a practice of endurance. Not to say that there weren’t some good moments. The sisters were hysterical even when they didn’t mean to be. He did notice that even though Rowan participated she held some of herself back.
Perhaps the highlight of the meal was when River asked Dagr if he liked sourdough bread.
“I do. My mother used to make it for me and Dad.”
“Raven makes it for us. She has her own starter.”
“River,” Bran growled.
That got Dagr’s attention. Bran’s face was turning a brilliant shade of crimson. River was definitely trying to start some shit.
“I do.” Raven smiled tenderly at her husband. “Bran is the one who started it for me before we were married as a present. Besides having our son, it’s always been my favorite gift.”
Dagr couldn’t help himself. “Bran sounds like he must be incredibly romantic.”
“Yes. Always,” Raven sighed as River and Rowan chuckled behind their napkins.
For his part, Bran glared daggers across the table. It had been challenging for Dagr to keep his smile contained. Bébhinn didn’t bother hiding hers.
Now that lunch was over, they were back downstairs, everyone saying their goodbyes, when River asked, “Does your father have white hair?”
“Christ, babe,” Patrick grumbled. “Leave it already. We aren’t flipping related.”
Dagr agreed with Patrick, but he answered anyway. “He does. We look very similar.”
“And his parents?” Now, Raven was playing inspector.
Bébhinn looked at him with wide eyes and a barely contained smirk. She knew what he was about to admit would only encourage her aunts.
“No. They adopted Dad when he was an infant.” Gasps and an “Oh my,” and an “I knew it” from River followed that announcement.
“Come on, guys,” Bébhinn chided. “Surely you don’t believe that I went on a hike and met the son of Bran and Pat’s long-lost brother!”
Rowan shocked everyone when she added her voice to the conversation. “Well,” she hesitated as everyone stopped speaking and turned to her, “I watched all the men during lunch, and they do have certain…similar mannerisms.”
