“You already agreed to come,” Sean points out, chin tipped up in victory. “Too late to pretend you’ve got something better to do.”
Brandon’s jaw flexes. “I didn’t agree to play.”
Sean just shrugs, unbothered. “Thought you wanted to support the pub, mate.”
A tiny thrill zings through me at the idea.
Brandon. On stage.
Playing.
A switch flips inside my chest.
“Go on—do it!” Ellenor cries.
“Yes, think of the children, Brandon!” Rupert implores.
“If they’re high-school graduates, they’re hardly children,” Brandon says dryly.
“Please, Brando? It’s my birthday.” Ellenor pouts.
“That won’t work on me.”
“Pfft.Fine. Then do it for Lily.Shewants to see you up there, roughing it with a bit of teenage angst.”
“There will be no teenage angst.” But he glances at me questioningly.
I shrug with a helpless smile. “I’d love to see you perform.”
His head drops in defeat, and Sean claps him on the back as Ellenor cheers, Barbara rubbing her hands together as Rupert booms, “Excellent, excellent.”
So much for my earlier observation that Sean has a calming presence on Ellenor, because she suddenly bounds to her feet, tugging Brandon’s arm like she’s just had the greatest idea of her life.
“Ooh! We forgot theHappy Birthdaysong.”
Barbara begins lighting the candles while Brandon pinches his nose. “Ellenor—”
“And sing it like Marilyn Monroe,” she adds. “All slow and sexy.”
My head snaps towards her.
The thought of hearing his deep voice singingthatsong strikes fear into me. It will be breathtakingly sexy, and if he agrees to her ridiculous Marilyn request, then I’ll die of embarrassment, mortified and aroused, in front of my family and friends.
Absolutely perish.
Ellenor grins wickedly at me.
I leap to my feet. “I’ll play it.”
Brandon looks relieved and all too happy to hand his guitar over.
My rescue attempt backfires when Ellenor says sweetly, “Oh, and Lil—sing it for Brandon.”
I stare. “But it’syourbirthday.”
“Yep. And that’s my birthday wish.”
“You’re really milking your birthday for all its worth,” I grumble.
