Page 101 of Valor

“That sounds like a fantastic night to me,” he replies. “Put me down for it whenever you have time.” Gibson wraps an arm around me and pulls me in for a hug, I go willingly, wrapping both of mine around his waist and just holding on for as long as is appropriate, given we’re just friends.

But, man I’d love to hold on longer.

“Goodnight, Lani.”

“Night, Gibson.”

He pulls away and waves as he heads down the porch toward his truck. I lean against the porch railing and try not to stare as he drives away.

“I think you’re going to have to take the first step with that one,” my mom calls from the front door.

I turn toward her. “Seriously, Mom? Nosy much?”

She shrugs. “I was merely coming to see if you had left yet.”

I cross my arms and cock my head to the side. “You know I haven’t left yet because my purse is still hanging in the entryway.”

“Is it?” She feigns innocence. “Well, since you haven’t left yet, how about a cup of tea before you hit the road?”

With a laugh, I head for the door. “You know, I love you, but you’re going to make me crazy.”

“Good. Maybe I’ll make you just crazy enough you’ll be willing to take a bit of a risk on that boy.”

GIBSON

“Mom?”I call out as I step into the home I grew up in. I’d been on the way to the office this morning when I decided to make a quick stop and check in.

“In here, honey!” she calls back.

I follow the sound of her voice down the hall and step into the brightly lit sunroom that has now become her art studio. As she almost always is, my mom is wearing paint-splattered clothes as she stands in front of a canvas, a brush in her hand.

“You look happy,” I tell her.

She beams at me, her curly hair pulled back from her face. “I am, kiddo. How are you?”

“Good. Had dinner with the Hunts last night.”

“Oh, did you?” She arches a brow. “Was a special Lani Hunt there?”

“She was. But as I’ve told you, we’re just friends.”

“Such a shame. She’s a good one, Lani.” Debra Lawson runs her paint-tipped brush over the canvas. “Kind, beautiful, God-fearing.”

Lani is a good one. The best, in fact. But I’m pretty sure I ruined any chance I had with her when I rushed into a marriage without thinking. It’s a regret I still carry to this day, despite having been divorced for nearly a decade already.

Kleo was not who I thought she was. And frankly, I didn’t seek the adventure she’d hoped for. Instead, I’d opted for a quiet life here at home, where I could be present for my mom after my dad passed away. My close relationship with my mom drove Kleo crazy. It took me a while to realize that I’d stopped even seeing my mom outside of church on Sundays because Kleo was so frustrated.

She had a poor relationship with her own mother, so mine somehow also ended up on the enemy list.

“There. I think it’s done. Come take a look.” She reaches out for me, so I wrap an arm around her shoulders and study the painting she just finished.

“It’s gorgeous,” I tell her, surveying the landscape of stunning bluebell flowers, a woman’s silhouette standing in the center of them, her head tilted toward the sky.

“It really is,” she replies.

“Who ordered this one?” For the past five years, she’s run a highly successful paint-on-demand company completely online. People from all over the world order paintings from her, and she ships out often enough that the post office calls to check on her if it’s been a day without them seeing her.

“No one. This one’s for me.” She tilts her face up and smiles. “Coffee?”

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