Page 6 of The Hometown Heartbreaker

“What are their names again?”

“Dean and Dylan.”

“One of the nurses, Carly, was telling me that your mom named you all after TV show characters or something. Is that true?”

I nodded. “My mom came to the country, and she didn’t know the language. She watched TV to learn English, and she named us all after characters from her favorite shows.”

Angie’s eyes lit up, which is usually what happened when I told people that story.

“That’s amazing! Wait, so you are clearly named after Dawson’s Creek.”

“Yep.”

“I love that show, but I’m team Pacey, sorry.” She cringed slightly.

“No worries.” If I had a dollar for every time I’d heard that, I’d be a wealthy man. I mean, I did okay, so I guess I’d be wealthier. “My mom is as well, but she wanted all her boys to have D names.”

“Oh, okay.”

“So wait, your brother Dean is that Gilmore Girls?”

“Yep.” I nodded.

“This is fun.” Angie clapped. “Okay, and then there’s Damon. Damon. Damon.” She stared out the window as she repeated his name three times, clearly searching her mental Rolodex for characters in television series. “Oh!” She spun towards me. “Vampire Diaries!”

“Yep. You are three for three.”

A smile of pride and satisfaction spread from ear to ear. “Who’s left?”

“My youngest brother, Dylan.”

“Dylan. Dylan. Dylan.” Once again, she stared out the window. After a few minutes, she turned. “Give me a hint.”

“Okay, um, zip code.”

Her face scrunched up. “Zip code?”

I nodded.

“What kind of a clue is zip—Oh! Beverly Hills 90210!” She pointed at me as if she’d caught me in something.

“Yep.”

“Dylan McKay,” she repeated. “I was Team Dylan.”

“I would have figured that show was before your time.”

“I loved him on Riverdale, so I started watching it,” she explained. “Binging teen dramas is my guilty pleasure.”

I hoped my mom didn’t find that out. She’d probably invite her over for a ‘girl’s night.’ This relationship was not at the point where Angie should be hanging out with my mom independently. Which is why bringing her today was a mistake. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

We drove past the brittle yellow grass of the valley, up the curving back road to the Lockhart Ranch. It was before noon, and already the sky looked like someone had washed it with bleach. I turned into the ranch and could see the main house from halfway up the road, the sunlight catching the copper roof and turning it into a second sun.

“But the brother that’s getting married today, that’s not any of your younger brothers, right?” she asked. “This is the older one who you weren’t raised with.”

“Right,” I confirmed.

“Is it weird for you?” Angie tilted her head to the side. “Having an older brother pop up out of nowhere?”