“Dad is a total jerk. That engineer guy was horrible. You do really well, with the business and everything . . .”
She sits down at the table, so I do the same.
“You’re as protective of me as Devon is of both of us,” she says. “And I appreciate that. But Jeff is not your father. Not even close.”
“Obviously. But if he’s such a catch, why has he been single for so long?”
She gives me a look as if to ask, Really?
“You are the exception.”
Mom smiles from one side of her mouth.
“So maybe I’ve been slightly . . . closed off to him,” I admit, and I can’t help but grin as I add, “But you’re a big girl and can handle yourself.”
I love my mother’s laugh.
“Thank you, Char.” She reaches across the table for my hand. “I also know why you still live at home. Why you invite me out with your friends so much.”
I try to argue, but she won’t have it.
“You don’t need to do that, you know. I’m fine. Even without Jeff, I am fine.”
I can tell she wants to say something more.
“What?” I press.
Mom sighs, hesitating.
“What is it?”
“You don’t need to stay here for me.”
She’s totally right. I should have my own place by now. But the thought of her living alone . . .
“I kind of like not having rent payments,” I say, knowing it’s a weak argument.
“I don’t mean in this house.”
“In Bridgewater?” I ask, genuinely shocked. “Why would I want to leave? I have a good job. You’re here. Devon is here.”
She squeezes my hand and stands.
“A good job. Yes. But one you love? You’ve complained about this small town for as long as I can remember. I honestly never thought you’d come back after college.”
I stand too.
“I like Bridgewater,” I say, without passion. “And I love my kids.”
Which is true. I’m not exactly fond of dealing with all the red tape and state assessments and stupid crap that doesn’t actually teach kids how to read. But the kids themselves? I love them.
And Bridgewater is . . . fine. It’s comfortable.
“All I’m saying is, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine. Truly.”
What started off as a talk about Jeff has suddenly become something bigger. My mom’s right. I did consider moving away after college, preferably to somewhere with a warmer climate. But I didn’t consider it for very long. My mother isn’t the type of person who should live alone—she’s too warm, too nurturing, too Mom. And maybe this Jeff guy isn’t that bad after all, but I’m not willing to adios on a maybe.
“OK, Mom,” I say, anxious to find a new topic of discussion. “What time is Jeff picking you up?”
She looks down at her phone sitting on the table. “In an hour. I better get—”
Mom is cut off by the doorbell. We look at each other, and she shoos me toward the door. I try to walk at a normal pace, as if I haven’t been looking out the window for the past hour. My heart pounds as I open the front door.
He looks even better than he did last night. I love him in a sweater.
“Morning,” he says, smiling. “Have time for a coffee before I head back?”
“Of course.” I step back to let him inside. “Let me grab my jacket.”
He closes the door behind him just as my mom appears in the hallway.
“Hi, Enzo,” she says warmly, giving him a hug.
“Hi, Mrs. Atwood.”
She’s told him a million times to call her by her first name, but he’d never do it. Would he change his mind if she was his mother-in-law?
Stop it, Chari. Way ahead of yourself there.
If Lisa knew I was thinking like that, she’d give me a look, and probably a talking-to.
“Where are you guys headed?” she asks as I open the coat closet.
“I was thinking Ledges for coffee,” he says, looking at me for my nod. I give it. “I have to head back soon.”
She asks about the business. He asks about her shop. Their familiarity is so strange, but it’s a good strange. Most of the guys I bring home haven’t known my mom their whole lives.
“Ready,” I say, shrugging into my coat. “Have fun, Mom. And be careful.” I turn to Enzo. “She’s going skiing.”
“Nice. Didn’t know you skied. Is Devon coming with you?” he says, laughter trailing his voice. Everyone remembers his broken arm.
“Definitely not.” She smiles at us both. “Have fun, kids.”
It’s something she’s always said to Devon and I, and to Enzo too, come to think of it, and there’s something charming about hearing it now, even though we’re obviously not kids anymore.
“Same to you,” he says with a grin, standing off to the side so I can walk past him.
“Later, Mom,” I say.
His car is waiting for us, and I’m pretty sure I’ll never get over the novelty of having a driver cart me around. Still, I won’t deny it’s a welcome opportunity to be alone with Enzo. He pulls me to him as soon as I close the door behind us, and I don’t protest in the least.
Before I can even process how close he is, or the warmth of his touch, he’s kissing me. I open for him immediately, the touch of his tongue becoming more familiar. But it’s not enough. Last night was even more frustrating than New York.
Fact is, I want him like I’ve never wanted another human being, and I know he feels the same. Moaning against my lips, he pulls away.
“Six days,” he says, looking deep into my eyes.
I make a mental calculation, confused.
“We’ll be in Switzerland in four,” I counter.
We haven’t actually talked about sex explicitly. As in, when we might go for it. But his meaning is abundantly clear. And I’m one hundred percent on board . . . only I don’t want to wait quite that long.
“I know,” he says, taking a strand of my hair between his fingers, “but Thursday is a travel day.”
Now I’m thoroughly baffled.
“And?”
Twisting my hair through his fingers, which I kind of like, he smiles as if he knows something I don’t.
“When we get in, I have to meet a few people at the bar where Angel’s launching. It’s going to be a long day. And I have meetings all Friday morning. But I’ve kept my afternoon clear.”
“Still confused.” And hot. It feels like it’s a thousand degrees in this back seat. And I’m never hot in February.
“I may have made some plans for us on Friday.”
He’s more serious now than before, but he’s still playing with my hair in a way that’s both sexy and faintly mesmerizing. I don’t want him to stop.
“I see.”
But I really don’t.
He hesitates. “I want it to be special.”
It. Sex. Us.
My heart melts.
“Think you can wait that long?”
I reach up, cupping his cheeks with my hands. They’re just a little rough, the perfect amount of stubble.
“Devon admitted he spilled his guts to you last night,” I say. “So you already know the answer to that one.”