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My heart leaped to my throat. Who in the hell meets the parents on the first date? I had no sooner wrapped my head around dating Bryson when he throws this at me. I should have been mad, but instead, I found myself more intrigued to meet the people who raised such a kindhearted person. In the months since we’d spent the night together, I had done my fair share of googling Bryson. He wasn’t only known for being one of the best pitchers in the MLB but also for all of the charity work he did. He’d granted more Make-A-Wish wishes than any other player in the league. He’d even donated his time and money to organizations like Habitat for Humanity, breast cancer awareness, youth programs for underprivileged kids, and so much more. I was pretty sure I had fallen for him more each time I read something about him giving back.
Wait. Fallen in love with him…more?
The server snapped me out of my thoughts as she said, “Follow me, please.”
Bryson put his hand on my lower back, and I attempted to ignore the way it sent my stomach flipping.
We walked through the restaurant, and I couldn’t help but scan the faces. Hamilton was small, but it was still big enough that it wasn’t the kind of town where everyone knew everyone. Especially with all the tourists that came through. I still saw a few people I knew. No one seemed to notice who Bryson was, and I wasn’t sure why that made me sigh inwardly in relief. That was a lie. I did know. In my research of Bryson, there had been tons of pictures of him with his then girlfriend, Kennedy Owens. Most of them were formal pictures of them attending functions. Some of them were pictures of them out and about in Seattle, like going and grabbing Starbucks. Bryson always looked away from the camera, where Kennedy had seemed to love the attention. She was beautiful as well. Short blonde hair that had been cut into a bob just at her chin. Not a single picture showed the woman without makeup on. The one thing I noticed in the pictures was they never seemed to hold hands. Interestingly enough, Bryson had reached for my hand often in the past few days. Was it an agreement between them not to show public affection in front of potential cameras? It was something I was curious to ask Bryson about, but not sure how he’d feel about me asking about his longtime girlfriend. Maybe he was more relaxed out in public because he was about to retire? I stole a peek at him, and he looked nervous. I smiled. He wasn’t nervous about anyone taking his photo or recognizing him. He was nervous about meeting the parents tonight.
Looking at me, he smiled. “What?”
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
I saw my parents first. My mother wore a black-and-white dress. Her hair was down and flowed around her shoulders, and she had a smile on her beautiful face. Next to her, my father gazed at her with so much love as she spoke, I felt myself smile. I wanted someone to look at me like that. With love so obvious, everyone saw it.
When my gaze followed my mother, I nearly stumbled. Bryson’s mother and father looked at my mother with interested eyes as they listened closely to what she was saying. His father was an older version of Bryson with streaks of gray in his brown hair. He looked to be in his late forties. He clearly worked out and cared for himself, evident by his physically fit upper body. Bryson’s mom sat to his father’s right and was stunning. Her light-brown hair was curly and fell just above her shoulders. The front was pulled back into a twist giving me a clear view of her beautiful face. I couldn’t tell what color her eyes were, but the moment she turned and looked directly at me, I knew they were the same eyes as Bryson’s.
Dropping his hand from my back, Bryson walked up to his mother, leaned down, and kissed her softly on the cheek before he whispered something into her ear that made her eyes sparkle. When she looked at me, I could see the vibrant green. They were so stunning it took me a moment to return her smile.
Bryson’s father stood, hugged his son, gave him a firm slap on the back, then turned to face me. When I didn’t make a move, my father laughed.
“I see we surprised you,” my mother said as she motioned for Bryson to walk back over to me. Gently taking me by the elbow, Bryson guided me to the table.
“Rose, this is my mother and father, Greg and Anna Robinson.”
Snapping out of whatever trance I was in, I attempted to ignore the little voice in my head that screamed everything was moving entirely too fast.
