Page 9 of Love Story

He’d wriggled in his sleep, scared of something.

I can’t rescue him from his dreams.

I shook away how nice it had felt to be somebody’s champion as I crossed the yard of the big house, snow crunching under my boots.My parents’ home stood just ahead, the porch lights glowing warmly.I was almost to the two-bedroom cabin Dad and I had built when I was a teenager—my place now—but Mom caught me before I made it.

Almost as if she’d been waiting for me.

Who was I kidding —of course, she’d been waiting for me.

She was standing near the truck, wrapped in a long wool coat, her dark hair pinned back in a neat twist.Tall and slim, she looked as elegant as ever, her sharp blue eyes—my blue eyes—narrowing as she spotted me.I got my height from both Mom and Dad, but the rest of me was all Mom.

“Where’s your big coat?”she asked.“You shouldn’t walk around in just a sweatshirt.Oh, and Joe stopped by earlier,” she said, shifting topics like flipping a switch.“I ran into him on the road, and he mentioned the car in the driveway, so I joined him taking it back and sat with Harriet for a while.”

“Okay,” I said and kept walking, but nope, I wasn’t going to avoid the inquisition when Mom stepped in front of me.

“Turns out you rescued her great-nephew, Ben.”

“I didn’t rescue him—”

“You got him out of the car.”

“He got himself out of the car.”

“Well, you took him to the hospital,” Mom added, brushing snow from my damp sweater.“Harriet says she was already worried about Ben being ill or something.She doesn’t understand what’s wrong with him but was anxious for him to come home.”

I hesitated, unsure how much to say.“I dropped him there, and he seemed okay,” I said after a moment.“Well, apart from a cut on his head.No concussion or broken bones.”

Mom raised an eyebrow.“Harriet showed me a photo of him—adorable—just your type.”Fuck.Here we go.I’d had one short, cute boyfriend when I was sixteen and now, according to my mom, that was my type.

Benismy type.

Whatever.“Harriet says he dates boys and girls, so what did you think of him?”she continued.

“He’s… fine,” I said a little too quickly.“Haider called dibs.”

She frowned.“He did what now?”

“Never mind.”

Her lips quirked, but she let it go, glancing toward the house.“Talking of Haider, you’ll be late for his party.”

“Yeah, and I love you, Mom, but I’ve got to go.”I gestured vaguely toward my cabin.“Shower, clean clothes, party.”

“Yes, you can’t go looking like that,” she said, her eyes flicking to my mud-streaked boots and sweatshirt.“Your dad and I are leaving soon for dinner, so you better hurry.”Every year, Dad took Mom to a fancy Valentine’s Day meal at a restaurant several towns over.She always got dressed up for it, and tonight was no exception.

“Which is why I need to go inside.”I was freezing my balls off here, and if Mom was that worried about me being coatless, she needed to let me go.

“Of course,” she said.“And, Sam, a heads-up that everyone in town knows about Ben and your heroic rescue.”

I groaned, already dreading the inevitable teasing from my friends.“Great.”

Dad appeared then, less than thrilled about going out in the snow.He was grumbling under his breath about having to dress up, tugging at the collar of his shirt, although he secretly loved every minute of dating the woman he called darling every day.“Thought we were leaving,” he said, then glanced at me.“Heard you rescued some tourist.”

“Ben’s not a tourist,” Mom said, giving him one of her signature wife-type looks of despair.“He’s Harriet’s great-nephew.”

“So, what’s Harriet’s great-nephew doing crashing on our farm road?”Dad asked, frowning.

“It was more sliding than crashing,” I said with a shrug.“He got lost.”

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