Free Always Mine by Christie Ridgway Page B

found her happy ending right along with the protagonist.
    â€œBy the way, I thought of another one,” Owen said, reaching across the table to touch her arm with his hand.
    She looked up. “Another one?” His gaze was trained on her face and she wondered if that was concern she saw in his eyes. It made her skin feel hot and she was suddenly aware of his fingertips on her wrist. Each pad sent an individual streamer of sensation up her arm that then ribboned around her body. Her now-tight lungs struggled to bring in a breath. “Another one what?”
    A little smile playing at his mouth, he sang softly, to the tune of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” “You’ll go down and hit a tree.”
    â€œHey,” Bryce said, frowning. “Are you making fun of me?”
    Owen grinned. “Just how you mangled the words to your favorite Christmas carol. And remember this other immortal line of the same song you misheard—not to mention mis-sang? ‘Olive, the other reindeer.’”
    â€œOh, yeah. For years, I never could figure out why Olive didn’t make it into the movie.”
    Owen shook his head. “Olive the reindeer, lost on the cutting room floor. No wonder I’ve always been considered the brainy brother in the family.”
    â€œHah!” Bryce said, but he looked stymied for a comeback.
    Izzy had to laugh, her low mood rising. Was that what Owen had been after? Was he attuned to her that closely? She rallied, trying to fit in with the lighthearted conversation.
    It was what she’d done from childhood, after all—making a small place for herself where none was before. “They’re called Mondegreens, you know,” she told the two men.
    â€œWhat?” Bryce asked.
    â€œMisheard lyrics. In 1954, a woman named Sylvia Wright wrote a magazine article confessing that she’d misheard the lyric of a folk song about an unlucky earl, ‘and laid him on the green,’ as ‘and Lady Mondegreen.’”
    â€œAh,” Bryce answered. “So there’s a name for theinfamous line Owen once sang at summer camp—‘He’s got the whole world in his pants.’”
    Izzy decided to be loyal and stifled her laugh. “Hey, I know someone who for years thought the refrain for that old TV show theme song was ‘The Brady Sponge, the Brady Sponge.’”
    â€œNo one could be that dim,” Owen scoffed. Then he did a double take, his gaze narrowing on her face. “Wait, the ‘someone’ was you?”
    Heat shot up her face. “I was, like, six or something.”
    â€œYeah, but ‘The Brady Sponge’? And you said you sang it that way for years. At least Caro and I clued in Bryce right away about Rudolph not hitting a tree.”
    â€œYeah, but you let me wonder about Olive for half my life, “his brother grumbled.
    Once again, their exchange tickled Izzy’s funny bone. She let herself laugh now, appreciating the echoes of amusement on the faces of the men sharing her table. She was good at this “fitting in and making others feel comfortable” thing—no matter how temporary the circumstances for it were.
    â€œReally, Izzy,” Owen said, shaking his head. “I’m trying to wrap my mind around this, because it would seem to be a family-wide shame that should have been corrected immediately. What kind of siblings let you sing ‘The Brady Sponge’?”
    Oh. “I thought you knew. I’m an only child.” And for all Zia Sophia or Nonna Angela knew, it was “The Brady Sponge.” The only programs the elderly ladies watched on TV were The Price Is Right and their afternoon soaps.
    Owen frowned. “I wasn’t aware.”
    â€œProbably because he heard an Italian last name and assumed—well, we all know how wrong assumptions can be,” Bryce said, his expression pious. “I, on the other hand, make it my pleasure to