Page 72 of The Bodyguard Affair
Friends, I repeat, my attention turning to his mom.
She doesn’t seem to remember meeting me last night, evidenced by the way she springs from the table as I approach. “You have no idea how happy I am to finally meet you.”
I’m a little taken aback at first by how alive she is tonight compared to last. She’s in full color, vibrant and sharp-eyed. “Likewise. Nolan doesn’t stop talking about you, Mrs. Crosby,” I say, hugging her back, relishing how warm she is. It occurs to me that I don’t think my own mother ever hugged me like this.
I don’t know what I expected, based on everything Nolan told me about her, but it certainly wasn’t this. A surge of guilt rockets through me as I struggle to reconcile the mother she was to Nolan with the woman in front of me, who so clearly loves her son.
“Call me Lorna,” she insists, adjusting the leopard print shawl around her bony shoulders.
Nolan pulls a seat out for me across from his, but Lorna shoots him a look. “Remember what I said? Same side.”
“I don’t mind—”
“I insist. It’s good for couples to sit on the same side at restaurants,” Lorna informs us.
Nolan swallows and nods, ushering me to the seat next to his. It’s a cute little wood-fire pizza shop with seating in a courtyard with vines snaking up the side of the brick building. Lorna’s favorite, according to Nolan.
The conversation flows easily. As we eat, she asks me a lot of the same questions she did last night about where I grew up, what I do for work, my hobbies, though I don’t mind, because she genuinely seems to want to get to know me.
When she tells me she loves reading and recently joined a book club, I’m tempted to tell her about my writing. I’ve never had an impulse to share that secret with anyone else, aside from Nolan. But I manage to keep my mouth shut, instead asking about her favorite books and authors. She also spends half the meal telling me all about Nolan when he was a kid. I give him a reassuring smile when he begins to look uncomfortable.
“As a baby, he was such a little cuddle bug. From day one, he only wanted to contact nap. If I tried to get him to nap in his bassinet, he would just howl until I held him. He also absolutely hated wearing a diaper. Much preferred being totally naked.”
Nolan’s face turns a deep shade of crimson. “Mom,” he groans.
She flashes me a funny look. “He’d throw a tantrum whenever I made him wear clothes. One time, when he was around two, we were at the mall and he marched right into the middle of the food court and stripped, proudly showing everyone his belly button, among other things.”
I throw my head back in a laugh, imagining it.
Nolan buries his face in his hands. “We are not having this conversation.”
“He ran circles around and over the tables until I could finally catch him and toss a blanket over him. You should have seen the looks some of those old ladies gave me. They thought he was absolutely feral. I guess he kind of was.”
“Is this something I should be on guard for? You randomly stripping in public if the mood strikes?” I ask, pushing my empty carbonara plate away.
Nolan cracks a smile. “Yup. This is your fair warning now.”
Lorna bursts out laughing. “Nolan was always a little daredevil. Never wanted to be still or do anything that didn’t involve a thrill. It got him into trouble around town. That’s why his grandma and I were so happy he went into the military after high school. It really gave him the discipline he needed.”
“Okay, Mom. No more stories.” The more she talks, the more agitated Nolan is getting. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s embarrassed.
By the end of the night, Lorna is getting tired and is starting to forget some of her words. She also becomes agitated when Nolan reminds her to finish her food. Soon after, he decides it’s time to get her home.
I wait in their living room while he gets her into bed and arranges for Katrina to come over while he drives me home. We make a quick pit stop for gas on the way. And when he smiles at me through the window as he fills the tank, my soul leaves my body.
“Sorry for the pit stop,” he says, sliding back into the driver’s seat.
My brow quirks. “No worries. I’m not in a rush to go back home.”
“Why not?”
Because I’m alone. Because I want to stay with you.“I don’t know. The silence. It stresses me out. Makes me think about all the things I need to do.”
He drums the steering wheel, his eyes narrow, deep in thought. “Want to go somewhere?”
“Where? It’s a Tuesday night.”
“I know a place.”
