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“Wait, wasn’t your uncle in charge? Your mom is his sister, why make it so hard?”
Bree rolls her eyes.
“Because she got knocked up. He’s a sexist asshole,” she replies bitterly. “So, there wasn’t always money in my house, especially during the first few years of my life. The restaurant was in transition for a while. It takes years to adapt something familiar to high class. I got to see what it was before it turned into this, and it still feels like something is missing from it. Anyway, I have my trust fund, and I can take care of myself, but my parents taught me to value what I have and work for what I want.”
It takes some time to soak up everything that Bree explained. Her parents raised her the right way. She’s down to Earth, and I like her even more for that. It’s refreshing because Bree’s not a snob or tries to act like she’s better than everyone around her when she actually could if she wanted to.
Now I can understand more the reason why Bree despised me before she knew me. Instead of seeing my personality, she was projecting on her anger towards her uncle. Bree only saw a rich kid wanting to take advantage to get what he wanted.
“Your uncle sucks,” I tell her. “I’m sorry that you had to lose something that meant something to you.”
“I’m sorry that I turned this into a fucking downer. It was supposed to be a date, and I buried it completely,” she apologizes, sounding slightly embarrassed.
“It’s okay. We just have to make other plans for this. No fancy restaurants, what else do you have in mind?” I ask because I want to know her opinions on where we go to eat. I have plans for later.
“You still want to go out with me after this?”
I flick my tongue.
“Babe, this was a healthy exposition of arguments. I got to know more about you, and we learned something.”
Bree sighs, leaning into me, hugging me in the most uncomfortable position that we’ve ever been, but I don’t complain. My chest tightens, knowing that I want to have more experiences with her. I want to get to know who’s the real Bree behind all of her chaos. I’ve never met anyone with whom I have this much chemistry. And I know that I’m getting used to the way that we fit together, understanding each other and learning how to be a team.
“You’re too sweet, Stan,” she mentions.
“Right, right.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
After debating for a couple of minutes about where we want to go, we choose to buy food from a small restaurant that we found online and go with the flow. This one doesn’t need reservations or a wallet full of Benjamin Franklins to pay the check. Bree seems okay with our choice, and I’m more than happy with whatever she chooses.
As I drive, Bree plays around with the music from my phone, since it’s the one connected to the car. I have to admit that I like her taste in music, and I think that she’s going to enjoy what we’re going to do later. She let me know that one of her safe places had transformed, so I’m going to show her mine—at least the one that’s in here and not back home. We’ll see if I can get her to come to Florida in the future.
Fifteen minutes before we get to the restaurant, the song’s playing gets interrupted by an incoming call. From the corner of my eye, I can see Bree’s face go pale.
“It’s your mom,” she announces in a mumble, sounding so terrified that her voice ends up sounding squeaky. “Through FaceTime.”
I choke back a laugh, doing my best to remain serious because I probably had the same reaction when I met her dad.Is this my time to repay her?No, she didn’t make me meet her dad, so I don’t have tomake herhave a conversation with my mom if she doesn’t want to.
“Just ignore it,” I tell her with a slight shrug.
Mom is probably going to scold me later until I give her a reasonable excuse for not answering the phone, but I don’t want to pressure Bree to answer. If there’s an emergency, she’ll call again. Plus, who the fuck answers a phone call in the middle of a date? It’s the most disrespectful thing in the world.
“What if she calls again?” Bree immediately questions.
“Bree, it’s just my mother,” I comment in a monotonous tone, hoping that it will calm her.
“But I’ve never met your mom,” she complains, sounding like it’s torture to hear the phone ring. “What if she doesn’t like me and starts to think that the reason why you didn’t answer is that I didn’t let you?”
Oh, God.
I can’t say that I don’t understand her fear, but at the same time, it’s ridiculous. When she meets my mother—if we get there—she will realize that there’s nothing to be worried about.
“Okay, let’s put a brake on those frantic thoughts,” I cut her off, keeping my voice sweet. “I don’t think it can be worse than me meeting your dad.”
The memory still haunts me. Her dad is fucking intimidating.
“Do you want to answer?”
