Bonham (Pushing Daisies Book 3) by Heather Young-Nichols (the little red hen read aloud txt) 📗

“Yeah. My niece is seven now and we all love her, but they are still trying to hold that control over me. It’s not you I’m embarrassed by. It’s them. I promise.”

Made sense. “But you’re…” I did the mental math quick. “Twenty-one?” She nodded from beside me. “They aren’t still like that, right?”

She snorted and turned her body toward me. “Age means nothing to them. I live at home because they pay for college. If I was no longer allowed to live there, I’m not entirely sure what I’d do. Which means as long as they’re paying for my life, I kind of need to follow their rules. But I’m starting the process of getting out from their grip.”

“Is that why you’re going out with me?” I pulled the car into the lot nearest Rosati’s.

“No.” Her hand landed on my ink-covered arm. “That’s not why. I’m out with you because I want to be and for the first time in my life, I don’t care about their opinion. Or rather, I’m not going to let their opinion decide what I’m going to do. Next year is already paid for. I don’t think at this point they’d do much besides having a stern talking with me if I was doing something they deemed the wrong choice.” Jurnie ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “But I don’t think you’re the wrong choice,” she added quietly.

The new knowledge about Jurnie’s life gave me a lot to think about. This was her taking control of her life and I might’ve been a small part that she wanted for herself. This girl was wrapping me around her little finger quickly.

I led Jurnie into the restaurant with my hand on her lower back. When I’d first touched her, it could’ve been my imagination, but she’d moved in closer to me. I really liked her being in my arms. We got settled and ordered. Jurnie knew what she wanted almost without looking at the menu. Baked ziti, which at Rosati’s was extra good. I ordered chicken fettuccini. She wanted a diet pop to drink while I asked for a water. A lot of the time I’d get a beer, but this was about making a good impression.

We talked about our family dinners last night until the food came. Once we were eating, I started to dig.

“Question,” I began. “You said you’re an intern.”

“Yes.” She dabbed her mouth with her napkin.

“Are you an intern at K98?”

She stopped chewing then swallowed hard. “Yes. Why?”

“We heard you on the radio yesterday.”

Jurnie dropped her fork and slapped a hand over her face. “Oh, no.” It was so cute, I couldn’t help but laugh. As I reached across to pull her hand away, I noticed blushing creeping up her chest.

“It was great,” I told her. “We were listening to in the car on our way in. My brother was impressed that you didn’t let them trip you up.”

“That part’s easy, but I was so nervous, given that I know nothing about popular music.”

“Yeah. You mentioned that. Is that another parent rule?”

She held up her hand and tilted it in the universal sign of so-so. “Not totally, but yes, we weren’t allowed pop or rock music in the house and I went to a parochial girls’ school. Which, by the way, was another change for me after Delaney got pregnant. Before that, it was a co-ed parochial school, but I guess they figured if she figured out a way to have sex that I would too. So they took the boys out of the picture when in reality they didn’t think about the fact that I could just have sex with another girl.”

I choked on the fettuccini. Again and again, as I downed my water.

“Are you OK?” she asked, but she had a wicked half-grin on her lips.

“Yeah.” The word came out strained and I coughed again.

“Everything all right here?” the waitress asked, but I couldn’t look up to her. After clearing my throat again, I said, “We’re good.”

“Let me know if you need anything.” She gave us a polite smile but I knew the moment that she recognized me. Her blue eyes grew wide and bright.

It didn’t happen all the time but in the city, it did happen more. Thankfully she didn’t say anything.

Once she was gone, Jurnie continued. “Sorry.”

“No. You’re fine.” I looked her in the eye. It was an easier way to tell if someone was being honest. “You’re fine. It was just… unexpected.”

She snorted and went back to eating. “For the record, I didn’t have sex with any of the girls. I was just saying I could have.” Suddenly, all I could focus on was that mouth as she took a small bite of the ziti. “So, yes, in a way it was a rule from my parents and yes, I have heard popular music. I just don’t know bands and groups and all of that. Some of it’s really good. I just would fail music trivia.”

“Noted.”

“You said you’re in a band. Is that where you were coming from? A gig?” she asked.

At first, I had no idea what she was talking about, but then it clicked. I’d said we’d been driving in. “Oh, we’d just flown in for our week-long break.”

Her face fell as she pushed the food around on her plate. “That’s right. You’re only here for a week. But you live here, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So you’ll be back.”

“Absolutely.” My guess was she’d begun to worry about what would happen if this went well between us. She knew I’d be gone, but she didn’t understand how long or how often. It was time to fess up. “So…” I scratched the back of my head. “Funny story. I haven’t told you my last name.”

She stopped and furrowed her brows like she was replaying every conversation we’d had so far. “You’re right. You haven’t. Apparently, I’m an idiot. I didn’t even ask your last name?”

“Not an idiot. I avoided it on purpose.”

Now she sat back after setting her fork in