Mama Hart’s house is as warm and inviting as she is, and when we enter the open-concept kitchen with its bright blue cabinets and radiant collection of sun catchers dangling from the window above the farmhouse sink, it feels like home.
“What can I get you, Scarlett?” Mama Hart gestures for me to take a seat at the massive island. I do as instructed, perching on one of the upholstered stools as she rattles off options. “I’ve got coffee, tea, red wine.”
“Whatever you’re having is fine.” We’re already imposing on this woman’s date night. No need to further inconvenience her.
She turns to her son. “What about you, Nicholas?”
“Got anything stronger?” he asks, leaning against the far counter and crossing his arms and ankles.
My heart skips a beat at the sight. It’s not just the fact that he looks like a model posing in some high-end home interior catalogue, but it’s the tenderness on his face as he watches his mother.
“I think I’ve got some whiskey.” She opens the cabinet above the stove and stretches up on her tiptoes. “Unless Richard finished it.”
All the color drains from Nick’s face, and I clamp a hand over my mouth to contain my laughter.
He isnotonboard with Mama Hart dating. And I kind of love that about him. Yes, he’s overbearing, but he loves his mother and wants to protect her. How could that ever be a bad thing?
“Here we go.” Mama Hart brandishes the half-empty bottle of Ironroot with gusto. She puts the kettle on and then pours Nick a double.
Smart woman.
While the water boils, she chatters about the fabulous little Greek restaurant Richard took her to earlier. From the sounds of it, the place is a hidden gem in Austin’s thriving Rock Rose district. I make a mental note to check it out. It’s clear I’m the only one enjoying the tale, though, because Nick’s mouth tightens every time she mentions Richard. And he doesn’t miss an opportunity to point out that all the best restaurants and shops are downtown, as if that will convince his mother to pack right up and move.
When the tea is finally ready, she pours a shot of whiskey in both our mugs, and I give silent thanks as she steers the conversation away from her date and on to Nick’s childhood.
“Did Nicholas ever tell you about his first school dance?” she asks, sliding onto the stool next to me.
“No he did not.” I shoot him a triumphant grin over the top of my steaming mug. “But I’dloveto hear all about it.”
The tips of his ears turn red, and I can just make out the hint of color in his cheeks. It’s the most adorable thing ever, and damn if my heart doesn’t flutter at the sight.
Mama Hart shakes her head. “Poor boy was so nervous he didn’t sleep for a week. He was in ninth grade, and he had the biggest crush on Addie Jo Marshall. Of course, he didn’t think I knew about it, but I heard his brothers teasing him when they didn’t think I was listening.”
I laugh, easily imagining a younger Miles singing kissing songs about Nick and his crush.
“Anyway, Nick used all the money he’d saved up from working odd jobs around the neighborhood to buy himself a nice jacket and tie. He must’ve pressed that blazer a dozen times because he wanted everything to be perfect.” She turns to her son, a wistful smile on her face. “Eventually I had to hide it so he didn’t ruin the fabric. It was so sweet, though. He even got her one of those little wrist corsages. Pink, to match her dress.”
Nick groans and covers his face with his hands, like he can’t believe she’s revealing all his most embarrassing childhood secrets.
“The night before the dance, I found him in the living room watching old black and white movies.” She chuckles. “When I asked him what he was doing, he told me he was afraid of embarrassing himself because the only dance he knew was a line dance he learned in gym class.”
No teen wants to make a fool of themselves, but Nick would be especially sensitive to any situation beyond his control, and school dances are nothing if not out of control. Or maybe that was just my school, where raging hormones, loud music, and dark corners were the perfect recipe for poor decisions.
“I stayed up half the night teaching him how to dance properly with a woman.” She lifts her mug with two hands and sips her tea. “No boy of mine was going to be doing that arm draping, butt grabbing, hip thrusting crap.”
Not on the dancefloor anyway.
“What are the kids calling it these days?” she asks, eyes rolling skyward as she tries to remember the elusive word. “Twerking?”
“On that note.” Nick pushes off the counter and places his empty glass in the dishwasher. “I’m going to take a quick look at the alarm before we go. It shouldn’t be randomly going off while you’re out.”
Disappointment pierces my chest. Even though it’s late and I have to work in a few hours, I’m not ready to go. Mama Hart is hilarious, and I know this is my only chance to learn more about Nick’s childhood.
He disappears down the hall toward the front door, and Mama Hart turns to me.
“I couldn’t have asked for a better son,” she says, voice steeped with love. “A few years ago, he got me ballroom dancing lessons for my birthday because he knew I’d always wanted to learn. He’s an excellent dancer. You two should go dancing sometime.” She wiggles her brows suggestively. “Let him show you his moves.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “Oh, we’re not— I mean, we’re coworkers. It isn’t like that.”
