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“Come on, Brontosaurus.” Hunter tugged her into a seat next to him. “I’m starving.”
“So, you’re from Los Angeles, Chris?” Fitz asked as he dug into the asparagus.
“Not originally, no. I’m from Indiana.”
“Oh, yeah?” Her dad bristled when her mom took the butter dish out of his hands before turning back to Chris. “Where in Indiana? I have a cousin in Indianapolis.”
“I’m from Fort Wayne.”
Fitz intercepted Matty’s cup before juice spilled all over the table, his eyes focused on Chris. “What are you doing over here?”
Bronte dared not to turn to the opposite end of the table as she forked some salad onto her plate, her cheeks heating up from the glances she knew Chris threw at her.
“Just…getting away for a while.”
“Who’d want to get away from LA?” Hunter said. “Big city, nice weather, beautiful people, bet it’s amazing.”
“Not always,” Chris said.
Hunter let out a skeptical huff, one that always irritated Bronte. She chanced a look up, her eyes locking on Chris’s. His gaze wavered between her and her boyfriend before finally settling back on Bronte, heavy yet guarded.
Tommy, thankfully, called Chris’s eyes away with a question. “What do you do?”
Chris shifted in his seat and fidgeted with his napkin. “I’m, um, in the entertainment industry.”
“You seem kind of familiar,” Amanda said, trying to settle Luke.
Shelley pointed her fork in Chris’s direction. “Yeah, you do.”
Chris shook his head, yanking his hat lower, clearly uncomfortable. Bronte knew how uncomfortable it was to be under scrutiny by the whole family.
“Do you know anybody famous?” Shelley asked excitedly.
Pattie thumped her water glass on the table. “Shell, come on. Not everyone who lives in California is famous.”
Steven rapped his knuckles on the table twice. “Let’s forget about the Hollinger Inquisition for now and let Chris eat, shall we? Caleb, tell everybody about your soccer game today.”
And like that, said inquisition was over. The conversation never ended, though, as everyone spoke over one another, chatting about school, Halloween costumes, the overgrown rosebushes, pumpkin picking, and the new swing set Grampy put up at the back of the yard.
“Bean, remember when you broke your arm?” Fitz asked, elbowing Matty. “Ask Aunt Bean how she broke her arm.”
“Aunt Bean, how you bweak ya awm?”
Bronte leaned over as if imparting a secret to him. “I was on the swing, and your daddy pushed me.”
Fitz slapped the table with a guffaw. “Liar.”
“You definitely pushed me.”
“I did not. You jumped off.”
“You convinced me I could fly, and Shelley counted to three—” Bronte glanced at her sister for backup, but she only sipped at her water. The traitor. “—but before she got to three, you pushed me off.”
“You did have a vivid imagination, Beanie Baby,” her father piped up. “I remember you spent an entire day in the tub one time, thinking it would make you a mermaid.”
“Never did work,” she said as Zoe climbed into her lap.
“Aunt Bean, I’m a mermaid.”
