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“You’re going to have to give me more details or at least a name. Also, before we move on, that’s not an emergency. Word your texts better!”
“Henry Brooks. Look him up.”
A pause and a few catcalls come from the other line. “He’s fine. Did he try to murder you? Why is this man the worst to ever walk the world?”
I start from the beginning and share that Henry is Finn and Oliver’s father and then I go into details about his overdramatic declaration that I am not the type of woman he would date.
“What an ass.”
“Yes, I’ve decided to hate him for all time, but there’s more. Much worse…look at the films he has directed!”
After a brief pause, she shrieks. “How could he!” Now, she understands my pain.
Filling the laptop screen in front of me is a long list of films directed by Mr. Brooks. Among them are some of my favorite romance movies throughout the years. Especially the Jane Austen adaptations. “How does a man like that understand romance so well?”
“Have you looked at what he does in his free time? It looks like this guy has an endless stream of models at his disposal,” she mentions. Figures, I don’t need to look it up myself to have guessed that…but I take a look anyway.
“I know he was married for years to Finn and Oliver’s mother, but all they ever said about it was that it was a messy divorce. I suppose she no longer lived up to his model standards and left.”
“Who knows.” She sighs. “So, should we kill him?”
I laugh, another best friend trait, willing to commit murder the moment a guy insults you. “Not yet. His crimes, while extremely offensive, do not warrant such action.”
“I’m only a call and a ten-hour flight away,” she reminds me.
“I will keep that in mind. Thanks, Ellie. I’m going to try to sleep.”
“Goodnight, Lucy.”
I’ve already given up on real-life romance, he can’t be the one to burst my love of fictional romance too!
How can a hopeless romantic survive with this knowledge?
How could someone capture some of the most passionate performances in film history and have such a poor perception of love?
Five
HENRY
It wasa pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brooks.Her words repeat in my head during my silent walk back to the boys’ townhouse.Mr. Brooks. I don’t pay attention to how far we’ve walked, just following behind Oliver and Finn with my head down, noticing the light from the street lamps above us.
Miss Taylorspent most of the night refusing to meet my gaze and acting like I wasn’t even there at times. I suppose I was a little harsh when we discussed her books. I let my head lower and shake briefly, remembering my lack of manners, but I couldn’t help but be disappointed to hear she wasone of those individuals. Someone who is expecting a knight in shining armor, which leads me to believe is the reason she is single. At least, I think she’s single. Finn mentioned she moved to the UK alone, but she could have found someone here. My body tenses at the thought, but immediately, I push those thoughts to the side and remind myself that I don’t care if she’s single or not.
Normally, I have no opinion about the interests of thewomen I date as they always turn the topic of our conversations to me and my career. Frankly, it usually helps to talk about my career when I’m trying to close the deal. Women are so quick to assume I am just as romantic as the men in my movies. That I will die for them, change my life for them, or swear my love to no one but them. Which are claims I never make—it’s not my style to lie to women just to go home with them. I’m perfectly honest up front, but some are more determined to get a chance to experience great love with me. Reality hits them like ice water the next morning when I depart, just as I said I would.
When it was time for Lucy to leave the coffee shop, our eyes finally locked, and I forgot my frustration with the boys for bringing her. Yet, she was quick to remind me of my annoyance as her lips twitched in a grin before they opened to reveal her snarky American tone.It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brooks. She held our mutual gaze for just a moment longer before breaking it and walking out the door. I sat frozen as the bell over the door rang, and Oliver elbowed me, “You okay, pops?”
There was confusion on his face as I turned to him. “Yeah, just fine.” I spent the rest of our time at the coffee shop planning how I would scold them when we returned to their place.
After hanging our coats in the entryway, we file into the kitchen. I lean against the counter and cross my arms. Finn is the first to notice “Oh boy, looks like we are in trouble, Olly!”
Oliver leaves his head buried in the refrigerator, “Yeah, what did we do now?”
“You spoke of her as if she was a senior citizen! I don’t know what type of scheme you two are playing at?—”
Oliver cuts me off, “What are you talking about? We never said anything like that.”
Finn chimes in, “If that’s the picture you painted based on our description, that’s on you.”
