Page 26 of The Captain

She nods, squeezing my hand tighter. “Yes. His name is George, and he’s in real estate.”

“George…” is all I can think to say.

“Yes, George,” Mom says, turning fully and getting my attention again, a tiny spark igniting in her eyes. “He started coming into the diner about a year ago and asked me out six months ago.”

I smirk a little. “It took him six months to work up the courage, huh?”

A relieved smile spreads across her lips. “I am a little intimidating, you know.”

“Oh, I do,” I say, laughing with her. I see it now—that little gleam in her eye, that flush to her cheeks—that reason for the extra makeup she’s been wearing. Not a lot, just enough to give herself a boost.

“Have I unintentionally met him?”

“Yes, you have. He sat in your section this morning.”

I raise a brow, and then it hits me. “Damn.” I drag the word out, making my mom blush. “Nice one, Mom.”

“Thank you,” she replies shyly.

My heart makes a thud. “Does he treat you well?”

“Oh, honey, you have no idea. He brings me flowers, opens the doors for me, never lets me pay, and listens to me when I talk about dreams and goals and places I want to go.”

I place a hand over my heart, my romantic self swooning over my mom’s love life.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Her eyes dart away then. “Well, I was going to, right around March, but…”

Oh. Right. I know why she didn’t tell me. “Oh. You shouldn’t have kept it from me, no need to spare my feelings.”

Her expression changes to one of sorrow. “You’ve been pretty bummed out lately.”

I wave a hand, not wanting to talk about it at all, whatsoever. No thank you. “I’m fine.”

“Honey, you’re not.” Clearing her throat, she gives me a stern look. “When is the last time you reached out to an agent, or wrote anything, for that matter? You have something great on your hands, it should be in bookstores across the world!”

“Mom, stop,” I say, waving my hand. “You have to say that because you’re my mother.”

“I’m not the only one who thought it, Cassandra. Lincoln was so proud of your work; he was ready to ask around for you!”

“Mom,” I say, a sternness in my voice that I’ve never directed at her. She blinks in surprise, clearly not expecting that either. Shoot. I hate hurting her feelings. “Sorry.”

For a few moments, we’re quiet.

Then she says, “When was the last time you two spoke?”

My mind flashes back to Mick and Tanner’s engagement party. Mom had been invited, but so many people called in sick that she couldn’t make it. I tried to use work as an excuse as well, not wanting to face him, but she wouldn’t allow it.

“The party.”

“And did you two talk?” she asks softly, in a voice I appreciate but also hate. She was being sensitive to me, knowing that this was a touchy subject.

Seems like everything is a touchy subject anymore.

“Briefly.” That scene in the bathroom hits me—how he held me close, how his voice broke over his words, and his brown eyes watered with concern.

God, I hate this whole situation.

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