“The woman gave birth to you.”
I frown. “Stop.”
“Just try to be logical for a moment.”
“Me?” I snicker. “I am the emperor of logic. Galileo, remember?”
“I do,” she says. “And this may be our best shot at putting her last doubts to rest and ensuring that she’ll leave us alone. For good. Then we can go back to—” She cuts herself off.
I wait a beat, giving her time to finish her sentence, but she just stares at me, taking deep breaths. I can’t let this subject drop, so I straighten up in the chair. “Back to what?”
She exhales and presses a hand to her heart.
Also adorable.
“I’m sorry I came home all hot and bothered earlier and kissed you in the kitchen,” she says.
“I’m not sorry in the least.”
“But.” She tucks her lip up under her teeth. Still adorable. Even with the but. “I’d just found out you’d been visiting my dad.”
I swallow. “And you’re sure you’re not mad about that?”
“I’m the opposite of mad.” She comes over to perch on the foot of the bed. “That was the best thing I’ve ever found out anyone’s ever done. Ever. Which is why my emotions were all over the place,” she admits, softly. “They still are.”
I clear my throat. “Yeah. Mine, too.”
Where we differ is that the chaos inside me is because the dream I’ve always wanted feels suddenly, miraculously within reach. Loren’s chaos is probably more along the lines of not knowing exactly what she wants. And I have to respect that. Idorespect that. So I can be patient. I’ve already waited for her for what feels like a lifetime.
Hopefully, if we handle this right, we’ll have another whole lifetime together.
“I realize your mom staying with us now makes everything harder.” Loren releases a long sigh. “But I really do think she needs to leave on her terms. If she gets even a hint that we’re trying to push her out, she’s going to wonder why.”
This is when my brain chimes in again.
Why? Because I want to live here alone. With you.
I want to figure out what’s happening between me and my wife.
Without my mother here.
But as much as pumping the brakes is supremely deflating, Loren’s not wrong. So I lean over my legs, palms on my knees, and meet her gaze. “I understand,” I tell her. “I just don’t have to like it.”
“Like it?” She lets out a little snort. “Please. Having Margaret here is officially the worst.”
My mouth quirks. “Yet another thing we can agree on.”
She takes a beat, eyes locking with mine, and something passes between us. Warmth and light. Understanding. This isn’t a promise yet, just a hint of what’s to come.
After a moment, she draws in a breath. Blinks. Exhales.
“On that note.” Her chin tips. “I was thinking that, until your mom leaves, we might as well lay the romance on a little thick when we’re around her. Lots of sweet talk and mushiness. Make her feel as awkward as possible without actually activating her radar. What do you think?”
“Yeah.” I grunt. “I can do sweet talk. And mush.”
She flashes me a small smile. “Oh, I’m aware,” she says. “And now, I’m going to wash my face, and then you and I are going to sleep. Tomorrow is another day. Preferably, twenty-four hours closer to your mom deciding to leave. On her own.”
She spins on a heel, disappearing back into the bathroom. And I watch her go, missing her already. Why exactly does the image of her washing her face do it for me too?