“Yes.” She doesn’t even think.
“Then trust me when I say everything will be okay.”
Interlocking our fingers, I raise our joined hands to my lips and place a soft kiss on the back of her hand.
She smiles and I feel my heart grow a thousand times more. It’s rare to see happiness on her face. But those fleeting moments are like shooting stars and I savor every one.
We walk into the kitchen where Mom is. Still dressed in her designer dress, she stands on the stove, stirring the ladle in the pot with the steam wafting off.
“Sit down. I’m making chicken soup,” she says, throwing a smile over her shoulder.
Hope sits down on the stool, her timid gaze locking on me.
I slide into the seat next to her and lean down to whisper in her ear. “Do you want chocolate?”
“No, I’m fine. I don’t want you to go out and leave me alone here.”
A frown embeds between my eyebrows. “I won’t be going out.”
She studies me. “Um, you don’t eat chocolate so you can’t have it here.”
“I don’t eat it, but you do.” I abandon my seat without a second thought, heading straight for the drawer where the chocolates are kept. I grab one, quickly return to my seat, and settle in.
“You keep chocolates in your house for me?” Surprise laced in her voice.
“I keep a lot of things here because of you,” I tell her.
Her eyes soften and gratitude fills them. “Thank you.”
A wave of discomfort washes over me, seeing that look on her. I feel unworthy of her because she is too good and deserves the absolute fucking best. But I want to be that person for her so I keep trying.
“Yeah, whatever,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair as heat prickles the tip of my ears.
“You really are something,” she whispers underneath her breath, but I hear it.
No, you are something. I want to say.
“Make sure you don’t eat the entire thing. People say my chicken soup is the best.” Mom interrupts us and we both turnto her. She has a teasing smile playing on her lips that screams trouble.
The three of us are in the same room and my stomach churns with nervous anticipation. I don’t know what she’s going to say. All I know is, I don’t want her to hurt my girlfriend.
“I’m sorry.” Hope quickly closes the chocolate bar and sets it on the island.
Disappointment twists Mom’s features. “No, it’s alright. You can have it.”
“Are you sure?”
She nods. “Absolutely. The soup is going to take a while, anyway.”
Getting the assurance from her, she reaches for the chocolate bar and takes a small bite, then covers her mouth as she devours it. Even a stranger can tell that she is uncomfortable, but she is trying.
“So, how was the date?” Mom asks, glancing between us.
I shoot her a glare for bringing it up.
“What? You didn’t tell me anything. I’m curious.”
“I didn’t tell you for a reason.”
