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“Oh, I know who you could date.” My mother takes a french fry and dips it in ketchup, and I really wish she would shut up right about now. I also really fucking hope she doesn’t say me. “We should set her up with Emmett.”
The minute my mother says that, I throw my burger back down on the plate. “No fucking way,” I blurt a lot more tensely than I want to say.
“Why not?” My mother looks at me, waiting for me to come up with an answer, but the only answer I have is no.
“Yes, Charlie,” my father chimes in, “why not?” I glare at both of them. My mother looks at me, waiting for an answer, but my father, he’s got a look on him that is playful, almost as if he’s enjoying this.
“She’s gorgeous.” Mom points at Autumn, and there is no denying that. “And he’s good-looking.”
“Willow,” my father warns, and I look over at him.
“What’s the matter, Dad?” I ask, and his look has changed from playful to almost lethal. “He’s good-looking.”It’s funny that no matter how many years they’ve been married and even knowing how much my mother loves him, he still gets jealous when she talks about how good-looking another man is, even if it’s in passing to my sister or even my aunts.
“I’m really not looking at dating anyone,” Autumn interjects, and I look over at her. “I’m just focusing on the business.”
“Now that’s a sensible answer,” my father says, “but all work and no play is not how to live a life.”
“That’s what I tell this one.” My mother points at me with her thumb before picking up her burger. “It’s fine he’s doing his thing”—she waves her finger at me—“sowing the oats.”
“Willow,” my father snaps, turning to Autumn, whose face has now paled. “Can she have a water?”
“Quinn Barnes, don’t you dare think you are going to take my drink away from me,” she retorts. “These two are watching life just run away from them.”
“Why don’t we change the subject?” I pick my burger back up.
“Okay, fine,” my mother gives in, “but I want you to be watching out for her.” She looks at Autumn and then at me. “Make sure she’s okay.”
“Oh, I’ll look after her, all right,” I assure her, my eyes on Autumn as she turns her eyes to me. It’s right then and there that I decide the only man who is going to fucking date her is me.
“What are we talking about?” Brady asks, coming to stand next to Autumn.
“Autumn and how she should date Emmett,” my mother answers as my father puts his head back and looks up at the ceiling.
“She just had a date,” Brady cuts in, and the burger in my mouth tastes horrible.
“With Emmett?” My mother gasps out and looks like she’s about to clap her hands in glee.
“No.” Brady shakes his head. “What was his name?” He snaps his fingers until he gets it. “Bryan.”
“Can we stop talking about this?” Autumn urges while I put one hand on my hip, the other tapping the bar.
“So you are dating?” my mother asks her.
“It was one date,” she mumbles, “and we decided that we were just going to be friends.”
“Well, that’s good. Have you been to the barn lately?” my father asks her, changing the subject.
“I have, actually. I went over there to ride Goldilocks,” she replies and I wonder if she thought about lying to him, but then wonder if I told him she was there. Whatever the reason, I’m happy the conversation about her dating is fucking over.
“I met her today,” my mother says. “She’s so pretty.”
“She is,” Autumn agrees. “I have to check on the tables.” She turns to walk away from us, leaving us with Brady as the talk turns to I don’t know what because I’m only watching her work the room, smiling at people and conversing with them. It’s different from when I came in here the first time and she would cower behind the bar.
She works the room, not noticing how the men look at her. She smiles politely, avoiding looking at them, as she goes back behind the bar but makes orders instead of talking to us.
We finish our burgers, and my father talks to Brady about buying some of the whiskey and taking it home. “Come and take a look in the back,” Brady invites him and my mother, and they go with Brady, leaving me all alone.
I watch her make her way around the room until she comes back to me. “Where did they go?” she asks, picking up the plates, cleaning them up behind the counter before placing them into the dishwasher.
