Page 33 of Guarding My Love

“Amanda put her touch on it. She’s more like me and likes color and softness, but there isn’t anything I would change in here and I’m not sure why.”

She was looking around at his kitchen and family room. It was all open to the other. The only eating area was the massive island holding six chairs. He wasn’t sure why he went so big when he never had that many people in the house.

“It just feels right to me,” he said.

“Which a home should do.”

He set the dish down of dessert. “Can I get you a drink? I’ve got beer. No wine. I don’t drink it or keep it in the house. I guess I could have left to get some.”

“Water is good,” she said.

He opened his fridge and pulled out the ground beef, then reached for a bottle of water for her.

“I’m just going to mix the beef and some seasoning. I’ve got the grill lit and some potatoes on it already. They take a bit more time and have been cooking already. Baked potatoes. Hope that was fine.”

“Perfect,” she said. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Nope,” he said. “You can sit and relax since you baked.”

She moved to the island and pulled a stool out. “Is this a picture of you and your parents?”

He turned his head quickly. Son of a bitch. He forgot about that on the side of the island. His mother had placed it there on a small shelf so that when she was sitting in the living room she could see it.

Charlotte had the frame in her hand. “Yes,” he said, picking it up to look at it. He was ten in the picture. He put it back just so he could check to make sure there weren’t any more pictures there.

“Sorry I upset you by saying that. You look like your father there.”

“It didn’t really upset me,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Don’t worry about it. You looked so happy in that picture. I expected a big family picture and not just you and them.”

“That was the year before my father died. Every time my father was home, we had to have a big family picture taken and then one of us each with our parents. My mother always said it was the right thing to do. That we all should have an individual memory.”

“What a sweet thing,” she said, sniffling some. “I’m so jealous. All the family pictures in my house, no one is smiling. Or if they are, it’s forced. I think I thought I was happy for years, but looking back I never was.”

“Can I ask why?” he asked. He knew if he did, it’d open it up for her to ask him questions and he’d have to field them as they came.

“My parents were hard on us. My mother had this image in her head of a wealthy family and what they should act like.”

“Your parents are wealthy?” he asked.

“No. Not like you think. My father worked his way up in the banking industry. We were upper middle class I guess. My mother didn’t work. She stayed home with us and liked to host or be on fundraising committees. We lived in Philly. There is some old money there and she tried to rub elbows with them.”

“I’m not the rubbing-elbow type of person,” he said.

“It felt like we weren’t able to be kids. Someone was always watching, my mother would say. When Amanda was a teen, she started to date a kid who came from one of those old money families. His father was an attorney.”

“Your mother had to eat that up,” he said. “By the sounds of it.”

“She did. Until Amanda got pregnant,” she said. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you this.”

“It won’t go any further,” he said.

“I think that is why I feel comfortable saying it.”

“We all have secrets in our lives. I’m sure you’ve got yours.”

“I do,” she said. “Because you’re right. Anyone who says they don’t is just lying.”

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