Page 97 of These White Lies
She shakes his hand, studying his face. “Even better looking than she said.”
“I didn’t say anything,” I cut in.
“You didn’t have to.” She pats Brady’s arm. “We all know about your high standards, Beth. You must have the patience of a saint to put up with her.”
“She keeps me on my toes, Mrs. Howell.” His voice is smooth, but his easy tone is gone, and he moves to slip an arm around my waist pulling me close.
For some reason, that seems to please my mother, and a genuine laugh slips out. “I like you already. Please call me Jean.”
The warmth she’s giving him is nothing like the careful politeness she normally gives me. I’m not sure if Brady notices, but when I catch his eye, he lifts his eyebrows. Yeah—he notices. Fuck. This is embarrassing.
“Come inside,” she says, already turning toward the porch. “I didn’t know if you’d be hungry when you got here, so I put some appetizers out just in case. Nothing fancy of course.” She darts a look at me. “Just some deviled eggs and a little charcuterie.”
“That sounds perfect,” Brady says.
My spine feels like it’s frozen as we follow her inside, and I feel Brady’s hand brushing up and down my back. Whether it’sfor reassurance or encouragement I don’t know, I’m just glad he’s here with me.
My foot is on the first porch step when my mother says in an overly bright tone, “Oh, I forgot to mention—I invited your brother and sister to come by. And a few of your cousins. We’re doing a cookout this afternoon. Your father’s had the smoker going since you called last night.”
My stomach drops. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“The prodigal daughter returns with a boy.” She quirks an eyebrow. “What did you expect? It’s not every day my daughter brings someone home.”
She glances at Brady again before continuing. “Your brother won’t be able to make it—someone has to keep the shop running—but Ashley’s hoping to come with their kids.”
“That’s nice,” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral.
“She’s got her hands full, bless her. Not as busy as you, sweetie, of course—but being a stay-at-home mom is a job, too. Even if some people don’t think so.”
My teeth clench. The jab lands like it always does. “I never said it wasn’t. At least I get a lunch break and can sleep through the night. Ashley’s on the clock twenty-four-seven.”
That earns me a small smile. Like I’ve finally given the right answer about something. Brady’s gaze slides between us, and I know he’s reading every beat of this exchange.
Inside, the cool air smells faintly of lemon cleaner and fresh-cut flowers, and my mother is still filling me in at full speed. “Business has been wonderful this year. We’re booked out past Christmas if you can believe it. Weddings, anniversaries, you name it.”
Brady glances around the bright entryway. “You run the florist shop yourself?”
“Oh no, my husband’s there most days.” She waves a hand in the air. “I’m in and out—consults, on-site event installations.The rest of the time I’m here, keeping this place together. We always dreamed of it being a business our children would inherit and run together. Our son Robert works with us full time, and even Caroline, Beth’s little sister, helps even though she’ssobusy during the school year.” Her smile is brittle.
Her eyes flick to me for just a second, and I feel the old, unspoken refrain: we all pull our weight, Beth. But I didn’t, in their eyes. I left. Moved away and shirked my familial duties.
“Come on in. You’ll stay in your old room. I aired it out and changed the sheets this morning.”
Brady hefts his duffel with a too innocent smile. “Where would you like me to put my bags, Jean?” I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
Her brows lift. “Oh, I just assumed you’d be sharing. The guest room’s my craft space now. Is that a problem?”
My mouth falls open. “Who are you?”
She titters, and reaches up to smooth down her still perfect hair. “You’ll make Brady think we’re prudes. You’re both adults.”
Before I can scrape together a reply, Brady’s hand curves around my hip. “Why don’t you show me which one’s ours, sweetheart.”
Heat rushes to my face—not the good kind—and I catch the smirk tugging at his mouth. He’s enjoying this way too much.
Upstairs, I drop onto my bed with a huff. “This is total crap. My parents arenotthis progressive. Keith wasn’t even allowed upstairs in college.”
Brady chuckles as he pulls a fresh shirt out of his bag and shakes it out. “Big difference between a twenty-year-old and a thirty-three-year-old.”
