Page 82 of Small Town Boy

I make quick work of tossing the forks I’ve been holding onto the table, hoping they land in the right spots, then go to grab my girl. Pops has monopolized her enough for one evening.

“I’m cutting in.”

“You think so, huh?” Pops challenges.

“I do. She is my girl after all.”

“Only if I don’t steal her.”

Puffing out his chest, proud as a peacock, he pushes past me to head to the table. It’s all I can do to shake my head. He’s where all of us Keller men came by our charm, so I have no doubt that he’s been harmlessly flirting with Bronwyn all evening. I just hope he was using his powers for good and not telling her all my embarrassing stories.

“Hi.” I lean down to steal a kiss, my hand sliding to the small of her back. Her body is rigid in my arms, and instead of feeling the tension leave her muscles, it’s like they tighten. Uh-oh.

“Hi,” she returns, her voice small.

“What’s wrong? Pops say something?”

“No, no. He’s endearing. Everything one could want out of a grandfather. You’re lucky.”

“We’re lucky,” I correct. “We’re making a Keller out of you.”

She forces a smile. Now I really know something is off. Bronwyn hasn’t ever forced a smile with me. Even when we first met and were out of step, she didn’t hide her lack of amusement. She let me know with that sharp wit of hers. Tonight, that’s nowhere to be found, and that worries me.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” She shakes her head, forced smile still present and ready for action.

“Liar. I know you better than that, Bronwyn Elizabeth Ainsworth.”

She shudders at the use of her full name, her muscles relaxing slightly. Her body eases into me, the tension flowing out of her as I place a chaste kiss right at her hairline. There we go, that’s better.

“It was…it was a weird day, that’s all.”

She wraps her arms around my waist, resting her head against my chest and squeezing. I squeeze her back, relishing the feel of her in my arms. I could probably stay like this all night, but know that it’s just not possible.

As if reading my mind, Bronwyn voices those same thoughts. “We shouldn’t keep your family waiting. They’ll be wondering what’s keeping us.”

“No,” Nash’s voice answers. “We know you’re making out around the corner.”

I groan, turning around to find him right there, shit-eating grin on his face. Knocking me out of the way, he puts an arm around Bronwyn, leading her into the dining room.

“C’mon, B. Let me tell you about the time that your boy here peed himself while we were camping.”

For fucks’ sake…

We all sit down, Mom and Dad at either end of the table, Bronwyn and me on one side, Pops and Nash on the other. Nash stops his story long enough for Pops to say grace, but picks it right back up again when he finishes, leaving out some very important details.

“He has failed to mention that we were seven,” I add in, defending myself. “And that both Dad and Pops here said we couldn’t learn to shoot ’til we were ten. Not to mention, the bear was coming right at me.”

Nash shrugs, like none of that is pertinent to the story.

“He also leaves out the part about how he had a bird’s-eye view of all this, because his little ass scrambled up a tree in record time,” Pops laughs.

“Better idea than standing there peeing myself!”

The whole table erupts into laughter, whatever awkwardness I was subconsciously expecting failing to take form. It’s as if Bronwyn has always had a seat at the table.

Dad continues on with the story. His warning shot into the air had been enough to scare the bear off, and then he and Pops had packed us up as fast as they could, taking us to the first motel they could find where they let us eat a bunch of junk food they’d bought out of the vending machine while watching TV.