Page 17 of Sweet Boys Love Christmas
Bertie smiles. “That would be lovely. Luke asked me, but I hadn’t had the chance to tell him yes yet.”
My mom’s smile only grows. “That’s my Luke. Such a good boy.”
“Mom.” I stifle a groan. “You make me sound like a dog, not your son.”
She ignores me, her body turned so it’s facing Bertie only. “I look forward to having you. Is there any particular dish or dessert you enjoy?”
Cheeks pink, Bertie shakes her head. “Whatever you make will be lovely.”
“All right.” My mom nods, the gears turning in her head. “I’ll see you then. It was good to meet you, Bertie.”
“You, too.”
My mom heads back to the counter with an extra pep in her step. Dammit. I’ll never hear the end of this.
“Your mom is nice,” Bertie says, smiling at her back.
She means it, too. There isn’t even a trace of sarcasm in her tone.
“She is. I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s fine.” She waves off my concern. “I really was going to take you up on your offer.”
“You were?” I straighten, surprised.
She nods. “Yeah, I’ve been working up the courage to text you. It feels a little pathetic to beg to spend the holiday with a family that isn’t mine.”
“It’s not pathetic, and besides, I asked you, remember?” I eye the time and groan. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Okay. Thanks for sitting with me.”
With a nod, I gather up my plate and drink to take to the back.
As I pass her, my mom bumps her hip into mine. “You’re welcome,” she singsongs, shooting a triumphant smile my way.
If, by some miracle, this turns into something, she’ll never let me live it down.
FIVE
BERTIE
Bertie
I’ma ball of nerves as I pace my dorm room, waiting for Luke to pick me up.
It’s silly, really, that I’m on the verge of panicking. I already met his mom, and she was plenty nice. I have no reason to think that tonight will be anything but lovely.
As I assess my appearance in my floor-length mirror again, I frown. Maybe my pale blue turtle-neck sweater was a bad choice. Suddenly, I worry it washes me out. And I’m reconsidering my hair. Would it look better down? I’m about to reach up to take it out of its ponytail when he texts that he’s outside.
Letting out a breath, I text back.
Me: I’ll be right down.
Luke: I’m already on my way up.
With shaky hands, I swipe my purse off my bed, and when I open the door, I find him already walking down the hallway.
“Hey,” he says, the dimple in his cheek flashing at me. “Are you ready, or do you need more time?”
