Page 36 of Room for Us

“Of course. Come on back.”

I follow her diminutive figure through the cottage to her office—formerly a bedroom—and collapse onto a love seat. Lifting my right foot to the coffee table, I release a sigh.

“What’s wrong with your leg? Are you hurt?”

I roll up my loose pant leg so she can see the lovely, ginormous knot surrounded by an angry bruise. Her gasp of horror is so mom-like, I laugh.

“Nailed myself with the shovel. Don’t ask me how. I’m gifted. And before you ask, yes, I’ve been icing it, and yes, I took ibuprofen.”

“My poor baby,” she coos, sitting beside me. “What were you doing with a shovel?”

I tell her about my plants for the front yard, and the instructions Celeste gave me to prep for the planting this weekend.

“You should have asked your brother for help. He’d drop everything for you, Zoey, you know that, right?”

“Huh?” Skepticism curls my lip. “Are we talking about the same person? The one who demanded fifty dollars to help me pack the car when I left for college?”

She grins. “He’s your little brother. Of course he’s going to be difficult. But we can discuss that later. Tell me, what did you want to talk about?”

I open my mouth, but my tongue thickens with anxiety. This shouldn’t be hard. I’m a grown woman. My mom is and has always been open and honest with me about all things sex related.

But she’s still my mom.

“Is this about your guest?” she asks gently.

I flop back against the cushions. “How did you know?”

“I heard some rumors.”

“Gotta love small towns.” I sigh. “What rumors?”

She waves a hand airily. “I ran into Roger at the post office, is all. He told me you had to collect your guest when he overindulged.”

I nod. “That’s being generous. He was blackout drunk.”

He also told me I smell—so rude—but I still watched him sleep, and sometimes he looks so sad and broken I want to hold him. Or maybe I want him to hold me.

“Roger also said there was a steady stream of enterprising ladies approaching the man all night, and every one of them left rejected.”

“Ah.”

I maintain a carefully blank expression, while the news makes my insides shimmy. Why the hell should I care if he samples every single woman in town while he’s here? It’s not my business. But I’m glad he turned them down all the same.

My reaction is proof of how the situation has escalated—from mildly problematic to ticking nuclear bomb.

My mom’s knowing gaze searches my face. “And therein lies the problem. You’re attracted to him.”

“God, why are you so good at your job?” I whine.

“I think this has more to do with me being your mom than a therapist.”

Reverting to sullen teenager, I stick my tongue out at her.

She laughs. “Okay, so tell me what’s on your mind. Obviously it’s more complex than mere attraction. Is he showing signs of interest?”

I think of his eyes, how they make my skin hum when they graze me. The way his lips shape my name.

“Yes. No. Shit, I don’t know. I’ve been off the market so long I have no clue. It doesn’t matter, anyway. He’s ten miles of bad road.”

---