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I’m still giggling from the roller-derby thing as we walk away. The expression on Brock’s face when I came out with that was something to behold. He looked like a weird combination of amused, confused, and horrified. His aunt and uncle weren’t far off that either.
The mental picture of muscled, serious, intense Brock scooting around on hot, pink roller skates just won’t leave my head, and it’s cracking me up, big time.
Brock doesn’t look like he appreciates the joke quite so much, though. He’s stone-faced and silent as he grips my hand just a little too tight as if he’s afraid I’ll run around and tell his entire family he also freelances as a clown at the local circus.
All of a sudden, Brock stops and lets out a little groan.
I follow his gaze and see an older couple bustling through the crowds toward us, big smiles lighting up their faces. They have to be his parents—the family resemblance is striking.
“Brock, darling!” his mom beams. “We’re so happy you came! Aren’t we, Art?”
His dad sort of grunts, non-committal. He mumbles something about “rather be at home.” He looks like he wants to be here about as much as Brock does.
Well, I can see where Brock gets that side of his personality from.
“Mom, Dad, this is Nina,” Brock says. “She’s my fiancée. We, uh . . . got engaged recently.”
His parents are shocked silent for a moment, jaws agape. Even his dad looks wide awake now.
His Mom recovers first, sweeping me into a great big hug then planting a kiss on my cheek. “Well, don’t you look gorgeous, Nina.”
“Thank you,” I say.
She rounds on Brock. “What are you doing, getting engaged without us ever meeting Nina? Honestly, Brock, I can’t understand you sometimes. Poor Nina probably thinks you’ve been hiding her from us.”
Brock opens his mouth to speak, but I cut in.
“It’s been a bit of a whirlwind romance,” I say with a smile. “We’ve barely had a chance to get to know each other, let alone meet the family.”
“Our Brock has always had a good eye for girls,” Art says, eyes twinkling as he gives me a hug of his own. “I’m glad to see he’s still got his dad’s good taste.”
I blush before his Mom frowns and bats at her husband’s arm.
“Shush, Art, scaring the poor girl like that. She doesn’t want you slobbering all over her.”
“I’m not slobbering, Barb,” he says. “I’m appreciating. There’s a difference.”
She rolls her eyes at him then puts a protective arm around my shoulder. “Now, we need to make up for lost time; don’t we, petal? Say, we’re going away next weekend to the lake house at Grand Lake. Why don’t you come along?”
“Great idea,” says Art. “It’s beautiful up there. Isn’t it, Brock?”
Brock nods, looking distinctly uncomfortable with the way this conversation is panning out.
“That sounds wonderful,” I say, “but next weekend is no good for me, unfortunately. I’ve got plans that I really can’t change.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Barb says. “We’re retired; we can go anytime. When are you free, sweetheart? Next week? The week after? Let us know. We absolutely must get to know the newest member of the family.”
I look up at Brock, but he just shrugs.
Well, if you’re going to be like that, I’m going to accept the offer of a free holiday, Mr. Grumpy. Sorry, not sorry.
“The week after next sounds lovely,” I find myself saying.
“Great,” Art says. “Can’t wait. I used to take Brock up there when he was little. Once, we were fishing, and he fell right into the water. He got his pants snagged on some weeds and ended up naked with the fish nibbling at his little worm. Remember, Barb?”
“Oh, I remember it so well,” she says, laughing so hard she’s running out of breath. “Brock was always such a serious little child. I’ll never forget the expression on his face when we eventually hauled him, butt naked, out of the water. Like a grumpy, old man trapped in a little kid’s body.”
“I’m not sure he’s changed all that much in the years since,” I say, laughing along with them, thoroughly enjoying myself. “I like to call him Creepy Old Man—it’s one of my pet names for him.”
Brock clears his throat and not-so-subtly kicks my shin. He’s probably regretting getting me to do this for him now, but I’m having the time of my life.
His parents and I chit-chat for a little while longer while he stands there stone-faced, looking like he’d rather be anywhere except here.
Art and Barb eventually excuse themselves, mentioning that they need to go catch up with the rest of the family, leaving Brock and me alone again.
“What the hell was that?” Brock asks as soon as they’re out of earshot. “I asked you to pretend to be my fiancée for one night—not go for weekends away with my parents.”
