Page 202 of Things We Hide from the Light
He grunted and I started for the door to the stairs.
“Lina?”
I turned back. “Yeah?”
“Never seen him like this with any other woman. He’s in deep and he’s hopin’ you are too.”
I wanted to smile and throw up at the same time. To be on the safe side, I bent at the waist again.
Knox smirked. “See? Scared shitless. Least you know you’re doin’ it right.”
I gave him a friendly middle finger.
I hadthe whole day to roll things around in my head. By midafternoon, I was so sick of my own thoughts I headed to the grocery store and bought fixings for turkey clubs.
Sandwiches didn’t count as cooking, I assured myself.
Back at Nash’s, I watered my plant, checked in with work, and—after a brief internet search—managed to cook the bacon in the oven without turning it into charcoal.
I assembled two sandwiches like they were works of art and then sat there staring at the clock. Nash wasn’t due home for almost another hour. I’d seriously mistimed my food prep.
On a whim, I pulled out my phone and called my mom.
“Well, this is a nice surprise,” Mom said when she came on-screen. The pure joy on her face over me reaching out to her spontaneously felt like a billion tiny guilt darts embedding themselves in my skin.
I leaned my phone against the jar of dog treats Nash kept on the counter. “Hey, Mom.”
“What’s wrong? You look… Wait. You look happy.”
“I do?”
“You have a glow. Or is that a filter?”
“No filter. I’m actually… I’m seeing someone,” I said.
My mother didn’t move a muscle on the screen.
“Mom? Did I lose you? I think you’re frozen.”
She leaned closer. “I’m not frozen. I’m just trying not to startle you with any sudden moves.”
“So there’s this guy,” I said, deciding to get it all out. “He’s…”
How was I supposed to explain Nash Morgan?
“Special. I think. I mean, he really is and I like him. Like a lot. A whole lot. But wejustmet and I have a life in Atlanta and a job that requires a lot of travel and am I completely losing my mind for thinking that maybe he might be worth changing all that for?”
I waited a beat and then another. My mother’s mouth was hanging open on the screen.
“Mom?” I prompted.
She started blinking rapidly. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m just processing the fact that you willingly called me to talk about your love life.”
“I didn’t say love. You said love,” I said, feeling the panic crawl up my throat.
“Sorry. Your like life,” my mother amended.
“Ireallylike him, Mom. He’s just so…good. And real. And he knows me even though I tried to keep him from getting to know me. But even with everything he knows about me, hestilllikes me.”
