“Good morning, Brighton!” my mother said as she walked in and set a large plate of biscuits in the middle of the table. “Darling, will you help me with the gravy?”
All I could do was nod, then smile at the rest of the guests before I gave my father a look. He was still frowning.
Once we were in the kitchen, I asked, “What’s wrong with Dad? He looks pissed at me for some reason.”
My mother handed me the gravy bowl and smiled. “He’s not mad at you, darling.”
“Then why is he giving me a death stare?”
“He heard about your date with Kyle.”
I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t a date. Everyone was there. Kyle simply picked me up.”
She paused what she was doing and looked at me with a confused expression that appeared to be fake. “Why, Luke told us you were dating.”
Sighing, I said, “I only told Luke that…”
Mom tilted her head and lifted her brows. “Go on.”
“Wait. How did you know his name was Luke?”
“He told us.”
I blinked. A lot. As if there was something caught in both eyes and the only way to get it out was to rapidly blink like an idiot. Somehow, I was able to stop and find my voice at the same time. “He told you what, exactly?”
She nodded and reached for a plate of freshly cut-up fruit. “Your father said he looked like a younger version of Gene Kelly at the dinner table last night. Then, one of our other guests laughed and said he looked a lot like Luke Walters, the actor, and he admitted he was him. I thought the poor guy, who was clearly a fan, was going to pass right out into the fire! Your father thankfully kept him from doing so.”
I exhaled and leaned against the counter. “Did he tell you everything?”
She stopped what she was doing. “Everything? What else would he need to tell us?”
Oh. Shit. Open mouth and insert foot.
“Nothing,” I said entirely too quickly. My mother wasn’t a fool, and she immediately knew I was lying.
She gently set down the plate of fruit, crossed her arms, and stared at me. I could hear her foot tapping on the old wood floor. “Brighton Willow Rogers. You’re not telling me something.”
I nodded. “You’re right. I’m not, and now is not the time to talk about it, Mom. I’ll tell you and Dad everything after breakfast.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. After what felt like an eternity, she replied, “Fine. Let’s go join everyone else for breakfast.”
“I wasn’t—”
She snapped her head up and shot me a look that warned me not to finish what I was going to say. So, like any smart woman who knew when her mother was giving her the look, I smiled and held up the gravy bowl. “Let’s eat.”
As we made our way back into the large dining room, I saw that small conversations were happening at the table. Luke was talking to a man who appeared to be about the same age as him. The man’s wife or girlfriend smiled up at me as I walked in and placed the gravy in the middle of the table.
“My mother makes the best gravy you’ll ever eat,” I said in an overly chipper tone.
“You must be Brighton,” the young woman said. “Your mother and father told us all about you last night when we were out by the fire. You’re a lawyer! How exciting. I thought I wanted to go to law school, but it wasn’t for me.”
“Are you still in school, then?” I asked.
She laughed. “Oh gosh, no. I graduated about six years ago.”
Okay, she looked young for her age.
“Will and I are on our honeymoon!”
Smiling, I looked at the guy sitting next to her who was still talking to Luke.
“Congratulations to you both,” I said. “We have a lot of newlyweds who stay with us.”
“So I heard. There was a beautiful basket up in our room filled with such lovely things when we checked in,” the young woman said.
My mother joined the conversation then. “Brighton made that basket.”
The woman turned in her chair and beamed at me. “Thank you so much! I think the cookies are my favorite. Oh, and the rosemary bread with the honey. So good. By the way, my name is Kathleen.”
I tried really hard not to gag at the poor girl’s name. It wasn’t her fault I hated that name now. I internally rolled my eyes at myself. Seriously, Brighton. How can you hate a name simply because the devil in disguise shares the same one?
“It’s nice to meet you…Kathleen,” I choked out.
“Call me Lee, everyone does.”
“Thank God,” I whispered.
“Excuse me?” she asked with a tilt of her head that caused her ponytail to swish back and forth.
“Nothing,” I said as held up the fruit plate. “Fruit?”
She smiled sweetly, took the large spoon, and put some on her plate.