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Bren laughs. “If I had known this was all it would take...”
I drop my head back with laughter because, really, that’s all it does take to make me this happy.
“You looked happier at seeing the empanadas than at seeing the villa,” he says with mock scorn.
I shrug, still gawking at the plate, my mouth nearly drooling. “What kind of filling are they?” I ask.
“These here are pumpkin, and these are pineapple. Though you’ll break my heart if you want the pumpkin ones.”
I laugh again. “I take it you have a preference?”
He nods, and I take one of each just to annoy him, though I’ve always been partial to pineapple ones.
I look up at his handsome, smiling face. “Thank you,” I say.
“For what?” he asks.
“For being nice to her.”
Bren lets out a long breath and hangs his head. “You shouldn’t have to thank me for that, Sofia. Can you accept that I’m trying to be better for you?”
I lean my head on his arm, taking a bite of my empanada with a wide grin. I swallow, then answer him. “Yeah, Bren. I can accept you trying to be a better man.”
After we finish breakfast, Bren announces we have to get ready.
“For what?”
“Finn is coming over this afternoon,” he says.
“Finn?”
“Yes, my friend Finn. We talked about it last night.”
That’s right. We won’t have the entire day to ourselves, and as much as that thought bothers me, I’m also looking forward to meeting one of Bren’s friends. I haven’t really gotten to know the guys from the band—and I haven’t pushed the matter, not knowing where this is going. But now that I’m entertaining the idea of more, whatever the fuck that means, it seems like a good idea to start meeting some of his friends.
* * *
When Finn joinsus at the villa and sees Bren, the two men embrace in a dude hug—the kind where they slap the other’s back. Finn says something in German I don’t understand, and Bren answers in English. “You too. It’s been too long.”
Finn wears a relaxed chambray shirt rolled at the sleeves to his elbows, revealing muscular and veiny forearms. Nearly as tall as Bren, he surpasses six feet tall. His wavy, light brown hair swoops upwardly from a side part in a purposeful bed-head style. He is clean-shaven, allowing a spectacular view of a perfectly carved jawline. Calling him handsome would be the understatement of the century, and I have to wonder if he models professionally. Or perhaps plays soccer? He certainly has the thick thighs for it.
When they break away, Finn takes his aviator glasses off his face, revealing hazel eyes, and hooks the glasses to his shirt. “Who is this?” he asks, pushing past Bren.
“This is Sofia. Sofia, this is my good friend Finn.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say and take Finn’s hand to shake it. He holds it tightly in his grip.
“You’re stunning,” he says and flashes an expert toothy grin. Oh, this man is smooth.
“And not for you,” Bren says, clasping Finn on the back, forcing him to let go of my hand.
“Though what you’re doing with this bastard here, I don’t know. When you come to your senses, please give me a call.” Finn winks at me, and I throw my head back with laughter. I know a player when I see one—I recognize my own breed.
“If you want to die,” Bren says with a glare at Finn, but his mouth upturns into a small smirk.
“Please, make yourself at home,” I say, ignoring Bren’s threats. “Will you be staying with us tonight—”
“Absolutely not,” Bren snaps before I can finish the thought.
