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Typical Brenda. No call. No text. It was still all about her. Cullen managed to commandeer the conversation long enough to introduce Brenda to his friends.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I caught your last name,” he said to Dorenda.
“Parks,” she said. “Dorenda Parks.”
“Dorenda Parks, this is Brenda Byrd. Brenda, this is Dorenda.”
“Dorenda and Brenda,” Jake said. “You’re practically twins.”
Brenda eyed Miss Texas dubiously. “Nice to meet you.” Her tone was cool.
“What would you like to drink, Brenda?” Jake asked.
“Nothing, thanks. I’m sure Cullen is starving. Why don’t we go see if our table is ready?”
“She gets cranky when she’s hungry,” Cullen tried to joke, hoping to cover for her brusqueness.
“I’m not cranky,” she said. “I was only thinking of you.”
This was going nowhere fast. “I think we’d better go see if they’re still holding our reservation.”
Brenda was busy checking her phone and didn’t seem to hear Cullen’s attempt to cover for her aloofness. Or maybe she did and just didn’t care. That was entirely possible. This detachment had been a factor in why they had divorced. She was a hell of a doctor, but she still lacked charm and bedside manner unless she chose to turn it on.
Since they were so late, they’d lost the reservation, but after Cullen primed the hostess with a twenty, she remembered she had a table in the back and seated them immediately.
“How did your emergency turn out yesterday?” Brenda asked once they were settled at the table.
Cullen glanced at her over the top of the wine list. “Everything is fine. Do you want red or white?” Everything wasn’t fine, but he didn’t want to talk about it.
“I don’t know. It will depend on what I order.”
The server came with a basket of bread and took their drink orders—chardonnay for Brenda, merlot for him. She promised to take their dinner order when she returned.
“Actually I need to be home by ten,” Cullen said.
“Curfew?” She smiled and arched a brow before she sipped her water.
“Babysitter.”
She choked and then wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin.
“Excuse me? Did you say babysitter?”
“I did. Although she’s more of a nanny than a babysitter, and the kids would take issue with me saying they were being babysat.”
Brenda leaned forward, her jaw slack. “Whoa. Whoa, back up. Kids. As in plural? Who are old enough to object to being babysat?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Oh, okay. I get it. You’re joking, aren’t you? Very funny, Cullen. You almost had me there.”
“I’m not joking, Brenda.” He raised his right hand. “Honest. I have four kids, ages five to ten, living with me.”
“But they’re not yours,” she said. “You couldn’t have a ten-year-old. We were married then.”
It was a strange feeling the way he wanted to object to her statement that they weren’t his. “Obviously we have a lot of catching up to do,” Brenda said. “Where did these kids come from?”
Cullen picked up his water glass and took a sip. “Do you remember when I introduced you to Greg Thomas, my best friend growing up?”
She looked up from the menu. “Oh, right. He and his wife came to visit right after you and I started dating. They drove that little blue convertible.”
“Yes, he’s the one.”
He told her about Greg’s accident, how he’d promised Megan she could call him if she and her siblings ever needed anything, and how she’d held him to that promise when the adoptive family Greg and Rosa had secured fell through.
“I’m sorry, Cullen. I know Greg was a good friend. That must’ve been difficult for you. But I have to say, four kids? What are you going to do?”
Cullen shook his head. “I’m trying to figure it out, but right now I just don’t see any other choice but to find them a family that will adopt them. I have a family-law attorney working on it. I won’t let them be split up. I refuse to let them get swept up by the foster-care system.”
