Page 129 of Three Reckless Words

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THE BEE’S KNEES (ARCHER)

Ihave no clue how to get out of this.

Much less howthiscame to be.

I’ve only known Winnie Emberly for roughly a month. We’ve been—I don’t fucking know what to call it because ‘fuck buddies’ doesn’t feel accurate—for less time than that.

But here we are now, sitting in my vehicle outside Mom’s place, just a few days after Patton’s contrived ambush.

She twists her hands idly in her lap, a hint she’s as nervous as I am. More, probably, because at least I know my mother and what to expect.

Come to think of it, that’s more reason why I should sweat bullets.

I don’t know what Patton told Mom, but she’s bound to get carried away.

She always does. Anytime she thinks I’m involved with a woman, even when it’s never been a thing and I’d rather chew porcupine quills. I’ve had to dodge dinners and surprise outings with women I have zero interest in, or else give in for an evening of drab tightrope walking where I try to humor Mom without making the girl feel like hot trash from my total disinterest.

Only, with Winnie, itmightbe different this time.

Maybe that’s why I feel so damn uptight about this, almost disembodied, hovering outside myself and watching as I try to keep my shit together.

I drum my fingers against the steering wheel. She glances at me.

“We can always do this another time,” she says quietly.

“That would be worse,” I tell her.

“Worse?”

Shit.Poor girl.

“Canceling on Delly Rory isn’t a walk in the park. You’d better have a damn good reason. To her, hosting comes only second to family.”

I wonder if it reminds Winnie of her parents from the way she inhales and her nostrils flare.

But Mom, no matter how much she wants to be part of our lives, knows we’re adults. She sees we’re capable of making our own choices. Of course, she wants to be part of those choices.

She definitely wants to make sure we carve out a space in our lives for her, but that’s different from wanting to micromanage us into arranged fucking marriages like the unlucky woman next to me.

As Winnie starts picking at the skin around her nails, I reach over and take her hand. “It’s fine. I told you, we’ll keep this simple. We go in, talk about bees, I bring up Colt as much as possible, and we get out with a smile and a good night.”

“And cardinals, right?”

“Sure, cardinals.” Mom does love to talk about birds and the family symbol that shows up in so much of her art. It’s harmless, really, and Winnie seems to like the whole idea.

“Oh, and I’ll play down whatever dating stuff your brother told her,” she promises, squeezing my hand.

“Yeah. Thanks.” I should be thrilled.

Instead, I take a moment to let that sink in. Weirdly, even though IknowMom will be all over it to everyone’s annoyance, the fact that Winnie feels like she needs to downplay it bothers me.

Which makes absolutely no sense.

We’re notdating.

Not for real.

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